Bonnie vanak draicon 0.., p.1
Old Loyalty, New Love, page 1
Readers Love
Mary Calmes
But For You
“There are still the funny dialogs and the sexual tension that I loved in the previous books and I loved to see Sam and Jory interact with their kids, so this has been a great ending for a good if not an emotionally turbulent series.”
—Pants Off Reviews
“This series has taken me on for a ride. The last week that I’ve spent devouring a book each night has been thrilling, heartwarming and hilarious all at the same time. I am saddened to see the end of Sam and Jory’s stories but through all this, Calmes has gained a loyal fan out of me.”
—Night Owl Reviews
Steamroller
“Ok I just have to start this by saying… BEST FIRST KISS EVER!!! Vince and Carson may have gotten off on the wrong foot when they meet, but things heat up quickly. Vince tries to tell the sexy quarterback no, but Carson only has eyes for the über smart biologist, and he quickly steamrolls right over any qualms Vince may have.”
—Guilty Indulgence Reviews
“So even though things go from zero to a hundred, it feels like they’re old enough and experienced enough to handle it. Steamroller is a story with a lot of depth, a steamy romance, and excellent characterization.”
—Joyfully Reviewed
By MARY CALMES
NOVELS
CHANGE OF HEART SERIES
Change of Heart • Trusted Bond • Honored Vow
Crucible of Fate
A Matter of Time Vol. 1 & 2
Bulletproof • But For You
Parting Shot
Acrobat
The Guardian
Mine
Old Loyalty, New Love
Three Fates (anthology)
Timing
Warders Vol. 1 & 2
NOVELLAS
After the Sunset
Again
Any Closer
Frog
Romanus
The Servant
Steamroller
Still
What Can Be
THE WARDER SERIES
His Hearth • Tooth & Nail • Heart in Hand
Sinnerman • Nexus • Cherish Your Name
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Copyright
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
5032 Capital Circle SW
Suite 2, PMB# 279
Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886
USA
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Old Loyalty, New Love
© 2013 Mary Calmes.
Cover Art
© 2013 Anne Cain.
annecain.art@gmail.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.
ISBN: 978-1-62798-474-4
Digital ISBN: 978-1-62798-475-1
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition
December 2013
Thank you to Jaime Samms, who said, “Yeah, go for it,” when I first brought up the subject of this book. A little encouragement, when most needed, can make a world of difference. And to Ariel Tachna, who never, ever asks why I need a word in French but simply figures it out for me. And to Lisa Horan, who helps more than she knows.
Prologue
IT WAS a gorgeous night for a run, which had been the reason for me slipping out. I’d been seduced by the snowfall twinkling like diamond dust in the moonlight, the deep blues of the shadowy forest that bordered the estate, and the smells carried on the crisp December air. I roamed far, crossing over the meadow, where I should not have gone, simply because the animal in me craved speed. Above the tree line I was safe, but I couldn’t run, instead only making slow progress through the deep powder. The craving to feel the wind in my fur was impossible to deny.
I hadn’t counted on the hunters being out, but I should have. Some prize Merino sheep and one alpaca had gone missing from a nearby farm. The fleece from the animals was worth a lot of money, so the owner had put a bounty on the head of whatever was responsible, promising a sizable reward to whoever caught and killed the predator or predators.
I picked up the trail of the feral dogs easily, but they had headed back toward town, and I was returning to where I would be safe, on the grounds of the château. No hunting, or even tracking, was allowed on Roman Howell’s land. He didn’t believe in the practice. So once I crossed the stream, I would be safe. The only way to reach the forest preserve was to cross the estate, so either way, sanctuary was mine.
My proximity to safety didn’t stop the sound of bullets whizzing by, sending up puffs of snow, or from splinters of bark flying in all directions. Some were in jeeps, others on ATVs, and they would have caught up with a normal animal and maybe even an ordinary pack member eventually. But I was neither of those; I was an alpha. And even though I had stepped aside, had never led the pack, there was no escaping genetics. I had been born to lead, and because of that, they had no hope of catching me.
As I ran onto the land I knew, disappearing in the thick underbrush, I heard the posse stop at the edge, frightened of the private security and the fines that could follow. I would have to remember to tell the police chief about the dogs the following day and move the suspicion away from something larger. The hunters explaining that they had tracked what appeared to be a huge wolf onto the grounds of the château would sound mad once the real culprits were caught.
I would make sure of that.
Chapter 1
IT WAS sad, really. Ever since Roman Howell had been orphaned at age twenty-one, his prep school buddies, college frat brothers, and even his godfather, Vinson Whitmore III, had been waving hot boys under his nose. They were all hoping to find the one person he would fall for and thus control him. It was despicable, and I was glad that so far the young steel mogul had been smart enough not to get caught in a trap.
The most interesting thing about the situation was that because Roman’s parents had accepted the fact that he was gay when he came out to them, the entire burg of Corbett, Maine, had gone ahead and followed their example. Usually when one thought of the population of an insular community, the assumption was that narrow-mindedness was par for the course. And while it was terrible to make snap judgments, it was the reputation of small towns. But because Roman’s parents had basically owned the sleepy coastal hamlet, and their son was gay, it had become an open and friendly place and had never seen one incidence of a hate crime in the eleven years I had been there. That part made me happy; seeing men Roman knew barrage him with suitors did not.
“Oh, good morning, Roman.” Hollister Ashcroft, son of Livingston Ashcroft, owner of the yacht club, chairman of the board of directors of the country club, and head of the historical society, greeted my boss. “I didn’t know you were here for brunch.”
The Calico, a country diner on Main Street, was in fact our favorite breakfast place. Roman loved their Eggs Benedict, and I was a fan of the spicy Denver omelet. All that information could have been relayed to Hollister if Roman had spoken to him. But he had, as of yet, not opened his mouth.
Moments ticked by.
No response.
Nothing.
I kept reading the sports page so I wouldn’t actually have to see Hollister. Poor bastard. It must have been really hard to be all breezy nonchalance, “fancy meeting you here, isn’t this just serendipity,” when the whole scene was lost on the other person. Worst of all, it appeared stupid.
The epitome of lame.
Hollister cleared his throat.
I could tell Roman was fucking with him. The reports of his injuries from the accident had never been publically updated, so everyone thought the loss of hearing in his left ear that Roman had suffered right after the collision was permanent. But that was not the case. The man could hear a sneeze on the first floor when he was outside on the second-floor balcony, and that was no easy feat. So the fact that he was ignoring Hollister was kind of funny. I would make sure to lecture him about it later. I took it upon myself to make him a better person at every opportunity. Because I was forty-six and he was twenty-seven, he had to listen to me. I reminded him often that one had to listen to, and respect, the wisdom of one’s elders. When he was younger, much eye-rolling had followed my pronouncements. Lately, all I heard from him was that I was nowhere near old. Why it mattered, or needed to be mentioned, I had no clue.
“Roman!”
I jolted, which amused the hell out of my charge, as eviden
“My apologies.” He sent a fake smile up at Hollister. “I hadn’t realized you were there.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Hollister said, deferring to him. “I just wanted you to meet my friend Brendan Reynolds, here visiting for Christmas with his family.”
Roman turned, focusing on Brendan, and in that split second, I saw the other man flinch. Apparently Hollister had not prepared him as well as he thought he had.
A lot of the guys that Roman’s “friends” brought to meet him were startled by his appearance. Most of his face resembled melted wax, and the skin that didn’t was cratered and thick in some places, stretched thin and reddened in others. At first glance, people were still surprised, but to me, he was simply Roman Howell, my boss, who I had met as a boy of sixteen and watched become a man I both respected and admired. Now, the pictures of him before the accident were what caught me off guard. What could have been an ordinary face had been transformed, to me, into a visage of resilience and power. But poor Brendan didn’t have my eleven, almost twelve, years of studying the man beside me, and so seeing Roman with fresh eyes had been disconcerting.
“Are you all right?” Roman teased me, his eyes infused with playfulness, his lips curled into a smile.
“He yelled,” I pointed out.
“I know he did, dear,” he said, placating me.
I glared at him. “What did I say about that?”
“About what?” he queried, all wide-eyed innocence.
“Sayin’ crap like that,” I groused, going back to the paper. “Knock it off.”
“Sorry,” he lied under his breath.
“And move your hand.”
“Stop your grumbling.”
I ignored him.
He bumped my knee with his under the table instead, and I growled, which made him snort out a laugh. Apparently I was very amusing.
“Roman?”
I studied him out of the corner of my eye when Hollister said his name and took the moment when his attention was diverted to allow my gaze to map every inch of the man’s gorgeous frame. It had been happening a lot lately, and soon—not quite yet, but shortly—I would have to make a change. The problem was, I didn’t want to leave him or my life, but since he was now starring in every hot, carnal dream I had, something had to give.
Days had rolled into months, and I could not get a handle on my desire. No amount of guilt or sense of obligation snuffed it out anymore, so I really only had one alternative: it was time for me to leave Roman Howell’s side and let someone who didn’t want to bend him over the dining-room table take over. The thing was… no one cared about him as much as I did. No one else had been with him since before the accident, since before his parents died; I was the only one. So I was loath to abandon him. But it was getting harder and harder, with each passing day, to banter with him, tease, and stand obediently at his side.
I tried to will my mind back to the place where I didn’t notice his lean, defined build, the play of muscles under his clothes, or the way his silvery eyes sparkled when he smiled. The lengths I went to for diversion—the nightly runs over miles, simply to stay out of his way—were becoming glaringly noticeable for my absence. But keeping my hands off him, except in the performance of my bodyguard duties, was almost impossible. I wanted to touch him all the time. Once I did, though, once that line was crossed… there would be no going back.
The scariest part was that he might even want me for a night, a dalliance, a curiosity that once sated would not last, and we would be left with nothing but regret between us. And that one moment of passion would cancel out more than a decade of friendship and camaraderie. Even worse, he might convince himself he loved me, a feeling born out of gratitude and nothing more. I would not allow him to confuse indebtedness with love.
Just because I desired him—desperately craved him—was no excuse to let Roman miss out on the real thing with his own Prince Charming. And truthfully, I didn’t want me for him. I wanted more. Wanted the world for him, because it was what he deserved. My dream was for Roman to meet the perfect guy his own age and get married and have kids. I had big plans for him that did not include me, an ex-army sniper who was already all used up before I even met him. He deserved the fairy tale.
“Quade.”
My mind had been drifting, but my gaze met his at the sound of my name.
“What has you so deep in thought?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
He was studying me, and as he did, he grinned slightly. Softness infused his eyes, and the expression on his face told anyone watching how much he liked me. Every thought, every emotion, was always clearly visible. It was part of the problem, the seeming drugging effect I had on him that could be mistaken for desire if I didn’t know better.
“Roman.”
“Yes,” he answered absently, his face still lit up from looking at me when he lifted his head to finally give Hollister his attention. “Sorry. It’s a pleasure, Brandon.”
“Brendan,” I corrected under my breath.
“Brendan,” he amended, not missing a beat.
“I, um.” Hollister hesitated and then said, “I just wanted to find out if it was all right if Brendan came with me to the party at your place tonight?”
Roman twisted his head back to me. “Is that on this evening’s schedule?”
I grunted, which was my way of saying yes.
“And will you be traveling to Rockport?”
Funny he would ask, since he knew that was the plan. Going to Rockport was code for me getting laid. There were no gay bars in Corbett; there was, in fact, only one pub period, and so when I wanted to hook up for the night, I had to get in the car and drive. Roman himself never went in for one-night stands like I did. As far as I knew, Roman had had two liaisons in his life. I couldn’t count mine. But he had actually been on friendly terms with both of his lovers; I was lucky to get first names. We had decidedly different agendas.
“Quade?”
His tone was suddenly sharp.
“What?”
“Are you or are you not traveling this evening?”
He never asked, he normally assumed. It was strange that he was prying,
“Answer me, please.”
I coughed to hide my discomfort. “I always go when you have a party. Arman will be here in my place while I’m—”
He cut me off. “No. I’ll need you to remain here.”
If he was telling me to forego what he knew I wanted, he must have had a good reason. I had never known Roman to be selfish. If he was asking me to stay, it wasn’t on a whim.
“Are you listening to me?”
“I’ll stay if you want.” I squinted at him. “That’s fine, but what’s with you? Why would you even ask if you’d already made up your mind?”
He stared into my eyes like he was checking for something. “I need to speak to you about our trip.”
“Your trip,” I clarified.
“You’re accompanying me.”
“I go everywhere with you,” I reminded him, lifting the paper to resume reading.
“Yes,” he agreed, but then he did a strange thing and took hold of the bottom of my sweater, tugging it gently with his right hand, rolling the hem between his fingers. The action grabbed all my attention.
“You cold?”
He nodded.
Straightening from my slouch, I folded the paper and put it down on the table before pulling my heavy wool sweater up over my head. The T-shirt underneath rode up, and I felt him easing it back down, his hand grazing my bare abdomen.
“Here,” I said, putting it over his head before leaning back. I wasn’t nearly as small as him, six foot three to his own five foot ten, and whereas he was built like the swimmer he had once been, I was thick with hard, heavy muscle, outweighing him by easily seventy-five pounds. The sweater would swallow him.
“Roman?” Hollister wanted his attention back.
I returned to reading as Roman spoke to the annoying man, assuring him that of course Brendan was welcome, but that the party had, in fact, been moved to the country club.
“I’m sorry?”
Roman coughed. “I’ve decided not to host any more parties at L’Ange. It takes the staff days to clean up, and last time, even with the upstairs areas roped off, we still had people traipsing around on the second floor. If anyone had gotten to the third floor or higher… to the roof garden or the library or the solarium… to my private quarters, or Quade’s….”
