Unmasked

UNMASKED

… Sam ran his finger with a light touch along the scar he’d seen peeking from beneath the half mask. “The accident?” Antony nodded. “It gives you character.” Without thinking, Sam framed Antony’s face with his hands and leaned in to press his lips on his eyelids, closing them. Antony let out a slow breath and rested his hands on Sam’s hips. Sam boldly sought the lips he’d wanted to taste all evening. Antony’s response was immediate. He slid his hands around to Sam’s butt and pulled him hard against him. He opened his mouth, and when Sam’s opened in pleasure and surprise, his tongue dived in. They tasted and explored heat and wetness, tongues twisting, then penetrating with the foretaste of sex, hot and steamy. Lust ignited in Sam’s groin and, hungry to satisfy it, he fought to find a way into Antony’s pants to touch the thick cock rubbing against his. With a groan, Antony reached under his top and pushed his pants down enough his erection could spring free. They both stared as it landed in Sam’s hand. The blue veins on his cock were distended, mapping the way to an almost purple crown. “Rub me,” Antony said, in a strangled his voice. Sam’s pulse raced as, one-handed, he freed his own cock. The minute Antony’s warm hand closed around it, he began to tremble with the need to feel more and lose himself in the feelings. When Antony released him and pulled his hand away, Sam uttered a firm “No,” as the warmth and pressure of the hand disappeared. He reached for Antony’s hand and sought to guide it back to his oozing, aching hard-on…

ALSO BY C AROLINA VALDEZ Avalanche! Dark Stranger Forbidden Desire Hangin’ With My Window Man Hole In One In From The Cold In Passion’s Thrall Inhabiting The Night Knight Of The Captive Heart Lure Night Train To Naples Night Train To New Orleans Passion’s Sweet Ecstasies Portal To Darkness Silk Stealth Silk Stealth: Shadow Warrior Somebody To Love Sweet Chocolate Ecstasy Tears Of The Dragon Tie ’Em Up, Hold ’Em Down Twilight View From The Top Where Vesuvius Sleeps Woman In Black Lace

UNMASKED BY CAROLINA VALDEZ

AMBER Q UILL PRESS, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com

UNMASKED AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2011 by Carolina Valdez ISBN 978-1-61124-105-1 Cover Art © 2011 Trace Edward Zaber

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To all those forced to hide behind a mask

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CHAPTER 1 Carnevale Venezia, Italy Sunset had turned Venice’s Grand Canal and everything along it red, but now the sky was deepening into blue as the black gondola carrying partygoers pulled up and stopped between candy striped poles. The gondolier climbed out and secured the gondola as it nudged the private dock. A walkway led to the front of the four stories of the palazzo, where floods lighted its every balcony. Turning, the boatman offered a hand to each costumed partygoer so they might safely disembark over the lapping waters. As the first occupant stepped onto the dock in a flourish of dark cloak, a brief flash of ankles and slippers decorated with gold 1

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sequins showed beneath an elegant golden gown. The feet were small enough to be a woman’s. You couldn’t always tell gender with some of the cloaked costumes, but Antony knew this one was definitely female. A muffled, “Grazie tanto!” issued from the slit of a mouth in her ornate papier-mâché mask. The golden mask concealed her hair and face, and stiff pleats surrounded the face like rays of the sun. Antony had discovered he could see well enough out of his mask, but the small mouths on most of them made voices indistinct, adding to the mystery required for the evening. The nostril openings were large enough for air, but he felt thankful they blocked some of the damp and unhealthy miasma rising from the canal. Reluctant to go inside, he was content to be the final passenger off, despite the chilly air. He’d only ridden in the gondola because he’d had to pick up his mask at Illusionary Design at the last minute, and sharing the boat to the palazzo with other partygoers was faster than walking. He’d been impressed by his mask, which had been ordered by his uncle. The top half was engraved gold, ending just before the tip of his nose and extending in points over his cheekbones almost to the jaw line. The lower half was finished to resemble light porcelain skin. Beneath a medieval hat styled simply from black velvet, the ebony hood he wore hid his hair, ears and throat. The layered velvet tunic and pants he wore were also black. The pants ended below his knees, hugging his thighs and knees. Black stockings took over from there. His dancing shoes were soft leather and comfortable, crafted to support his one bad ankle. The combination of the dark velvet, gold and porcelain was masterful in its elegance, he thought in admiration. The generous 2

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eye openings were covered with lightly smoked plastic. That made it more difficult for him to see, but added to the mystery. No doubt his uncle had explained the uniqueness of his eye coloring to the designer. Anyone who knew him might guess his identity just because of the tawny gold with flecks of brown. “Exciting, isn’t it? I’ve never been to a masquerade ball before.” This voice, near his right ear, was easily identified. It, too, was female. It was also American. Antony answered in English, although he was also fluent in Italian and spoke a little French. “I’ve been to many.” He noted the Veneto banner draped over the third-floor balustrade and caught by a floodlight. It was impressive. Her costume beneath a toe-touching navy cloak was layer upon layer of blue ruffles topped by a matching mask and a high headdress of cloth, pearls, feathers and lace. She had difficulty managing the massive flounces of the skirt because she had to keep her head up so as not to make the concoction on it topple over. Thank God, I’m a man, Antony thought. He steadied her as the canal waters cradled the small craft with gentle rocks. She stepped past him and took the broad hand of the gondolier. “Enjoy the evening,” Antony called. He sighed. The aging Palazzo Veneto, accessed via the small dock from the water, belonged to his likewise aging uncle, and Antony was here under duress and on orders. He was a Veneto by birth on his mother’s side, and while he would have preferred being back in America managing his new active wear design business, a summons from his mother’s elderly only brother was not to be ignored. The Venetos were old aristocracy here. This morning, the purpose of the summons had become clear when his uncle asked him to join him in the library. 3

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Luciano Veneto, his face lined beyond his years, greeted him there with a hug and a kiss on each cheek. “Figlio,” he said with a lift to his voice and a broad smile. “Zio,” Antony replied as his heart responded with deep affection. A childless widower, Luciano had always addressed him as son, not nephew. In a way, Antony felt bad he didn’t address him as father, but since his real dad was alive—although who knew where—he used the Italian word for uncle as if it were Luciano’s name. Antony’s parents had separated when he was five, and his American father had disappeared from their lives. His mother, who had happily remarried when Antony was twenty, still lived in the United States, as did he. He barely remembered his father and had never known his father’s relatives. In addition to his mom, his Italian grandparents and his uncle had been the only family he’d really known. Stern, with a tendency to give orders rather than invite opinions and discussion, Luciano had been the only father in his life. He motioned Antony to sit and he took a seat behind a large rosewood desk. “As you can see, figlio, I am not a well man. I must plan for the future of this house and my fortune.” “Surely—” His uncle waved away the anticipated objections regarding his failing health. Antony might have choked back a chuckle at his uncle’s obvious ploy to lay an emotional guilt trip on him by emphasizing he viewed him as his son, but instead he listened as his gut knotted in fear because he suspected what was coming. “The palazzo is entailed to pass only to a male heir, and you are 4

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my only heir. Under the terms of the entail, the building can’t be willed to your mother, sold or even given away.” “I’m aware of that.” “When I die, the estate will be yours, no matter what. I will leave your mother well cared for, but since your lucrative sports career has ended abruptly, you’ll need the interest from the investments on my fortune to maintain the house. I will leave you that fortune if you marry a respectable young woman this year, before I die. One who will give you heirs. Hopefully, male heirs.” Antony fought the bile rising in his throat. “I don’t know what to say.” Nothing could be truer. A dark cloud descended on him because of the thought of losing his uncle, but also because of this push into a life that wasn’t him. Luciano rose and extended his hand. He smiled, his eyes lighting up as if the cloud hovering over him had shifted over to the young man he loved. “You’ll find her, Antony. Lovely women will be here tonight. Look ' em over.” “Sir,” Antony said as he stood and shook hands. Later, Antony felt like a wimp for not standing up for himself. He hadn’t wanted to disappoint Zio because he loved and respected him, despite his authoritarian ways. He wanted to continue living the lie with him that he was heterosexual. He wasn’t prepared for how the stern man might react if he’d known who Antony really was—a gay man. Back in his rooms, he slammed a fist into the couch cushions over and over, until frustration and anger wore him down. With big money, he wouldn’t have had to worry about saving the palazzo, or coming out to his uncle. As he had a million times before, he berated himself for having ruined his multimillion-dollar career by renting a snowmobile. Arrogant and believing he was invincible, 5

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he’d thought himself capable of a wild drive at night in inclement weather. Black ice had taught him a different lesson. It had taken from him the thing he’d loved most in the world besides his family—his position on a winning NHL hockey team. “Signor?” The gondolier broke into his reverie. “Oh, scuzzi.” Antony gathered his black cloak about him and stepped onto the dock without assistance. Two costumed attendants nodded to him as they opened the massive doors, and he stepped into the grandeur that was the Palazzo Veneto. He checked his cloak just inside the entry. Despite the high ceilings, a faint wave of expensive perfumes and men’s colognes wafted through the nostrils of his disguise. The voices were muffled, but the deep tones of the men and the higher ones of the women filtered through to him as some of the guests—people who knew each other and weren’t fooled by the concealed faces and costumes—chatted. Knowing the routine, for he’d attended these balls off and on since he’d reached his majority, Antony nodded without speaking to the other partygoers as he ascended a grand staircase that spilled in a graceful flow from the second floor to the foyer. Behind him he heard soft gongs as a staff member moved through the guests and indicated they should proceed up the stairs. Antony turned at the top landing and stood back as he awaited the others. Every guest had received instructions for this procession in an invitation on heavy linen paper engraved with the Veneto crest in gold. Already a camera crew was in place on the first floor, ready to video them as they dramatically descended the gilded staircase. Other portions of this evening and tomorrow’s brunch would be 6

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filmed, and each guest would receive a courtesy DVD. Not that they hadn’t paid for it in their ticket fees, Anthony thought with a smile. Everyone was assembled now, and the cameraman waved. “Begin, please.” They started down by twos. Antony recognized a married couple ahead of him because they’d worn the same russet and black outfits for several years. They were friends of his uncle. He’d be happy if no one recognized him until the unmasking at midnight. Especially the young women his uncle had invited in hopes of matching him up with one of them. He stepped into the line in no specific order and descended. The woman in gold was opposite him on his left, and he offered his arm, as was proper. That should make Zio happy. As far as I’m aware, I don’t even know her, but he’ll think I’m interested in her. Tomorrow the Italian tabloids will make a big deal of me escorting her in the grand entrance. Fact was, he would never be interested in a woman except as a friend. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy women—he did. They made good friends, but by the time he was twelve, he’d known he was sexually attracted only to males. His mother had suspected it when he was even younger, so when he’d gathered the courage to tell her, he discovered her only problem with it was she feared for his safety. He, of course, had done everything he could to indicate his masculinity. Now at two hundred pounds of what he hoped was solid muscle and at a height of six-one, he knew no one would mistake him for a wimp. So far, his size and strength had discouraged bullies. Since he wasn’t openly homosexual, he wasn’t the subject of attacks by those who hated his kind. 7

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His mother had always welcomed his boyfriends in their home. Antony was sure she had no interest in knowing details of what he did with a man behind closed doors. In regard to knowing his sexual preferences, however, Zio was another matter. Antony didn’t want him to know he was gay, and the longer he could keep it that way, the better it would be. Tonight’s affair was, in Antony’s opinion, a little silly, but it was his uncle’s idea of historic Venezian carnivale. Tourists paid a great many euros to attend, and the profit all went to charity. Since period dancing was the next step after they’d reached the main floor, they filed into the ballroom. Accompanied by the music of lute, recorder and elbow drum, professionals demonstrated the old dances for them. When it was the guests’ turn to perform, the cameras whirred again. Antony partnered opposite the woman in gold, bowing to her as she curtsied to him. They began, moving in stately rhythms to “Greensleeves,” a Renaissance love song attributed to Henry VIII. Her hands in his were large and warm. Once in a while, she stumbled a bit because she wasn’t familiar with the steps, but he steadied her and kept her upright. Downright manly of me, he thought. Behind his mask, he grinned. They danced toward each other and back, then she circled around him. In time, the last couple in the line danced up the middle between the other partners and took their position at the head. Now the last couple did the same until the original couple was once again at the back of the line. It was during this section that a man moving past caught Antony’s eye. Actually, his leather boots first demanded Antony’s attention. Because of the costume, all Antony could see of the figure were the lower half of well-formed thighs in tights. The 8

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expensive boots, dyed cerulean to match part of his costume, almost reached his knees. Antony had a thing about shoes. About feet. A shiver settled satisfyingly in his belly. The next dance was sedate, but faster. As they wove through the intricate patterns, he had a chance to take in more of the man in the boots. Some people went through the steps by rote, often ignorant of the beat. This man felt the music, sensed its rhythms. As he lifted his partner’s arm and twirled her under his, it seemed second nature to him. For a split second, Antony imagined him drawing her close and gliding around the room in a scandalizing spinner, a sixteenth-century dance later renamed the waltz. Since the particular steps and movements they were performing here predated the spinner, Antony knew his imaginings about the costumed man wouldn’t materialize. Aware his groin quivered at the thought of being close to the stranger, it struck him that he wished he were the one partnering the man. Oh, beware, my throbbing prick. Don’t let your naughtiness embarrass me. Fortunately, the musicians struck up a lively tune and distracted him. The men danced clockwise in an inner circle as the women paraded counter-clockwise around them. A tambourine’s jingles joined in to punctuate the sounds of the other instruments. At one point, a laugh from the mystery man of the boots rumbled low and easy. He seemed to be enjoying the festivities, perhaps because they were medieval and so different from contemporary life. Antony felt churlish and a little guilty for having derided his uncle’s ideas. Then it occurred to him the man might think this silly, too. Maybe he was the kind of person who could relax and enjoy the absurd pretense. If so, this was someone worth knowing. Perhaps he could learn something from him about being less 9

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cynical. At last, the dancing ended. Antony bowed to his partner, but didn’t offer to escort her around the room. His ankle begged to rest. People milled about, but Antony stepped out on the balcony overlooking the canal and leaned against the stone balustrade to take the weight off his protesting ankle. He thought it must be fifty degrees, and the cold air felt good after the heat of dancing in a crowded ballroom. The night had turned to navy velvet after the red of sunset, and pinpoints of light flickered from buildings and moored boats. The cold air soothed his injury; the dark waters and the winking lights soothed his mood. A rustle of fabric and the sense someone had joined him caused him to turn his head. If he’d been hooked up to a heart monitor it would’ve beeped fast at the sight of the man with the thighs and tall boots. He acknowledged the newcomer with a nod and safely studied his costume from behind his smoky lenses. The guest’s circular black hat rose from the mask’s brow a hand’s breadth and was topped with ostrich plumage dyed medium blue. The fine, soft feathers draped down over the brim to the beginning of the face, which was a silvery flesh color. Antony could see striking gray eyes through the wide openings in the mask. Like every guest here, a hood worn under the hat hid the stranger’s hair, ears and neck. The hood’s face was open, and the fabric was snug beneath the jaws, framing the face up to where the hat began. A narrow, gauzy ruffle in light blue circled this man’s neck above a black velvet doublet. A cerulean blue shirt with a touch of silver embroidery peeked from the opening of the doublet. The boots had been dyed to match this shirt. “It feels good to escape the heat and stuffiness inside, doesn’t 10

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it?” The masculine voice muffled by the mask seemed filled with goodwill. Antony nodded again, but turned his head back to stare across the canal at the lights. Although they weren’t touching him, the man’s thighs were near enough for him to feel their warmth transmitting to his. Antony wasn’t in the mood to talk, only to feel the heat and conjure up an image of the feet covered by the boots. Feet that had danced with an unerring feel for the rhythm and tenor of the music. “Have you done this before? This is my first carnivale. I’m enjoying it.” “I’ve been here several times,” Antony replied. He turned to face the newcomer because it would have been rude not to do so. “Are you staying overnight? I assume most of us bought the overnight and champagne brunch package.” “Yes, I have a room here.” While true, it was misleading. Being a Veneto, he always had a room in the palazzo. Because he wanted to know more about the stranger, he couldn’t resist asking, “And you?” “I have a room in one of the hotels because I signed up late for this and wasn’t sure of accommodations here, but, yes, I’ll be staying tonight. I’m a little tired of this damned mask, and I’m thirsty. Do they have tiny straws to use for drinking through the narrow opening in these mouths?” Now Antony laughed and touched an ear covered in black velvet. “I think I hear the gong signaling cocktails and appetizers. Time to go to our rooms and replace these with the half masks, then assemble in the salon for drinks and appetizers. In the ballroom, there’ll be more dancing to today’s music played by a DJ. We’ll dance again after dinner and the unmasking will come at 11

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midnight. Which floor are you on?” “The second. Where are you?” “Above that. I’ll walk with you to your floor. The house has a dumbwaiter we use for luggage, but I’m sorry to say there’s no elevator.” The moment he spoke, he stiffened as he realized his mistake in using we. It was too late to call it back. A good thing he hadn’t added, When I was smaller, I’d curl up inside and ride it, but I’ve been too big for that for a long time. The other man hadn’t seemed to pick up on his glitch, so Antony relaxed. Traffic up and down the gilded staircase was heavy. Some people had already discarded the full masks and donned the smaller ones. They were headed down as Antony and his companion worked their way up. There was no time for conversation. “This is my room.” The boots paused at the one with 208 in gilt on the door. “You’ll find a bottle of cold water in your mini-bar,” Antony said. “See you at the hors d’oeuvre table?” As the strong nasal sound and accent rang in Antony’s brain, he thought perhaps Mr. Mystery Man was really Monsieur Mystery Man. That might be fun. “Yes, see you there.” Antony threaded his way through the partygoers up to the third floor. There he proceeded alone to his suite of rooms on the fourth. Both Mama and Zio had apartments on this floor. Inside, he opened a small refrigerator and pulled out an ice pack and a bottle of cold water. He sat down and swung his feet onto an embroidered hassock, draped the ice pack over his 12

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complaining ankle, then carefully removed the full-face covering and set it aside. Massaging his skin with his fingers, he felt grateful to be relieved of its confinement. He uncapped the bottle of water and swigged it down with two ibuprofen tablets in almost a single gulp. When his ankle felt better, he returned the cold pack, now warm, to the freezer and went into the bathroom to wash and dry his face. Feeling refreshed after the tiny prison of having his entire face enclosed, he didn’t mind pulling on the smaller version. It was the twin of the golden part of the full papier-mâché creation. At least as long as he wore it, you could only see the bottom edge of the two-and-a-half-inch scar along his right cheekbone. The tree had done that to him. Pleased he could at last breathe, laugh and talk freely, he headed for the stairs for drinks and dinner. Something about the man with the boots and feet that had attracted him gave a lift to his spirits. Any woman in the house could’ve approached that stranger to chat after the dancing ended. Or he could’ve sought out any female for company. Instead, Antony’s instincts told him the stranger had looked for him, possibly observed him as he and his slight limp went out to the balcony. He’d approached another man, not a woman. That had to mean something. Heart thumping in his eagerness to make contact with the mystery man again, Antony hurried down the stairs as fast as his ankle would allow.

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CHAPTER 2 Sam Philippe D’Aval paused at his door. Curious where the man in the gold mask was staying, he watched to see where he went, but between the revelers walking to and from their lodgings, he lost sight of him. Disappointed, he went inside, removed the cumbersome face disguise and headed for the cold bottles of water in his mini-bar to quench his roaring thirst. Just why he found the man quite so interesting was beyond him. You couldn’t really carry on a conversation with your face covered, so there was little to say. Besides, giving away your identity would spoil the surprise of the unmasking. Maybe it was the costume, but he’d liked the air of assurance he’d noticed during the dancing. Several times the stranger’s partner had stumbled and almost tripped, but he’d held her steady. She wasn’t a small 14

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woman, and he knew holding her up had taken strength as well as courtesy. Sam smiled. Perhaps supporting the woman had been clever as well. If she’d fallen wearing that mask and all those petticoats and gown, it might’ve taken more than one man to right her again. She’d probably have been embarrassed enough to leave the party. The man in black velvet was burly and probably an inch taller than Sam, who, at six feet, wasn’t short. Sam had thought the stranger might be athletic, judging from the well-developed calves and the quick muscle responses as he danced. Sam also noticed the faint hint of a limp when the man left the ballroom for the balcony, but whether he’d been born with it or been injured Sam couldn’t tell. His bladder was complaining, so he went into the lavatory and used the facilities. As he washed his hands and face, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He still wore the hat, and the velvet hood still hid his hair and neck, but he didn’t look as ridiculous as he’d feared. With the half mask in place, he could fully enjoy the evening. Before returning to the party below, he stood for a moment looking down on the dance floor, but he couldn’t see all the partygoers. After descending the stairs, he headed for the bar set up for the night and wedged his way in to get a Scotch on the rocks. To his relief, he spotted the black velvet costume at the hors d’oeuvres table. As he approached, the figure turned, and Sam said, “Ah, the man in the gold mask.” He couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through his chest. The jaw line beneath the gold had been clean-shaven, but now shadows hinted at the coming of dark new growth. The lips were 15

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kissable and full, and the color of his eyes was still hidden behind smoky plastic. The hint of a red scar followed the line of the gold mask over the right cheek, but the wide smile he turned on Sam was warm and welcoming. “It’s the man in the blue boots. Please call me Antony. It’s so awkward not to use names. It’s great to be able to talk, isn’t it? ” Sam laughed. “I’m Sam.” Antony’s firm handshake seemed to extend a warm welcome. At an invitation from him, Sam picked up a plate and proceeded to fill it with samples from the various foods on the linen-covered table buffet. “I found the water, thanks. I was so dehydrated I drank two bottles.” “Polished off one myself.” “You speak Italian with an American accent,” Sam commented as he reached for something cheesy and fluffy, then loaded shrimp and spread caviar on tiny points of toast. He watched Antony’s hands as he added food to his own plate. The man had broad hands with long fingers. Sturdy hands of a size that fit the body. But, like the man’s cheek, there was a scar across the back of his right hand. “You speak excellent Italian, but do I detect a touch of French?” Sam shrugged and smiled. It was all part of the game of determining identity. You just didn’t want to give everything away too early. “It’s difficult to overcome a French accent, non?” Antony’s smile created appealing double creases on either side of his mouth. “Oui. I was born here. I have dual citizenship in the U.S. and Italy. Italian mother, American father. Growing up, I’ve frequently visited relatives here and heard nothing but Italian whenever I was in Venezia.” Sam popped a shrimp in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. 16

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Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he said, “The food’s delicious.” “My… yes, I understand the chef hired for the evening is one of the finest.” Sam thought he’d begun to say something else, then changed his mind. He wondered what it was. Perhaps he didn’t think the chef was as good as his reputation? No matter. Maybe Sam was just so hungry anything would taste good, but he really did think the little snacks were excellent. When their plates were full, Antony located a tall table for two in the bar. They sat on chairs whose height matched that of the table. “That feels good,” he said as he took a seat and rested his feet on the rungs. “I have a sore ankle I need to pamper after so much dancing.” So as not to embarrass his new acquaintance, Sam refrained from inquiring as to the nature of the soreness, but a tinge of disappointment rolled through him because he’d looked forward to dancing with Antony. “You said you’d been to a carnivale before.” “Yes, it’s traditional if you’re Venetian. Some affairs such as this raise money to aid in maintaining the grand houses in which they’re held. Here, an auction raises funds for charities. I forgot to mention the auction’s next on our schedule. Don’t they celebrate Mardi Gras in France?” “Oui, especially in Nice. It’s more bacchanalia than anything.” Antony laughed. “It’s pretty much that here, too. Wait until the evening wears on. You’ll see people pairing off and slipping up to their rooms for sex.” Sam shifted uncomfortably. “In some parts of France, it’s common to see ordinary people out in the streets at night dressed in long robes with scary masks. In some towns, they hold bonfires to drive away the demons just as they did in the thirteen-hundreds. In 17

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Nice, I’m told they have flower floats and parades where coins, little cakes and bead necklaces are tossed to the throngs. The one photo I’ve seen of a carnival king and queen shows them dressed in elaborate golden costumes and headdresses.” “But you’ve never attended such a celebration?” Antony’s face suggested amazement at this. “I’ve always been too busy to take time off.” “But you’re here now.” “I am. I decided to have fun.” “I’ll go along with that,” Antony said with a smile that sent small sensual tremors to Sam’s midsection. “But why now?” “I realized life should be about more than work.” Sam glanced down at his glass of scotch. For a moment, he smelled and felt the damp coolness of the ice in the dark before dawn at the Sports de Glace in Toulouse, France. He’d been four when his mother had first taken him to the rink and, because he was so gifted athletically, he’d spent years before school and after learning to glide, jump and spin. Now he remembered the feel of sweat staining his workout clothes as he sought to perfect the jumps, spins and artistry of his programs. To his friends, Samuel Philippe D’Aval was Sam. But as the men’s silver medalist in last year’s world figure skating championships, he was known as Philippe D’Aval. He shivered as he thought of how annoyed his coach would be because he’d skipped town and left the country without telling him. His assignment this weekend had been to polish a quadruple jump that eluded him. He’d reached the point where he seldom fell executing it, but he would take off wrong or land it two footed or not quite complete the fourth revolution, so he scored fewer points. These days, the common belief was you needed at least one 18

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quad if you wished to stay on top in the world of men’s figure skating. Yet Evan Lysacek had won Olympic gold in 2010 without one, despite a powerful quad in combination by Evgeni Plushenko, the runner up. Sam wanted to win Worlds as a complete skater— artistry and powerful jumps. So far, despite his accomplishments, he hadn’t completed a quad in competition. “Cold?” Antony asked. Ah, Sam thought, he noticed my shivers. He smiled. “No, I’m thinking of what pleasure there is in playing hooky—if that is how it’s said—from work.” “Hooky’s correct. I did my share of that as a student. But since I’ve started a business, I try to avoid that temptation now.” They’d finished their food. Antony slid down from his stool. “Sounds like the auction is beginning. They have some nice prizes if you’re interested in bidding.” He followed the Italian who was also an American back to the dance floor. Rows of ornate chairs with seats upholstered in brocades of delicate colors had been placed in rows. Following Antony’s example, at the door Sam accepted a numbered fan to raise to indicate he was bidding. Antony placed his hand on Sam’s back and guided him to a row where there were two seats together. The touch was a simple gesture, but one Sam liked very much. They soon discovered they were pinioned between the woman on Sam’s left and the one on Antony’s right. The women must’ve known each other because they leaned in front of the men, speaking to each other in loud, staccato Italian. Ever the gentleman, Antony stood to take the seat of the woman next to him. Sam got the picture and immediately moved over next to him 19

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so the women could sit together. Sam looked at Antony, and they broke into smiles. “Whew,” Antony said in a tone so quiet only Sam heard. The guests settled down at the sound of another soft gong. “They’re certainly training us with these gongs, aren’t they?” Sam said in Antony’s ear. The evening’s host, Luciano Veneto, stepped onto the dais to welcome them and thank them for coming. Despite the fact he was in costume and wore an ornate half mask, it was obvious he was an older man. He stood ramrod straight as he explained the charities they were supporting, then he turned this part of the evening over to the auctioneer. Beside him, Antony appeared to listen intently as the items for the auction were presented. They’d all been donated, and one of them, a new Lamborghini Gallardo in bright green and white triggered gasps and applause from the audience. Antony chuckled and clapped, as if in on some marvelous secret. He said something under his breath in English. Sam thought maybe it was, “By God, he pulled it off.” He didn’t understand the “pulled it off” part, but whatever it meant it had brought a vigorous response from his new acquaintance. Antony’s body had shifted as he’d laughed and it drew their thighs close together and their shoulders now touched. Sam shut his eyes to experience Antony’s heat as it radiated to his, sensing the unleashed power in the broad musculature. He wondered what kind of business Antony was in that required—or produced—such strength in his legs. Costumes were adept at hiding body shapes, but the shoulders beneath Antony’s were wide and hard. What Sam felt was real, not the result of clever padding. Sam wasn’t interested in the car, but when it came up, he bid 20

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early on it just for fun and to drive up the bidding. He wasn’t sure of Antony’s motive, but he bid right after Sam. Antony was immediately outbid. When Sam didn’t bid again either, he leaned over and whispered, “That’s a relief.” It was Sam’s turn to laugh, but he kept it low as he knocked his shoulder against Antony’s to indicate he agreed. The shoulder was rock hard. Now Sam wondered if he was a construction worker. Maybe any dancing he did was balancing on steel girders hundreds of feet above the earth. The bidding continued to swirl around them and when it ended, the car had sold for over three hundred thousand dollars. “You could buy it from a dealer for less, but I’ve heard there’s a long wait for them.” Antony stood and stretched. Sam had won the bid on a custom-made Armani suit. Antony clapped him on the back. “I’d like to see you in it when it’s finished.” The clap and the words sent an extra rush of heat through Sam. However, after the final fitting, he’d be back in the U.S. training again, where the rinks were better and more available than in his native country. And he’d be facing the ire of his coach. Still, he said, “I’d like that.” Antony waved the tickets he’d won to an expensive and popular nightclub with a floorshow. “We can use these after this shindig’s over.” Sam frowned. “Shindig? I don’t understand.” “It’s American slang. Since this masquerade ball is a party celebrating something special—in this case, Mardi Gras—in America, we’d call it a shindig.” Sam felt his face break into a wide smile. He said, “American English is difficult, but I’m learning.” 21

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“I think you’re doing well.” As the winners presented their checks, cash or credit cards in privacy to their host’s secretary, Sam could see the chairs being removed from the ballroom and the DJ setting up for dancing. Once the secretary had left, women clustered around them, and Antony was polite and turned his dazzling smile on them, but it was clear to Sam he wasn’t interested in any of them beyond courteous exchanges. “Your girlfriend couldn’t be here?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer. The response didn’t require words. Antony’s look seemed to pierce him, even through the smoky glass. Sam gave a slight nod, but his heart rate speeded up. Competitive figure skating was rich in monetary rewards and the glow of the accomplishment of being among the best, but it was a lonely business. He was the only Frenchman at his level, and closeness with other skaters was limited. A few people knew he was gay, but his old fashioned coach was terrified it would ruin Sam’s career if it were commonly known. He hadn’t been with a man for so long he’d almost forgotten how you did it. Tonight he ached for sex with a man. Not someone picked up in a gay bar or off the street, but a safe encounter with someone he liked. He liked Antony, and he suspected that, unmasked, he’d be ruggedly handsome. How he’d look unclothed was of great interest to Sam. As the lights dimmed and people began to gyrate in their personal form of dancing, he did notice a few couples disappear and hurry upstairs. Interesting how the word bacchanalia—drunken revelry, including sexual—had slipped out of his mouth earlier. Interesting that Antony had planted in his head images of 22

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encounters of discreet fucking in guest quarters. Just what did that say about the two of them? Since neither of them had encouraged women this evening, he figured it implied they weren’t heterosexual and maybe they were both horny. Bingo! He noticed that, despite his ankle problem, Antony danced. He hooked up with some of the women, especially the woman in gold, and, at last, he came over and faced Sam, arms raised over his head, his dance moves controlled, sensual, and with just the barest hint of thrusting. Sam’s dick responded to this seduction by threatening to burgeon, and since that couldn’t be hidden by the folds of his clothing, he looked at the architecture as he danced, disciplining his thoughts away from sex. When Antony gasped and limped to a chair against the wall, Sam said, “What’s wrong?” “I need ice. I’m still recovering from ankle surgery.” “I’ll get some at the bar.” As Antony accepted the plastic bag of crushed ice wrapped in a white towel, he let his fingers linger as they touched Sam’s. Finally, he said, “Thanks. You saved my life.” “Here, let’s go into the men’s lounge where you can put your foot up.” Sam slid an arm around Antony’s waist and Antony steadied himself with a hand on Sam’s shoulder. He hopped to the lounge. “Actually, I need to pee, too,” Antony said when they were inside, looking wistfully at the door into the toileting area. Sam helped him through it and over to the trough. The wall over the urinals was painted with a mural of a vineyard with a man with only a grape leaf covering his vital parts. 23

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Sam burst out laughing. “Pretty silly, isn’t it?” Antony said. “It is. I’ll support you while you whip it out and go.” The urge to peek and take a look at Antony’s penis was overwhelming, but he couldn’t risk it. He doubted Antony would want that either. Sam turned his back and put an arm around Antony’s midsection to support him while he balanced on one foot at the urinal. That left both of Antony’s hands free to manage his costume, pants and pecker. “Done,” Antony said. Turning, he put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and hopped over to the sink to wash and dry his hands. Returning to the lounge, Antony sat on the chaise and swung his legs up. Sam sat near his feet and removed his shoe to arrange the ice over the slightly enlarged ankle. “How did you do this?” “Drove a snowmobile in a whiteout. Hit black ice and a tree. Stupid, stupid, stupid.” “It’s bad, non?” Antony shrugged. “Fitted together with pins, but it’s improving. I did some walking in town today, and it was fine until I danced too long on it. Ice and a short rest is all it’ll need and then I can go again. “Were you born in France?” “Near Toulouse. My parents still live there, but I tr—” He didn’t finish the sentence because he wanted to put figure skating and training out of his mind again. At least for this weekend. “I’m afraid I am not so good a son. I should spend more time with them.” Without being asked, Antony mentioned he only saw his mother on holidays although they lived but a few hours apart. “Married?” 24

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Surprised by the blunt question, Sam hesitated before cocking his head and answering, “Never. And you, monsieur?” “Not me. Too busy to have time for a steady relationship.” “Ah, I understand that only too well.” There was a lull in the conversation until Antony spoke again. “You know, when I was growing up, I had a huge poster of a Lamborghini on my wall. The Italian side of me thought that car was mag. Did you want the one auctioned tonight? You bid on it.” “Merde, non! I have heard not such good things about them. The car is too close to the ground for a tall woman to get in it gracefully. Not to mention how awkward it would be for a big man. Clutches wear out too fast. It takes a tank of gas just getting out of your garage to the road. Great expenses in repairs. No, I do not want the car. I bid for fun—as, I think, did you.” Antony was nodding and chuckling. “I did. They’re very sexy, but you have to be interested in design and speed to want a car like that for everyday use. I wouldn’t be surprised if tonight’s buyer was a Dubai sheikh. They have enough open road to take it out and open it up to top speed. They aren’t air conditioned, and for me that would be a big drawback if I lived on the edge of the Arabian Desert.” Sam laughed. “You know, even on the autobahn, the speed limit is only eighty. Where is the fun in owning a fast car you can’t drive fast?” “My thinking exactly. I mentioned a sheikh because I read they like them. There are places in Dubai where they clock their top speed. I thought a Lamborghini held the world record. Last I heard, one had hit almost two-twenty. In something like six seconds, the car reaches eighty from a standstill. Unbelievable.” For a moment, Sam thought of the poster on his wall when he 25

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was a teen. It had featured an American skater named Brian Boitano with an Olympic gold medal dangling from his neck. Sam’s mind snapped back to the present, away from world records of that other kind of grace and speed to say, “Non, non, non, the record’s held by the one with those marvelous doors that rise like wings”—he lifted his arms up over his head—“at twofifty-six-nineteen.” He was enjoying this discussion. He thought they both were. Antony sat up straighter. “That was the SSC Ultimate Aero II. But the production car record just set in June in Germany was by a Bugatti Veryon. The Super Sport. Two- sixty-seven-something. At least that’s what’s in the Guinness Book of World Records.” He sighed in appreciation. “A sensual vehicle—sleek and low slung, black with orange rims, bumper and runners. I watched a video of it driven at that speed. It was beautiful to watch.” The golden mask glowed in the soft lighting of the lounge, and the smile below it revealed white, even teeth and lips that were full and seemed to invite him to kiss. Sexual feelings swamped Sam and he dropped his voice low. “Do you like things fast, Antony?” In the pause that followed his question, he heard the faint rustle of clothing and wondered if Antony had slid a hand down to ensure his costume covered his groin. Sam smiled. He thought—hoped— that just possibly the Italian American’s dick was paining him the same way Sam’s suddenly was. In a husky voice, Antony answered, “Sometimes I like things fast. It depends on what and when. And with whom.” Sam was grateful for his mask. His play on words had been risky. What if their sexual fantasies of their bare cocks rubbing together and mouths licking tips weren’t the same? Sudden fear and embarrassment sent him to his feet. “Now I think I’ll take a 26

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leak, as you Americans say.” He hurried into the bagno, away from temptation. *

*

*

Good Lord, what am I doing? I must be so hurt and horny that I’m reading an invitation to fuck into an ordinary conversation between new acquaintances about cars. How nuts is that? He didn’t bother to answer himself. He’d mentioned the poster of the Lamborghini on his wall in boyhood, but not that of Canadian Wayne Gretsky, the greatest ice hockey player of all time. Sadness and anger threatened to edge in to ruin his evening. He drew in a deep breath and pushed his emotions away. The pack had transferred most of its coldness to his ankle, which was feeling good again, so he pulled it off and slid into his shoe. He opened the plastic bag and poured the melted ice into a glass sink set in a marble counter, then folded the towel neatly. He was standing when Sam returned. “Ah, you’re feeling better,” Sam exclaimed in what seemed genuine pleasure. “I am. Thanks for your help. I’ll have to admit it’s the first time I’ve peed in front of a stranger.” Sam’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh, really?” Since guys spent a good part of their lives peeing next to strangers in public toilets, and it was an absolute taboo to peek at the penis of the guy on either side, they both laughed. As they left the lounge and returned to the dance floor, he leaned over and spoke in Sam’s ear. “I need you to do a favor for me, if you will, please.” “And that is—” 27

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“Invite the woman in blue over there—the one with the ridiculous headdress—to dine with us. She’s American. I met her on the gondola. I plan to ask the woman in gold. She’s the one I partnered in the medieval dances.” “What—” “I’ll explain later. It’s very important or I wouldn’t ask. After we leave here tonight, if you’re interested in going to a great show at an exclusive nightclub, I’ll tell you there.” Once Sam learned who Antony was, he might figure it out on his own. Well, not the part about the entailment or his uncle’s demand he marry this year, but he’d certainly understand his wish to appear straight. Even if he was out himself and didn’t approve. Or so Antony hoped. “Are those the tickets you won in the auction for tonight?” Antony nodded, his pulses pounding in his neck under the velvet hood as he awaited Sam’s answer. “Not a problem. I’m always up for a good mystery.” His grin not only charmed, it was infectious. Antony smiled back, and they headed for the dance floor as coconspirators. When the time arrived, he’d just ended a dance with the woman in gold, and she’d accepted his invitation just before another man reached her. Antony saw the other man’s eyes glitter and his mouth purse in annoyance that he’d been beaten out. Antony felt a pang of sympathy and a tinge of guilt because he was being dishonest with the lady, but it couldn’t be helped. The stakes were too high. Antony sat at table with Pam, the woman in gold, on his left and Nancy, the one in blue, on his right. He smiled as he heard Sam say in English, “You have an American accent. I’ve been in America. Are you from New York, by any chance, Nancy?” 28

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Interesting, Antony thought. So Sam has traveled enough to recognize both my accent and the New Yorker’s. I wonder why he’s been to the U.S. He might be wealthy or maybe he has a business that takes him there. If he does have a business, it’s strange he didn’t say anything about it when I mentioned I lived there. He only spoke of how busy he is. A costumed waiter filled their water goblets. A second one followed with wine. “I think I may know who you are.” Pam tugged at Antony’s arm to get his attention. They were all speaking in English now. It was one language they all understood to one degree or another. Shocked, he stiffened. Then, realizing the unmasking wasn’t far off so if she’d guessed his identity at this point it didn’t matter, he relaxed and smiled. “Really?” “Yes, I think you’re an actor. On television.” He held his breath and waited, but she didn’t continue. He realized Sam was suddenly very still. “Aren’t we all actors tonight?” Antony suggested in the silence that followed. He watched her mouth tighten and guessed his response had squelched any ideas she’d had about his identity. “Well—” Sam leaned in and around Nancy to be part of the conversation. “Exactement. Until the stroke of midnight, we are merely playing roles, are we not?” Nancy giggled. She leaned back in her chair to allow the waiter to serve her salad. “Of course, we are. And it’s so much fun”—she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial tone—“to be a part of. How many married men do you think are hiding behind their masks and escorting someone who isn’t their wife?” “What do you want to bet those are the faces we’ll never see?” 29

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Sam laughed. “Watch for people slipping out the door just before the unmasking,” Antony added. “We could even have some who are princes seeking a princess,” Pam said, playing the game. “Or perhaps you are a princess looking for your prince,” Nancy added. “Personally, I believe the man who outbid everyone on the car is a Dubai sheikh,” Antony pitched in, hoping to steer away from princesses and men cheating on their wives. “You think when he removes his headdress and mask he’ll be wearing one of those red- and-white checkered things around his head?” Nancy asked, her blue eyes sparkling behind the eyeholes in her mask. “Right. Those are called agals, and it wouldn’t surprise me to see one.” The corners of Sam’s mouth lifted in a smile as he looked straight into the smoky lenses of Antony’s mask. He lifted the crystal dish of bleu cheese dressing and ladled it liberally on his salad. A waiter appeared with a pepper mill, and he nodded. The rough sound of grinding peppercorns filled the lull in the conversation. Antony stared at the black flakes cascading onto the dressing. The sharp smell of the dressing and the pepper made his mouth water. “Now you—you are French.” Pam pointed to Sam with her fork as a waiter offered her hot rolls in a silver basket. “Guilty. I am from Toulouse. Will you guillotine me for that sin?” They laughed and dug their forks into their salads. At last, when the final crumb of the chocolate raspberry dessert had been eaten and the coffee cups emptied, it was time for a final 30

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dance and then the unmasking. As Antony pulled Pam’s chair out for her, he whispered, “What did I tell you? See those people dressed in russet and black? They’re leaving.” She gasped and brought a hand to her throat as she watched the couple headed for the door. They were his father’s friends, who had been married forever. The hour was late for them, and they were going home to the comfort of their beds, but Pam would have no way of knowing this. Antony felt very Puckish as he teased her. Sam had overheard him, and he was speaking in a low voice to Nancy, whose head turned to look, too. Antony wished he could laugh at the joke he was playing. As it was, when he met Sam’s eyes, it was all he could do to keep his smile from turning into laughter. Sam’s lips were trembling as he fought for control. Somehow he sensed Antony was playing a trick on the two women, but how he’d figured it out Antony didn’t know. They escorted the ladies to the dance floor. They were playing a waltz, and Antony bent slightly from his waist. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?” She almost swooned in his arms. Antony hoped the video had caught that moment. It would please Zio. The dance had not finished when the mahogany antique grandfather clock in the room began to strike … The musicians stopped playing. “Two, three,” the guests counted. At the twelfth stroke, all over the room the sounds of elastic bands snapping could be heard as masks were removed. Then 31

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murmurs broke out as identities were discovered. “Jesus, you’re Antony Veneto,” Pam gasped. “At your service,” Antony said. “Your Italian is too good for you to be anything but Italian, but your name is?” “Pamela Bruggio. I live in Bologna. Do you live in this beautiful place?” “No, I live in the United States, but I visit Uncle Veneto when I can. He has no children, and he especially enjoys it if I’m here for carnivale.” Nearby, he heard Sam say, “How lovely you are, Miss Nancy from New York City. It’s been a pleasure.” Nancy replied, “I’m not sure how it’s said in French, Monsieur D’Avala, but you are one ooh-la-la good looking guy.” Antony drew in a sharp breath. He could see Sam, and he was so handsome it snatched his breath away. They were approaching Pam and Antony, when Nancy squealed. “You were right! Look at that man over there.” She nodded toward a man who had removed both mask and hood and was wearing an agal. “That’s the costume that won the bid on the Lamborghini,” Pam said, as delighted as Nancy. Addressing Antony, she asked, “How did you know? Do you know him?” Antony was grateful Pam hadn’t squealed. He didn’t like attention being called to him. He shrugged. “Don’t know him, but wouldn’t have recognized him in costume even if I did. It was a hunch because I know the Dubai sheikhs like that make of car.” Sam said, “They have a lot of open road to drive a car that hits over two hundred twenty miles an hour.” “Good heavens, I didn’t know any car had that kind of speed. I thought it was all about showing off your wealth and attracting 32

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chicks,” Nancy said. “Er, girls,” she added. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m pooped,” Pam interrupted. “Time for bed. Anyone want a nightcap?” “Not me. I’ve had way too much already,” Nancy said. The men declined, too, and they escorted the ladies to their rooms and thanked them for a lovely evening. “We’ll see you at brunch tomorrow?” “I’ll be there,” Antony said. “Of course,” added Sam. Once the door had closed on the last woman, Sam turned to him. “So you’re Antony Veneto.” Antony smiled. “Yes, come up to my rooms. I need to take Ibuprofen before we go to the club. I think we’ll just make the last show.”

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CHAPTER 3 Sam followed Antony up the stairs. He smiled and let a little sigh of pleasure escape him as he watched the sway of narrow hips underneath the velvet, and took in the muscular calves below the knees. On the third landing, Antony stopped to rest his ankle. “Uncle should have put in an elevator of some kind a long time ago. When I was small, I used to ride the dumbwaiter up. Too soon, I no longer fit in it. ” “He could install one of those chairs that roll up and down stairs electronically.” “I know. I couldn’t be here last year, and I didn’t realize how frail he was getting. Seeing him now makes me wonder how much longer he can manage these steps. His suite and that of my mother are on the top floor with mine. I think I should push for a chair lift. 34

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Mama will help convince him, I think. Certainly he can afford it.” Sam was eager to be in a room alone with Antony. When he was, his intake of breath was fast and sharp. “This is elegant,” he said. Antony sighed. “I know. Not exactly my style, but beautiful with the antiques and silk rugs and draperies.” “And the view right out over the canal and the opposite streets and buildings.” “Pretty incredible, isn’t it? When it’s warmer, the balcony is great. I will admit, there’s something special about this palazzo. And the others built in this time period.” He was rummaging in a drawer and came up with a bottle of tablets marked ibuprofen. “I see a beautiful painting of that very view, but I don’t see a poster of a Lamborghini,” Sam teased. “The painting’s about all you see of the boy I was. My dad’s an American, so we lived there.” “You don’t mean you painted it, do you?” “Yeah. I did.” “Do you realize how good it is?” Antony shrugged. He tossed two tablets in his mouth and poured water from a painted porcelain pitcher sitting next to a matching bowl. “Want a bottle of cold water?” Sam shook head. “But your name is Veneto?” “Dad left us when I was five and he never came back into our lives, so my mother took back her maiden name. I haven’t seen him since then. We’re not sure where he is. Once I graduated high school, the childcare money stopped coming in. He did pay some alimony until Mama remarried when I was twenty. It was barely enough for her to live on. I suspect Luciano helped out at times.” Sam sensed no longing from Antony to know the man who had 35

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sired him, but an ache spread through him at the thought of growing up without a father. Especially one who showed no interest in you, even though he supported you and your mother financially. Guilt money, he thought. You know you’re a bastard for deserting them, so sending money salves your conscience. Antony had probably figured you take what you can get and so had let go of his father. Sam wanted to hug the man before him and drive away the ache he suspected Antony must secretly feel. Antony pushed back his hood, and dark brown hair with golden highlights tumbled out. He ran a brush through his hair. “God, but that feels good. We’ll need our half masks, but the hoods can go.” He handed the brush to Sam. “Want to use it?” Sam freed his head from the hood and ran the brush through his sandy blond hair. Amazing how intimate just sharing his brush felt. “I might have known you were blond,” Antony said in a quiet voice. “Oh?” The need to touch Antony had been so strong all evening that Sam couldn’t resist tipping up the man’s face now. “And then there’re your eyes. Now I understand the reason for the smoky lenses in your mask. Anyone who knew you would guess on the spot who you were just because of these remarkable eyes.” Antony looked down, his composure seeming to evaporate at the compliment. Sam ran his finger with a light touch along the scar he’d seen peeking from beneath the half mask. “The accident?” Antony nodded. “It gives you character.” Without thinking, Sam framed Antony’s face with his hands and leaned in to press his lips on his eyelids, closing them. 36

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Antony let out a slow breath and rested his hands on Sam’s hips. Sam boldly sought the lips he’d wanted to taste all evening. Antony’s response was immediate. He slid his hands around to Sam’s butt and pulled him hard against him. He opened his mouth, and when Sam’s opened in pleasure and surprise, his tongue dived in. They tasted and explored heat and wetness, tongues twisting, then penetrating with the foretaste of sex, hot and steamy. Lust ignited in Sam’s groin and, hungry to satisfy it, he fought to find a way into Antony’s pants to touch the thick cock rubbing against his. With a groan, Antony reached under his top and pushed his pants down enough his erection could spring free. They both stared as it landed in Sam’s hand. The blue veins on his cock were distended, mapping the way to an almost purple crown. “Rub me,” Antony said, in a strangled his voice. Sam’s pulse raced as, one-handed, he freed his own cock. The minute Antony’s warm hand closed around it, he began to tremble with the need to feel more and lose himself in the feelings. When Antony released him and pulled his hand away, Sam uttered a firm “No,” as the warmth and pressure of the hand disappeared. He reached for Antony’s hand and sought to guide it back to his oozing, aching hard-on. “Wait. We’ll ruin our costumes. I have condoms.” In seconds, they’d stripped, velvet falling to the ground in a silent settling of black and cerulean, while stockings, boots and shoes joined it with a thud. Antony pushed Sam until he fell back on the bed, and Antony unrolled the thin latex sheath over him and pressed another into Sam’s hand. Antony leaned down, and Sam felt heat as Antony stroked his balls with a light touch, gently 37

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squeezing before kissing them. Then he licked, his tongue circling each globe. “I can’t get enough of you,” Antony said as his hot breath laved the sac even as his mouth did. “All night I’ve wanted to fuck you so bad I couldn’t stand it. I guessed I’d have had to jerk off if you weren’t gay, if you hadn’t wanted this, too.” He knelt and straddled Sam, jutting out his cock. Sam sheathed him, bringing a gasp from Antony. “Did it feel that good for you?” Sam knew it was a rhetorical question. Antony took his cock in his hand and traced Sam’s belly button with it, pushing its crown into the shallow dip. Sam pulled Antony onto him, and as soon as Antony’s body covered his, they kissed open-mouthed as they pressed and rocked their cocks together in frenzied mating. The room rang with the little moans of their lovemaking as they strained to drain every ounce of pleasure out of the act. Sam felt Antony go onto his elbows as he pressed his groin as hard as possible against Sam’s. Sam knew he was on the verge of exploding, and wanting to heighten it for his lover and push him over the edge, he reached around and ran his hands up and down Antony’s damp skin, tracing each vertebra as he worked his way to the valley between his buns and found his hole. He circled the sensitive skin and sent the tip of his middle finger just inside the opening. With a cry, Antony came. Fingering Antony was sending Sam up to the edge, too. He grabbed the firm, muscular globes of Anthony’s ass and pushed up, pushed up, until he reached the apex and went into freefall. His heart was still pounding as they lay together in the aftermath, and Sam, unsure of how things stood and wondering if 38

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Antony regretted the interlude, said, “What’s next?” Antony rolled off and laughed. “I don’t know about you, but I damn sure want to do this again. What’s next, however, is the show at the club. Then loving maybe later.” “I guess we should begin by cleaning up and getting dressed,” Sam said with a smile. “Excellent advice,” Antony said. Condoms discarded, and cocks once more clean, Sam stared down at the jumble of shoes and clothing on the floor. “Well, we didn’t ruin our costumes. They may be a little wrinkled, but they aren’t stained.” Dressed, they hurried down the stairs, masks hanging from their arms. Sam retrieved his cloak from his room, and Antony his from the cloakroom. Sam felt Antony go rigid as he turned to don his wrap. Luciano Veneto stood near the door, talking with a friend. He turned toward them, and the friend left. “Going out at this hour, figlio?” Antony stood, as if frozen in time. In that moment, Sam realized the older Veneto didn’t know Antony was gay. There should have been nothing wrong with two guys headed out for the evening, but Antony’s guilt was working overtime. To cover up and get Antony moving again, he said, “You do have the tickets, don’t you?” “Si, I have them. Zio, I’d like you to meet one of our guests, Sam D’Avala. Sam, this is my uncle, Luciano Veneto.” Sam shook hands. “It’s been a wonderful evening, Signor Veneto.” Luciano smiled. “My pleasure, I’m sure.” Antony moved again, pulling the tickets from his pocket and 39

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waving them at his uncle. “We’re using the tickets I won tonight.” “The young lady you were with?” Sam sensed a bit of suspicion in the older man’s tone. “Too tired. She wanted only her bed. I will see her tomorrow at the brunch.” “Yes, we’ll see both of the lovely ladies for champagne and brunch tomorrow,” Sam added, hoping it helped. “Enjoy,” Luciano said with a smile. Sam nodded as they wrapped themselves in their cloaks. “Don’t forget your masks,” his uncle admonished. As if we needed reminding, Sam thought in amusement. Luciano sounded like Sam’s mother. He liked that about him. He obviously cared for his nephew. With a flourish, they slid them on in front of him, then stepped into the night with a swish of dark velvet and boarded one of the waiting gondolas that Signor Veneto had obviously hired to convey his guests around Venice. “Your ankle,” Sam said as they took their seats. “The gondolier will let us out not too far from the club, and we’ll be sitting while we’re there. The pills have kicked in, so I’m more comfortable now.” Sam said, keeping his voice so low only Antony could hear, “He doesn’t know.” Antony, his jaw tight in the lamplight from the dock, shut his eyes as if in pain and nodded. “Mama does, but not Uncle.” The only sound was the water swishing as the gondolier’s paddle pushed the boat into a glide through it. “You love him.” “He’s been the only father I’ve really known.” Sam touched his shoulder. “Sad.” 40

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“Yes. But my father’s absence and what I am has made me stronger.” “I believe it.” Antony laughed, and there was a bitter edge to his laugh. “Well, at least until I smashed my dumb ankle.” “You said you have a business.” “Yes, I design clothing for athletically active people. Yesterday, I wore my ankle out setting up sales outlets here.” “Considering the talent in that painting in your room, design seems to be one of your strengths.” Antony looked away and said nothing. Sam puzzled over this, but just then the gondola pulled between two rows of gold capped, red-and-white striped poles, and they disembarked. Antony tipped the gondolier and made arrangements for him to return for them at a certain time. They followed a stone walkway toward a building with a bright blue neon sign reading Nine O’Clock Club in Italian. Antony stumbled and swore. “Watch it. There’s a lot of debris here, and I tripped over some. They must be renovating these buildings.” Sam picked his way through the rubble, and they safely entered the subdued lighting of the club. At the coat check desk, a blonde with deep cleavage blinked her long lashes as she greeted them with a smile. “Mr. Veneto, so glad to see you. Who’s your friend?” “Good evening, Brenda. Meet Sam. Sam, this is Brenda,” Antony said, and flashed a smile. Sam figured that charming smile would just about melt her insides. It had his the first time he’d been its focus. They slid their cloaks onto the counter and pocketed the 41

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receipts she gave them. Antony signaled Sam to follow him to the small theater. He handed their tickets in at the door. “The only seats together are at the top, I believe,” the young usher said in a hushed voice. He glanced up. The seats rose amphitheater style from one side of the stage. Sure enough, only the top two rows were empty. The house lights went out. Sam and Antony made their way to the top in the dark. The stage lights went up and the curtains opened the moment they sat down. “Every seat here is good,” Antony whispered as he removed his mask and took hold of Sam’s hand. He moved over in his seat until his thigh was against Sam’s. Sam squeezed his hand. Jesus, but I’m happy tonight, he thought as he removed his mask. The stage production wasn’t a play. It featured a scantily clad but famous female singer backed by a band and joined by male dancers. Sam forgot to listen to the singer or watch her prance. His gaze was glued to the men as they performed intricate choreography, their black stretch trousers molding firm butts and packages as they flexed, crouched and leaped. There was so much of figure skating in this… the spins and leaps, every movement matching the rhythm of the music. He settled back to enjoy it. Their chests were bare, denuded of hair, and every muscle was on display. From the waist up, all they wore were neon blue suspenders. They exuded sex. The heteros would think it was for the women, but some of the gay men in the audience would see the blatant movements as an invitation to fuck. They’d love it. Sam’s dick and balls began to tingle. He was grateful it was a contemporary routine and not ballet, where leotards would be taut over junk bulging beneath protective cups. That would’ve caused 42

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him to lose control and come completely undone. Might have had a wet dream right here in his pants. Antony’s hand slid over and cupped the bulge beneath Sam’s costume. His breath was hot as his touched Sam’s ear. He nipped his lobe as he whispered, “I thought you’d like the show. I see you do.” He pulled Sam’s hand over his own hard-on and pushed it down, moving it in light circles. The rub of his uninjured foot across the shoe of Sam’s boot at the same time was subtle, but sent its own message of heat and sex. “Antony,” Sam protested, his voice low and husky. Antony withdrew his hand. “Later, then.” Passion blazed, and Sam knew he couldn’t wait until later. He heard Antony’s quick intake of breath as he slid his hand under the velvet tunic and found the elastic waistband of the pants. Antony’s hands clutched the armrests, straining to contain his restlessness. Sam was glad the row in front of them was empty as he dipped inside Antony’s trousers and found the wet hardness in its velvety skin. He put his thumb to work on the fat tip. As he felt Antony move slightly in invitation, he used his index finger and thumb to slide up and down that sensitive crown. He leaned over and slipped his tongue into Antony’s ear, feeling him shiver at his touch. “I’ll do all the work. Hold the noise.” Stroking and tugging noiselessly, he felt Antony’s tremors, felt his sudden stillness and knew orgasm was near. Antony put his hand around Sam’s head and drew him in for a kiss. The only sound he made as he climaxed was a small gasp against Sam’s open mouth. Sam felt the satisfying spurt, spurt, spurt of spunk in his hand. 43

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They clung together for a moment until Antony’s spasms had subsided, and then Sam made a fist of his hand and slowly withdrew it. All thoughts of return sex for him were gone as he pondered how to get rid of the deposit he was guarding with such care. Soon its pungent odor would give them away, and since Antony was known here, at least by the coat check girl if not others, he needed to protect him. Antony whispered, “Exit behind us. Men’s room on this floor to the right.” As the music pounded and the singer stepped into another dance routine with the men, Sam slipped quietly from his seat. He found the lounge and a private stall where he cleaned off the jism and flushed it away. Alone, he washed his hands at the sink, smiling because he’d pulled it off. Antony had been sexually satisfied, and his secret was safe. Returning to his seat, the two of them sat like angels and enjoyed the rest of the show. As the show let out, many patrons went into the club to dance, but Antony didn’t want to make his ankle flare up again, so they had a drink at the bar before heading out. “Enjoy the show?” Brenda asked. Antony looked at Sam, and a muscle in his cheek twitched as he said, “Very much, thank you. We enjoyed it very much.” They slid their tickets to her in return for their cloaks, wrapped themselves once more against the night chill and slid their masks into place. Outside, with the door clicking shut behind them, they doubled over with laughter. Still laughing, but now walking toward the gondola stop, they were startled when three men wearing ski masks boldly stepped out of the darkness in front of them. 44

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Antony, who was ahead of Sam, stopped. It took Sam a split second to recognize the men weren’t revelers. Their bodies gave away their hostile intention to hurt them. Antony threw out his hand in a gesture warning the strangers to stop. He then had a rapid exchange in Italian with them that Sam only partly understood. When the men didn’t back off, Sam knew they intended to rough them up out of pure meanness before robbing them. The men split up, circling them. Sam backed up against the wall, feeling helpless. Neither he nor Antony was armed, and fear poured through him at the thought of what an injury could do to his skating career. He bent and picked up a brick from the rubble. Antony undid his cloak and flung it away. Sam watched one man charge Antony with a knife, just as Antony crouched and picked up a long, narrow board. Antony stood and, bending a little at the waist for balance, he began attacking, taking almost gliding steps toward the charging ruffian, sweeping the board back and forth, aimed at the man’s feet and ankles. No matter which direction the man moved, he couldn’t get away from the relentless sweep of the advancing board. Because he couldn’t get close enough to the masked man who’d flung his cloak away, the knife in the thug’s hand was useless. A second man joined the first, attempting to converge on Antony, but Antony swiveled his body in a tight arc and began to threaten both men. Antony held the stick with his left hand on the top end of the board and his right midway down. There was something lethal about the constant motion of Antony’s body with his stick, the way his feet glided and his body swayed. 45

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Sam watched, fascinated, until the third man lurched past him toward Antony. Sam spun toward him and leaped forward, bringing the brick down on the villain’s head with all his might before he could pass him. He watched in amazed satisfaction as the guy crumpled and lay quiet. Blessed Mother, don’t let me have killed him. He crossed himself. A scream rent the air. Sam grabbed up another brick and turned toward Antony. One of the toughs lay on the ground, crying and holding one of his legs. The man left standing turned tail and ran. “What did you do—break his leg?” Sam cried as he ran to Antony. “Hurry,” Antony yelled as he grabbed his cloak from ground and pointed to the gondola just docking. Sam dropped his brick and ran. He didn’t need to hear it twice. Antony raced with him, not discarding his stick until they’d reached the dock. He dropped it there and, breathless, they clamored into the boat. “Quick,” Antony ordered, looking back. “Some thugs jumped us.” The gondolier didn’t need to hear that twice either. With a splash, he dipped his oar in earnest and the gondola skimmed across the dark water and down the canal until it turned out of sight of the nightclub. When they hadn’t heard any signs of pursuit, Antony told the gondolier he could slow down. Sam sat back and relaxed, giving his heart a chance to slow down. “There’s very little crime in Venice,” Antony said. “I was totally unprepared for that.” “I almost shit my pants I was so scared. I’m not any good with 46

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my fists, but I discovered I can wield a mean brick in time of need.” They laughed until tears ran down their cheeks, and gradually Sam felt his body settle down. “Since I was in front, I was the first one they zeroed in on. I saw that knife, but didn’t have time to be scared. And, to answer your question, I hope I didn’t break the guy’s leg—although it would’ve served him right. I did try to seriously bruise his shinbone. That’s one of the bones that has no padding. I was counting on stirring up all the nerve endings in the lining over it. Those nerve endings are one reason they wear shin guards in soccer and hockey.” Sam nodded. “As a kid, I stepped on the base of a metal dolly that flipped the handle up and struck my collarbone. No padding there either. I writhed on the ground just like that man did.” When the shallow boat docked at the palazzo, Antony tipped the boatman double. “Come up to my room?” “Sure. From the way you’re beginning to limp again, you may need my help climbing four flights of stairs.” Once inside Antony’s room, they peeled off their masks for the final time. Sam unzipped his boots, and Antony knelt to pull them off. Sam wiggled his toes in relief. Then he insisted Antony sit down. He pulled a hassock over and sat on it while he removed Antony shoes. He rested the sore ankle on his thigh and began to massage it with a light touch. Antony let out a long, slow breath and rested his head against the back of the overstuffed chair he was in and shut his eyes. “Am I hurting you?” “No, you’re sending me to heaven.” 47

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“Do you have lotion or liniment or something I can use for this?” “Medicine cupboard. Bathroom.” Sam opened the cupboard and was surprised to see many of the same items he stocked in his first aid drawer. There were BandAids in all sizes and shapes, stretchy wraps for sprains, white athletic tape to strap ankles and wrists, finger splints. He found a foot balm that smelled pleasantly of menthol and eucalyptus, and to his surprise another herbal cream called Dit Da Jiao, commonly used for healing bruises and other injuries by practitioners of kung fu and jiu jitsu. That was the cream he selected. He tossed a towel over his shoulder and returned to the bedroom. He held up the jar. “This okay?” Antony nodded, placing his foot once again on Sam’s thigh but now on the towel. Sam reached under the tight edge of his knee pants and slowly peeled down the black silk stocking and let it fall to the floor. He sucked in air when he saw the bare ankle. “I’m surprised you can walk on it.” Antony shrugged. “Looks worse than it is. The incision’s no longer as red, and the swelling’s almost gone. That it tolerated as much abuse as it did today and isn’t worse thrills me, believe me.” Sam put small dabs of the cool cream on Antony’s foot. Using his thumbs, he worked them in with gentle, circular movements. In the silence, he massaged the joints of each toe and ran his knuckles the length of the bottom of Antony’s foot, knowing how good that would feel because of the thread-like nerve running there. He could feel muscles and ligaments relax as he worked. The foot he held wasn’t a delicate one—it matched the man who owned it, and it had its share of calluses. 48

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“Put your other foot up here,” he said. When he’d stripped it of its stocking, he couldn’t believe how beautiful it was. This ankle wasn’t small. The foot wasn’t small. Just as the man wasn’t. For good measure, he worked on it after he’d finished with the other. Breaking the comfortable silence, he said, “Aren’t feet amazing? They’re so flexible and resilient; they’re the body’s shock absorber. They’re also the propulsion engine for everything I do as a competitive figure skater.” He felt Antony stiffen. The tawny eyes with their brown flecks flew open and stared at him, but there was no warmth in the gaze. “You skate?” Sam felt uncomfortable in the silence that followed. “I don’t really follow it, but I’ve never heard of a Sam D’Avala,” Antony said. “Samuel’s my first name. My friends call me Sam, but because I skate for France, the skating world knows me as Philippe… my middle name.” Antony put his hands over his eyes, and Sam felt a chill form in his belly. Antony rubbed his forehead with his fingers and then pushed his hair back as if in some kind of distress. “Are you okay?” Sam asked as Antony swung his feet down and stood. There was sadness in Antony’s face that made Sam’s chest ache. “I hurt you, didn’t I?” Antony sat in his lap, wrapped his arms around him and dropped his head on Sam’s shoulder. “No, I’ve felt wonderful ever since I saw you dance down the line in that one medieval dance. Then, when you followed me onto the balcony, I wondered then if there’d be something between us. When you danced, I thought you felt the music, sensed its rhythms. I suspect you’re the kind of skater who skates to the music and not just to the routine?” 49

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Sam leaned his head over until it touched Antony’s. “The music is everything. You rarely reach the top unless your skating expresses the soul of the music.” “And are you at the top?” He smiled. “Not yet. Know what I was supposed to be polishing this weekend?” “What?” “A quadruple jump. The pressure got to me, which is why I’m here playing hooky. Coach is going to be furious when I call him.” The weight over his dick, the slight shifting as Antony spoke, shot an instant craving for sex through him. He lifted his hips and rocked, sending a message to Anthony with his already fat and ready cock. Antony stood. “Take off your clothes for me. I want to see you naked again. I want to see your cock knocking against your belly and feel it in my hands just as you felt me in the dark theater.” Sam captured his mouth hard and drove his tongue against those full lips until the door opened, and he could get inside. “I need a little,” he said. “You had it all.” Antony’s voice was warm as he laughed low and husky. “Oh, I’d say you got a little something yourself.” Sam would have thrown his head back and laughed as he thought of his hand wet and sticky with pungent jism, but he was too busy pulling his costume top over his head and doing the same with Antony’s. He closed his eyes as Antony’s hands explored him, palms and fingertips kneading his chest muscles and tweaking his nipples until they stood at attention, as his tongue tasted the skin at his throat and the curve where it met his shoulder. When he reached for Antony to hurry the process, Antony’s breath was warm against 50

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his lips as he said, “No,” and pushed Sam’s hands down at his sides. His hands and mouth caravanned across and around Sam’s body, squeezing, tripping, pleasuring. Stopping here and there in their journey. Antony knelt and pressed his hot mouth to Sam’s feet and licked, flicking between his toes and sucking each one in turn. “I noticed your feet first. I wanted to yank off those boots and see them, taste them. You have very sexy feet.” “Never made love with someone with a foot fetish before,” Sam said. His voice cracked from the desire spiraling through those feet and upward. “Maybe you could move up just a little?” Antony’s laugh was husky as he licked his way up to Sam’s inner thighs, while his fingertips danced on the skin behind Sam’s knees. Those knees threatened to give way when Antony’s hand balanced his sensitive sac in his palm and he blew warm breath over it. He threaded a finger through the sandy curls at the base of his erection, and Sam couldn’t repress a gasp and a moan when Antony sucked the tip of his cock and tongued the slit. Sam captured his head on either side. “I can’t take much more, Antony. Are you close to ready? ” Antony stood and pointed to the thin, silvery thread of pre-cum spinning from his cock. Wrapping his hands around Sam’s butt and pulling him hard against him, he asked, “All the way?” Sam’s throat had almost closed down he wanted him so much. All he could manage was a nod. Before he’d finished the nod, he looked down to see Antony’s hands ripping a packet apart and unrolling a condom over him. He slid a tube of cream into Sam’s hand and lay on the bed. “Have me any way you want.” 51

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Sam rolled him over and began a quick journey of his own over the heavily muscled frame until he reached tight butt cheeks and the opening he so wanted to penetrate. He held himself in check as his fingers tiptoed around the hole, stroked over it and then penetrated it with one, two and then three lubed fingers. The small sounds of pleasure and need Antony made, the way he lifted his ass in invitation caused fire to flare deep in Sam’s cock. When Sam finally rubbed the lube over the tight muscle guarding the hole, it was all he could do not to shove his hot cock inside in one powerful thrust. Instead, he entered with care, inching in to Antony’s moans and waiting for the first and then the second muscle to relax and let him in all the way. He paused for a split second and pulled back, letting the tender underside of his tip rub against the tight muscles again. When Antony helped by pushing against him to aid him in driving in deeper, he threw control to the winds. They rode the roller coaster, pumped harder and harder until they reached the crest and plunged down into an orgasm that shook Sam’s emotions as well as his body to the core. They lay locked together in silence for a moment and then Sam slid out. When they’d recovered, they showered together, and Sam said, “You forgot to tell me why we had to ask those women to sit with us at dinner.” So Antony told him. “You mother knows you’re gay, but not this man who was the father you didn’t have.” It was a simple statement. Antony nodded, hands working a foamy shampoo that filled the bathroom with the fresh scent of spring into his hair. “Are you out?” Sam explained his situation. “I don’t know why my coach is so 52

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concerned. Three of the top men’s skaters have been openly gay. I’ve never hidden it from my friends or family, but I haven’t declared it. I think it’s ridiculous to make a statement, unless that’s what you want to do. I’m quiet enough I have no interest in it.” “I’ve even thought of marrying the blond to make him happy.” Shock reverberated through Sam, but he gentled his voice as he rinsed shampoo from his own hair. “You’d lie to her? What would you do about sex with her?” Antony shuddered. “Now that you put it that way, I couldn’t do either.” “But you care deeply for this uncle and are content to live this lie with him.” Once again, Sam stated the obvious. “I’ve painted myself into a corner, haven’t I?” With the warm water coursing over them, Sam leaned in and angled his slippery lips over Antony’s. “I think you’ll figure out how to unpaint it.” In a change of subjects, he added, “Will you come see me in the U.S.?” “In the U.S.?” “Oui, during the competitive season I live in a mountain village called Eagle’s Cry, inland from Los Angeles. The Ice Palace is an excellent practice rink. Other top skaters use it. Where do you live?” “Near the ocean. In the Los Angeles area.” “Parfait. We can meet.” Antony was silent, and Sam couldn’t guess what was going on in his mind. The obvious reason for the silence was he didn’t want to continue this relationship. It was just a holiday interlude. Then again, perhaps Sam had been too blunt with him. They may have shared some very intimate sex, but they barely knew each other. Since he didn’t read minds, Sam would just have to see how it 53

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played out. Once out of the shower, Antony dressed in his nightwear. “Stay with me the rest of the”—he glanced at the clock—“shit, the rest of the morning?” “That would cause gossip, would it not? I think that is not the way you wish your uncle to learn you prefer men.” He hugged Antony. “So… we’ll keep up this pretence at brunch. What time do we meet the ladies?”

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CHAPTER 4 During brunch, Antony found himself sending smiles and charm Pam’s way while surreptitiously glancing at Sam, laughing at his jokes, and enjoying the warmth the sight of him created in his chest. That he was being two-faced bothered him, as he suspected Sam’s phony attention to Nancy bothered Sam, but they had little choice. Zio had ordered a round table for eight set up to include Antony and his friends, himself, an older woman friend, and two men, one of whom was the sheikh who’d won the Lamborghini. “Zio, I’d like you to meet my friends.” Antony introduced them to his uncle and then his uncle to his friends. Luciano did the honors with the others at the table. Fortunately, Antony’s foursome had the good sense not to 55

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mention how they’d joked about the agal under the costume headdress. They politely avoided staring at the sheikh’s kandura, the full-length white shirt he was dressed in. Antony watched the diners and when he believed most had finished, he rose to toast his uncle, thanking him on behalf of the guests for a wonderful taste of medieval Venice and carnivale and the opportunity to support such worthwhile charities. The guests stood, and the dining hall was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and wine and the ring of crystal glasses touching rims. Antony lifted the pale, bubbly liquid first to his uncle and then to the guests before sipping. There were a few sneezes triggered by the liquid’s bubbles. There was lighthearted laughter over this. Next, his uncle stood and proposed his toast to them, and the glasses once again clinked. He thanked them for attending and for their largesse in bidding—here he recognized the sheikh with a smiling nod—and told them they were free to leave. Antony and Sam accompanied the ladies to their rooms and carried their bags down. The women waved with a, “See you next year,” and the men smiled and waved back. “They were nice, but I’m relieved to see them go. Come,” Antony said to Sam, eager to be alone with him again. “Let me take you on a tour of the canals and the real Venice. We can stop at Armani’s if you wish to be measured for your suit.” He hired a private gondola, so he and Sam could sit close together and hold hands. At Armani’s, he sat on a leather couch and waited as Sam selected fabric and was measured. Mid-afternoon, Antony paid the gondolier to wait while they ate in an authentic pizzeria with a stone oven and real Italian pizza. 56

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They washed it down with a light rosé. For dessert, Antony took him up the street to a gelateria, where they had scoops of the frozen Italian dessert in waffle cones topped by tall swirls of whipped cream. Sam rubbed his stomach. “That was wonderful, but I hope I can get airborne at the next quad practice.” They strolled through a few more shops and then it was time to return to the palazzo. As they wandered down a narrow, deserted street, Antony yanked him in and pressed his lips hard against Sam’s. He squeezed his firm butt and pulled him against him, wanting to burn the memory of the feel of his body against his into his senses and mind. Sam responded immediately by wrapping his arms around him and returning his kiss. At the sound of footsteps, they stepped apart and strolled toward the main street. It wasn’t someone entering their street, but only making his way at the cross street. Still, Antony knew it was time to go. Back in the palazzo, Antony joined Sam in his room, watching his quick hands—remembering how they’d felt on his bare skin and the pleasure they’d created, the mind-blowing orgasms—as he packed the few overnight things he had there. Sam boxed up his costume, and Antony promised to mail it. The rest of his things were in the hotel. Sam answered his cell phone when it rang, then turned to Antony. “My water taxi is waiting.” He pulled Antony into his arms and they kissed again, this time with soft, fond lips and touches. The time for fire and passion had passed. Sam pressed his business card into his hand. “Call me when you return to the U.S.?” 57

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“I will. I have some business affairs to wrap up here. Then I’ll go home,” Antony said. They went down together, and Sam stepped into the boat. In his best Italian accent, he said, “Arrivederchi.” Antony smiled. “Si, arrivederchi.” But as the water taxi pulled away from the dock and headed down the canal, pain speared him because he didn’t plan to call Sam. The loss of his ability to skate was so painful, and the depression he suffered even now had created such an overwhelming fear of the ice that he’d moved away from Chicago and the Blackhawks. He couldn’t face his teammates, couldn’t talk hockey with them, couldn’t watch a game even on TV. Abandoned by his father and harboring the secret of his sexual preferences, everything he’d ever wanted for his life to make up for those things had been wrapped up in being a professional hockey player. An excellent one. And he had been. Now it was as if he had to hold himself together because if he didn’t something inside would split him wide open and he’d be lost forever. He couldn’t be with a skater. Plus, he wasn’t willing to come out, so there was no point in seeing Sam again. They had no future together. Eyes wet with unshed tears, his throat so tight he hoped no one spoke to him because he wouldn’t be able to talk, he turned and reentered the palazzo. When he reached his room, he tore Sam’s card into tiny pieces and let them slide from his fingertips into the wastebasket. *

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In his hotel room, Sam tossed the last of his things in his flight bag and went down to the lobby to see what reading material they had for a long flight. Sometimes he could sleep on these night flights, and sometimes not. He found a Nelson DeMille paperback and tossed some euros on the counter to pay for it. He still had a little time to kill before starting for the airport, so he used the hotel computer to email his coach with his arrival time and where he’d been. Coach wouldn’t need to pick him up because he’d paid for shuttle transport to and from his home in Eagle’s Cry. Which was just fine because he wanted to delay Coach’s reaction as long as possible. He decided to see if he could learn more about Antony Veneto. Sam typed the name in a search engine and hit enter. A photo popped up. It wasn’t what he’d expected; he’d anticipated something about being related to the billionaire who owned the palazzo he’d just spent the weekend enjoying. This was a shot from the waist up of a man dressed in a red hockey jersey with an embroidered logo of the Chicago Blackhawks stitched over the chest. It gave his name, his statistics, his position, and it read, Shoots right. Was that Antony? He clicked on the mouse and enlarged the picture to study it. There was no doubt. It was Antony. His Antony. An image cropped up in his mind’s eye of Antony holding the board he’d used this morning during the attack. His left hand had been on the end, his power right one gripping mid-stick. That was the position to shoot right in hockey. He replayed the gliding steps, first this way, then the other, eyes always watching, not where the puck would go, but where the opponent’s legs intended to go. Outthinking his opponent just as the great Wayne Gretsky had said he did when he played. 59

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Sam pictured Antony always staying just beyond the reach of the attacker’s knife, keeping his board moving, moving. Defending against two enemies at once. Holy Mother of Jesus. An aching sadness flooded him. Antony’s shattered ankle, so crucial to skating, had destroyed his hockey career. He must relive that snowmobile accident over and over in his mind, and play the what if game ad infinitum. Sam linked his fingers and brought his hands up and rested his mouth and chin on them. Skaters began as small children, and you had to be damned good to be drafted into the National Hockey League, especially into the Blackhawks organization. That’s where some of the best in the world played. What a blow it would be if you were at the peak of your abilities and destroyed a career you’d worked toward all your life. For a brief moment, Sam had cowered in the shadows when the thugs first came at them. Then he’d overcome his fear and picked up that brick. And not one word of criticism from Antony later because Sam had hesitated to help, even if for only a split second. He’d understood one swipe of a knife could end Sam’s career, if not his life, so he’d forgiven the delay. He knew the meaning of ruining a career. Sam couldn’t imagine what it would be like not to skate again. Even when his competitive and moneymaking days ended, he’d still want to skate. It must have felt so good to Antony to have a stick in his hand again, to automatically fall back on the familiar moves. To be a powerful son of a bitch just one more time. And he had been powerful. He’d played that game to perfection, and he and Sam had escaped. It must have hurt Antony when Sam, his new lover, told him he was a skater. He might have had a brief flashback of being back on 60

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the chilly ice, of the smooth glide and the feel of the hard stick in his hands, the whap ringing out when he struck a puck. He might have smelled the musty dampness of the cold sheet beneath his feet, perhaps smelled his sweat and that of his teammates while the crowd roared. Hockey players were a tough crowd; he may have even smelled the blood. Sam shut his eyes and shook his head. Instead of escaping from hard choices, Antony had filled his life with meaning again by making the change from hockey professional to designer of clothing for physically active people. The one hard choice he ducked was breaking the news to Luciano Veneto that he loved men and would never marry a woman. *

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Marina del Rey California, USA Someone yelled, and Antony wakened in the dark with his heart pounding and his mouth dry, knowing he was the someone. He flung the covers back, threw his legs over the edge of his bed and sat up. Elbows on his knees, head in his hands, he waited for his heart rate to slow to normal. When he was steadier, he stood and went into the kitchen for a drink of cold water. Damn it, another nightmare. I’ve had too many of them since Venice. For a time, after he’d destroyed his future in hockey, he’d suffered from them. They’d almost disappeared by the time he’d flown to Venice. His mind blocked the dreams themselves, but he figured this time he’d either relived the snowmobile accident or 61

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remembered those last loving moments with Sam and the impossibility of ever having him permanently in his life. The clock struck four. Antony decided he might as well stay up. Only exhaustion would allow him to drift off again, and he wasn’t exhausted. He felt tired, but that was all. He set up the coffee maker and went in to shower. While it was true the last three months had been tough and Antony had put in long hours, things were less shaky with his new business. Veneto Wear for Active People was gaining in popularity, and he expected soon he’d win the bid for a contract to make the uniforms of one of the lesser known National Basketball Association teams. He’d be hiring more people, boosting the sagging California economy. He’d already hired a man, Mike Paulson, to cover for him if he needed to travel to check out more outlets for sales of his line. He had a key and could open the shop in Antony’s absence. Dressed, he entered the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and poured a glass of orange juice. From a spiral cut ham, he pulled off a couple of slices and tossed them in a frying pan he’d coated with non-stick spray. He broke three eggs open and dumped them in a bowl, added two tablespoons of water and whisked them together. He pushed the ham aside and slid the eggs into the pan, tossed two pieces of whole wheat bread in the toaster and pressed the lever down. Already his mouth was watering. Going to the door, he retrieved the Los Angeles Times and went through his usual routine. He dropped the sports section on the kitchen table, left the rest of the paper on the counter, and returned to cooking his eggs. When everything was ready, he sat down to hot coffee, eggs, ham and toast. He got up again and pulled some raspberry jam out of the refrigerator, slathered it on his toast and 62

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opened the sports section. A full-length, artistic photo of Sam spinning above the ice, arms folded across his chest, speared Antony’s heart. It was followed by a crushing ache. D’Avala Conquers Quad, read the caption. Love flashed through Antony. Oh, Sam would hate that picture. There’d be big pressure now to conquer the jump in competition. Antony hadn’t been able to force himself to read anything about skating of any kind, especially about hockey, once he’d destroyed his career, and the turmoil over his feelings for Sam had blocked any wish to follow figure skating. Sam had called many times, left numerous messages. Sometimes Antony would replay them just to hear the sound of his voice, but he never answered his phone without checking Caller ID first and he never returned the calls. Now the photo brought it all back—the easy camaraderie they’d shared, the feel of Sam’s hands and lips across his body, the heat of it, the piercing sweetness of being penetrated, and the power of their orgasms. Alone in his empty kitchen, all interest in food fled. He forced himself to drink the juice. His coffee was lukewarm now. He rose and dumped it in the sink. Knowing what he wanted, what he needed and couldn’t deny himself any longer, he brushed his teeth and dressed for the cold. Lacing on hiking boots, he rounded up his binoculars, then got in his car and headed for the mountains. It was just before dawn when he reached Eagle’s Cry. It had taken longer than planned to drive the ninety miles to the small mountain berg. A section of the road had collapsed during recent torrential rains, and he’d been forced to take a detour. He’d trained here when he was younger, and he knew the terrain around the Ice 63

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Palace. He also knew he could see inside. As he stepped out of the car, the familiar scent of pine trees hit him, just as he realized Sam might not be here. Maybe he’d already left for the world championships. Antony had no idea when they’d be held. He crunched into the woods through remnants of snow and pine needles until he was slightly above the rink. Fitting his binoculars to his eyes and adjusting them, Antony spotted the jacketed figure in black leotards walking with another man, presumably a coach, up the path to the rink. Happiness and relief rolled through him. The black turtleneck under the jacket reminded Antony of how the black hoods the night of carnivale had come right up to Sam’s firm jaw line. His sandy hair was tousled, as if it had been difficult to get up this early and he’d forgotten to brush it. A light growth of facial hair added to the picture, endearing him to Antony. At first, the sight of Sam sent showers of warmth through Antony’s belly, then his gaze fell on the skates, tied together by their laces and hanging over one shoulder. Anxiety struck—so disabling that nausea rolled over him and his chest tightened so hard he fought to breathe. His lips were enclosed by a ring of numbness, and he knew he was going to pass out. He knelt and put his head down as panic reopened the excruciating emotional wound he’d struggled so hard to contain. He’d avoided watching Sam skate, even at Ice online where you could link to YouTube videos of top skaters. His fear of the ice was part of it, but he’d also been terrified he might weaken and give in to the longing to be with Sam. Now he was here, and he knew he’d been right to stay away from him. Despite therapy after his accident for these attacks, he wasn’t free of them, wasn’t strong enough to go through this again. Finally, he forced himself to stand 64

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and stumble to his car. Music poured out over the hills as he was opening the car door, and Antony imagined Sam beginning his routine. Every line of his body would combine power and grace. His skates would flow on silent edges through spins and jumps, each movement interpreting the music just as he had in the medieval dances. He forced himself to put the car in gear and drive. As the Ice Palace faded in the distance, the grip anxiety had on him subsided. Driving down to the next little town, he ordered coffee and an English muffin in a small café he figured Sam wouldn’t be eating in. He was hungry, but his stomach wouldn’t tolerate more than what he’d ordered. He called Mike and asked him to open up the shop. As he took the detour and headed home, he realized, despite the crushing defeat of his hopes, he felt a little better because he’d glimpsed the man he’d come to love. *

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The world championships were in North Dakota, he learned, and he could have flown there. But in the end, Antony couldn’t make himself go. His terror returned with a vengeance, and he dealt with his decision not to attend the competition by rationalizing he might jinx Sam if he showed up. Who knew what he’d feel or how he’d react if he saw Antony? It might throw him off. So he waited for the news. The Times reported Sam had placed first in the short program. That was good, but then he read how many skaters fell during their longer freestyle program because their nerves didn’t hold up under the pressure. The combination of 65

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these two scores determined your placement in the competition. He shook his head. In hockey, you had a team behind you. You passed the puck back and forth. The game was so fast you didn’t have time to worry about yourself, only about trapping the puck when it came to you and visualizing where it would go when you shot or passed it. He’d seen Sam under pressure when the thugs had accosted them, and he’d done well. But when it came to skating in the big contests, he had no clue how Sam would perform. Even the most seasoned competitors could have a bad skate, just as hockey players could have a bad game. Pulling up his browser to go online one evening, the results of the championships cropped up in a news column that came onscreen—Philipe D’Avala had won the gold medal for France. “Yes!” He pumped the air with his fist. No one deserved it more. Hurrying to the TV, he clicked on in time to see a rerun of the medal ceremony. The medalists were presented with the traditional flower bouquet and an official slipped a ribbon holding the medal over their heads. Sam had to duck for the official to reach him. When they played the French national anthem, Antony spotted tears on the cheeks of a smiling Sam. His eyes filled with tears, too. Two nights later, he despaired because his anxiety prevented him from watching the winners skate an exhibition. As he worked on clothing designs the next few mornings, he kept the TV on as Sam appeared on major talk shows, chatting happily and fielding questions with unflappable grace. He sensed Sam’s joy and imagined the relief he must feel to be out of the competitive pressure cooker. Love bubbled up inside him. Sam would be touring with an ice show for several weeks, and Antony 66

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was pleased he had work. Suddenly, it was over. Sam and the other medalists disappeared from the news, and Antony buried himself in work as he clamped down on his feelings once again. June brought a heat wave, and Antony was in Pasadena in a small plant where some of his clothing was made. The air conditioning had failed, and he’d sent the workers home because the heat was unendurable to work in. He was standing beside the desk, studying estimates for repairs versus a new A/C unit when he sensed someone had slipped in behind him. Shit. This wasn’t the greatest part of town and he’d forgotten to lock the door. Memories of the nightclub in Venice rolled through his head as goose bumps popped up on his arms and the hairs on his neck stood up. The only weapon at hand was a paperweight somewhere on the desk. He was slowly stretching a hand toward it when he felt something slide over his head and thump against his chest. He’d expected a hood or a garrote around his neck, but it was nothing like either of those. Still, he needed the damn paperweight. As he looked for it, his gaze fell on the thing that had thumped his chest. It was still there—an orb of gold set in a round crystal frame dangling from a blue ribbon. Next came lips pressing the tender spot of his neck beneath his ear as strong arms encircled his waist. The feel, the smell of Sam enveloped him, and he forgot the paperweight. Instead, he turned his head toward the lips, sought and found them. Sam shifted Antony until they were face-to-face, mouths soft together. Antony slid his arms around Sam’s neck, and they clung together. Relief mingled with happiness claimed Antony. 67

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They came up for air, and Antony blurted out, “I’ve missed you all to hell. I was afraid if I went to North Dakota, it would throw off your concentration. Then I was afraid to watch on TV because if you didn’t medal, I’d be upset for you. Then I was disappointed I hadn’t seen it, but I couldn’t make myself watch. I did see them hang this medal around your neck.” He drew in a deep breath. “I love you, Samuel Philipe D’Avala. It’s taken me a long time to figure that out.” Sam rubbed Antony’s back, his gray eyes gazing into Antony’s. “Glad you finally did. When you shut me out, I almost came and broke your door down. Then I figured if it was over for you, it was over. But it wasn’t finished for me. If I hadn’t had my skating to demand all my attention, I’d have been a basket case. And now I want to share my success with you.” “Did you land the quad?” “I did. In combination—quadruple-triple-triple jumps skated clean. Still, the scores were damned close. I barely outscored the next man.” Antony ran his hands down Sam’s arms. “I’m sorry I shut you out. It was stupid of me, and now I’m having trouble believing you’re here and real.” “Oh, I’m real all right.” Sam released him. “How’s your ankle?” “It’s okay now.” Antony felt the familiar clutch in his gut again, the regret of the wild ride in a whiteout and the crash. “I can only stay overnight. I’m still on tour and had to get special permission for this little side trip. May I stay with you?” “Of course! I’ll close the shop and take you out to eat. We’ll have more time to talk.” Sam retrieved the overnight duffle he’d set down so 68

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soundlessly just inside the door that Antony hadn’t heard him. They walked arm in arm to the car, and Antony drove them home. Leaving the car, they kissed again, and it still wasn’t wild and passionate; it was like a long drink of water after a drought. “We have to go out,” Antony explained. “My refrig is empty.” “That’s okay. I’m up for steak.” They ate their steaks and baked potatoes in a Marina del Rey restaurant, then they went home and talked more. Suddenly, Sam said, “I need to loosen up a little. I haven’t skated for two days because we’ve been travelling, and we have a performance tomorrow night. Any rinks in L.A. open for this?” Antony hesitated. “I can drop you off at one and come back.” “Oh, no, you don’t. I want you with me.” Antony’s excitement died. His mouth was so dry he almost couldn’t speak, but he said, “Sit down, Sam. I have something to tell you about what happened to me after my accident.” Sam sat and leaned toward him to listen quietly as Antony talked. After he’d finished explaining his fear of the ice, about having gone to Eagle’s Cry and what just the sight of Sam’s skates had set off in him, he said, “That’s the real reason I shut you out. Why I couldn’t watch you skate.” Sam reached for his hand. “Before I left Venice, I learned what had happened to you. I searched your name on the hotel computer when I was killing time before I went to the airport. I realized why you knew how to use that board outside the Nine O’Clock Club. The search said you shot right for the Blackhawks, and that was exactly how you were holding the board. You were watching their feet and legs in the same way you’d watch for a puck.” Antony buried his face in his hands to hide the tears of regret 69

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sliding down his cheeks. Sam pulled them gently away. “Come to the rink with me, please. I need you there. We have so little time together tonight. Please say you’ll come.” Antony wanted to be with him so much that he agreed. He was familiar with the building; he wouldn’t see the rink if he sat in the snack area. “While you wash up, I’ll get my duffle.” When they entered the building and the cold, damp scent of the ice hit them, Antony felt dizzy with fear and a wash of old grief. Sam noticed and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Antony, this ice isn’t what hurt you. The rink is your friend. It was your friend even when you were a child, remember?” Antony nodded. He sat on a bench while Sam paid their entrance fees. Sam insisted they go into the area where you put on your skates, whether you had your own skates or rented them. While Sam laced his up, Antony closed his eyes, praying he’d get through this. He opened them when he felt his shoes being unlaced. “God, Sam, what are you doing?” Then he saw his hockey skates on the floor beside him. “No! Are you crazy?” He tried to stand as anxiety threatened to make him black out, but a strong hand pushed him down and held him there. Sam sat on his haunches in front of him. “Yes, I’m crazy. Crazy in love with a man I know has courage and good sense.” Sam continued to slide Antony’s feet into his skates over his protests. “I can accept that you’ll never play hockey again, but I will not let you live in the pain I see you in. If I thought I’d never skate again, it would kill me.” Skates laced tight, Sam extended a hand to Antony. “Stand,” he 70

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said as his strong arms helped lift him. Antony stood, fighting for breath as Sam glided onto the ice. “Come here,” Sam said somewhat impatiently. Antony stepped on the slick surface and shut his eyes as he grabbed the railing because he knew he was going to fall. Wave after wave of terror rolled through him, and he wished he would fall… fall and crack his head so it would be over. His life would be over, his grief and terror ended. He heard Sam’s blades on the ice and knew he’d swung around in front of him. “Open your eyes.”? “C… can’t.” “Remember the first time you skated on your own? Remember how great it felt? How old were you then?” “Four. I was four, and my father was there. Until I was five and he left, he was the one who took me to the rink. Encouraged me.” He’d forgotten that. “Open your eyes, Antony. Give me your hands.” Antony opened his eyes and looked into gray ones that looked almost blue above the blue-white ice. Honest eyes. Trustworthy. “I decided not to see you again because you were a skater, and that was unbearable. It was also because I didn’t want to come out to my uncle, but mostly because of what I’m suffering right now.” “Your hands, Antony,” Sam said in a voice that was quiet and patient. “I won’t let you fall. Trust me.” In a tentative movement, Antony reached out with shaky hands, and Sam’s warm ones closed over his icy ones. He clung to them. “Now skate,” Sam said. “That’s it. Slow and easy, stroke… and stroke.” It came back to Antony… like the skill of riding a bicycle 71

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without training wheels. Years of practice on those cold, dark mornings when the ice had spoken to him and given him life. Now he looked at this gold medalist skating backward for him, guiding him like he was a new skater. They glided across the gleaming surface, two men supported by the secret depths beneath them. “I’ve been thinking,” Sam said. “We could build a rink where I can teach what I know and you can teach what you know. Hockey and figure skating, snack foods and a store selling Veneto Wear. What do you think?” “Whoa. Give me time to study the idea. I’m not even ready for you to let go yet—” Sam let go. For a horrifying moment, Antony thought he’d fall, but his balance was there and his ankle was sound—at least for these uncomplicated moves. He made careful strokes on his own until he was moving well. And feeling free for the first time in a long, long time. “I’m doing it! I’m skating.” Sam smiled as the bright sound of his love’s laughter rose over the canned skating music. He turned and stroked to the center and took a few jumps, while Antony, sticking near the boards, but keeping his hands off them, continued around the rink. Soon the other skaters had cleared the ice to stand at the boards and watch someone very special. They clapped with Antony as Philipe D’Avala skated parts of his gold medal routine. He ended it doing his straight-line footwork with his eyes only on Antony. Antony thought he resembled a smiling, sexy Alexei Yaguddin, skate blades flashing silver as he danced a complicated pattern down the long ice at full speed to Antony. Snow flew from his blades as he pulled up at Antony’s feet. Sam waved to the cheering crowd and said to Antony, “May 72

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we go home now?” “I want to skate longer,” Antony teased. When he saw the crestfallen look on Sam’s face, he began to laugh. “Yes, we can go home.” As they entered his house, Sam said, “I’d already checked out the ice rinks around here. I didn’t think I was going to find your skates and get them in my duffle before you got out of the bathroom. It was touch and go.” Antony laughed as he locked the door behind them. Sam continued, “On my next break, I’d like you to take me to Venice so we can tell your uncle that we’re gay and we love each other.” Antony stopped abruptly. “I don’t think so.” Sam pulled him into his arms and kissed him hard. “That’s the next step to freeing yourself. Afterward, you can speak with him about saving the palazzo if you don’t have enough money for it.” At the touch of their lips in this private place, the familiar heat flared between them like a match touched to brandy, one that refused to be doused until the liquid had ignited and burst into flames. They yanked off clothes and shoes as their hands groped and cupped and their mouths licked and bit. Antony felt the rising wave of his orgasm coming and sensed Sam was there, too. As he let Sam take him to the edge and over, he heard him say, “Trust me about this thing with your uncle.” Antony did.

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CAROLINA VALDEZ Carolina Valdez, author of the popular Amber Heat Wave winner Dark Stranger, composed her first stories at the age of eight. That was about the time Santa left the first books she had in her homeabridged versions of the Wizard of Oz for children. She has happy memories of trips to used bookstores with her mother to locate and buy the full versions when she was ten or twelve. Captivated by the odd characters and their adventures, Carolina wrote a letter to L. Frank Baum, the author. Ruth Plumly Thompson replied, enclosing a map of the Kingdom of Oz. Sadly, the letter and map have disappeared over the years, but the love of writing and creating her own fictional worlds have remained. Carolina has a collection of Oz books, one of which, given to her by her mother when it was new, has recently been appraised at $350. Before writing for Amber Quill Press, Carolina had more than sixty publications to her credit, ranging from children’s stories to articles in professional journals. A public health nurse with an advanced university degree, she won RN Magazine’s First Award for Writing, and has been published also in the American Journal of Nursing. She was a Guideposts Writers Workshop and Guideposts Reunion Workshop winner, and her work has appeared in that periodical and several Daily Guideposts books. Among her other wins are the Soul-Making Literary Prize for Essay, the Marjorie Davis Roller Award for non-fiction, Della Crowder Memorial and Millennium awards for poetry, and the Norman E.

and Marjorie J. Roller first prize for a story about a horse that can float on water. She contributed (under the name Carol Holman) to Mean Girls Grown Up, a book regarding adult female relational aggression. Dark Stranger was her first venture into sensual romance. Her first attempt into the murder genre can be read on-line at Mysterical-E. Her latest can be found in the 2006 crime anthology, LAndmarked for Murder. Valdez is a member of the Orange County, From The Heart, and Hearts Through History chapters of Romance Writers of America and Sisters in Crime/Los Angeles. She resides with her husband in sunny Southern California. *

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Don’t miss Somebody To Love by Carolina Valdez, available at AmberAllure.com!

Life is perfect for Cade “Lakota” Montana. Barely into his twenties, he escaped the poverty, illness and drunkenness prevalent on the Montana reservation where he was raised when he agreed to manage an uncle’s small spread in Wyoming. His relationship with Dr. Lee Donaldson, his lover, and the ranch’s new veterinarian, is secure, and now Cade’s proven even wild horses can be broken without pain to carry saddle and rider. A recognized

horse whisperer, he’s excited about his plans to teach his methods to others. Their relationship begins with two serious problems … Kevin Connolly, star of The Detective and named TV’s “Sexiest Man of the Year,” works in Hollywood with frequent filming trips to various locations. Nate Marquette, Kevin’s new love, works part of the year as a fireman in a mountain range not far from Los Angeles, but most of the year he operates his business as a helicopter logger in the Pacific Northwest and Canada. Complicating the logistics of getting together when they’re miles apart is the fact that it’s vital both men keep their sexual preferences secret. Exposure as a gay man might certainly ruin Kevin’s career, but it could also mean death for Nate. Yet in the end, it’s not these challenges that threaten to tear them apart, but deeper issues of trust and betrayal…

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