Overview
When a recluse is trapped with the man of his dreams, will his Christmas wishes come true...even in spite of himself?
When Michael Danner sacrifices safety to get a glimpse of the man he's been lusting after for years, he and his tow truck end up stranded in the blizzard of the season.
Reclusive local cabin owner, Graham Wolsken, is pissed as hell to find the man of his dreams half-frozen in the blizzard raging outside. Rescuing him is the easy part. Resisting him? That remains to be seen.
Will Michael be able to show Graham that love is the greatest gift or will Graham be left holding onto nothing?
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780857158499 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Totally Entwined Group |
| Publication date: | 12/26/2011 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 35 |
| File size: | 157 KB |
| Age Range: | 18 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Stupid, stupid holidays.
Graham Wolsken slammed the refrigerator door shut, the sound loud in his empty cabin. He almost dropped the can of Coke he was holding under his arm, but managed to get the bologna and provolone cheese to the counter before he sacrificed his last pop.
He slid open the bread bin for his standard has-no-nutrients white bread and pulled out two slices for his sandwich. No doubt Victor and Alex would be all over his ass about it if they saw. Trent too.
Clenching his teeth, Graham flicked the wooden bin door closed. Another loud bang in the emptiness. He sucked in a deep breath. Idiotic thoughts like that caught him off guard. Exhaling slowly, he let the old hurt go along with the air from his lungs. "Trent's not here anymore, Graham. Get over it already."
And talking to himself never helped, either, though that was a far shade better than hanging out in his head with useless thoughts of a dead lover.
He brushed his hair out of his face, blowing at it when it fell back again. Graham added a mental note to stop at the barber shop in town next time he went for groceries.
He slapped together the sandwich in quick, practised movements, cracked the top of his Coke and carried the duo into the living room where he'd set up a small table by the fireplace. The place was barren even by his standards, but he never seemed to find the right style to fit when he stopped in the furniture store in Newberry.
That was one thing about the Michigan Upper Peninsula. 'Retail America' automatically assumed any furniture had to be ... what had that sales clerk called it? Rustic. Yeah. Hell, he'd get a splinter in his foot the first time he propped his feet up on one of those tables to relax.
So he made do with his lone suede couch and the mission-style coffee table he'd made from an oak tree that lightning had struck down in his back forty last summer. He liked his stuff smooth, soft, comfortable ... just the way he liked his men.
Graham sat his drink down a little too hard, splashing Coke on the small pine folding table he'd arranged for his meal. He cursed under his breath and headed back into the kitchen for a napkin. What the hell was it about Christmas that made him wish for what he didn't deserve?
Cripes.
Even if there had been no Trent, he held no delusions about his ability to get a man. He'd been lucky that Trent had wanted him. Graham hated that his hair was always unruly, not to mention stick straight and shit brown. His eyes didn't even have the decency to be something amazing like blue or green, though his parents both had blue eyes. Nope. Again ... shit brown. And he was built wrong, too. His mom called him lithe, but that was just a fancy word for too damn skinny.
Nothing any of the pretties wanted to look at, that's for sure.
Hell, when Trent had begun to pursue him, he hadn't believed it. They were kids then, just graduated from high school, and no way could someone as beautiful as Trent, who had blond hair and green eyes with a tan that stayed all winter, go for someone as plain as Graham. Turned out there wasn't much Graham wouldn't tolerate to keep Trent happy.
The sting of tears pulled Graham out of his maudlin thoughts. He shook his head and snatched a towel from the cabinet next to the stove. This was why he hated the holidays. It only served to remind him of what he had failed to protect. What he couldn't fix.
Stalking back out to the living room, he punched the button to turn on his radio. Too much silence made even the sanest man turn crazy at Christmas. Jingle Bell Rock filled the silence, lifting his mood, whisking him away from the worst of the memories from that winter six years ago.
He sang along with the tune as he wiped up his spill, then the next one as it changed on the local radio station. The girl working the night shift sounded perky and Graham envied her that, more than a little. He sank into the sofa, enjoying the heat radiating from the fire in the natural stone fireplace just a few feet away.
His eyes had just drifted shut to Elvis' Blue Christmas when he thought he heard the crunch of metal and crack of wood. Graham jerked upright, his breathing laboured from being startled awake by the sudden noise. He jumped to his feet and turned off the music, straining to hear another sound.
His breath was harsh to his ears and it felt like an eternity as he waited.
But nothing further came.
Oh God. Now I'm hearing things.
Right then, he resolved to drive over to the cabin Victor and Alex had commandeered for the holidays the next morning. He'd been alone too long. That's what it had to be. He dropped back down on the soft couch, propping his head in his hands.
Counting to ten didn't help slow his heart so he pushed from his seat and went back to the kitchen, taking the towel with him. He tossed it into the laundry room on his way past, and then set about making some tea. He tried hard to keep his mind focused on what he was doing, not giving himself a chance to turn to the thoughts that wanted to intrude.
Like ... what if he hadn't imagined it? What if someone was out there like Trent had been? And here he was, ignoring them.
He unceremoniously dumped his drink in the sink, not bothering to rinse out the cup like normal. Pulling his coat and snowsuit from the peg by the door, he tugged them on over his sweater and jeans before he stepped into his boots. Graham grabbed his key from its hook on the cabinet and opened the rear door to the frigid air outside.
He grunted low, his breath stolen by the cold as he pulled on his hat and gloves then wrapped his scarf around his face. It wouldn't take much for someone to freeze in this weather and Graham had already wasted more time than necessary. He flung the door wide on the closest shed, bracing it open against the wind.
The edge of the tarp covering his favourite snowmobile fluttered around the sleek machine. He gripped the front and ripped it off before dumping it on the ground behind the machine. Swinging a leg over, Graham slid the key into the ignition, refusing to think of what he might find out there tonight.
The engine roared to life, purring under him like the well-tuned animal it was. He twisted the handlebar and gunned the snowmobile from its harbour. An icy blast of rain and snow stung Graham's skin as he sailed over the heavy snow that had already accumulated in the hour since the blizzard had begun.
Please. God, please just let whoever it is be okay.
It took maybe fifteen minutes to manoeuvre his way down the steep hill that his cabin sat on, and by the time he reached the bottom, he'd become convinced that he'd imagined the noise, like he'd originally thought. Then a glimmer of red caught his attention from the culvert to his right.
Carefully he steered in its direction. It never wavered nor dimmed in the time it took for him to navigate to its source. Once he got close enough, he realised it was one of the tail lights on a tow truck. How the hell ...?
Graham pulled his ride as near as he could get to the upended truck, then tested the snow to make sure it would hold him. He crept to the driver's side door, brushed the snow from the window and peered inside.
Dreading what he would find, convinced someone would be sprawled across the steering wheel, it took a moment to comprehend that there was no one there.
The cab was empty.
Shit.
That meant whoever had been driving this beast was now on foot in the worst snowstorm so far this season.
Damn it. Just ... just, damn it. Not again.
* * *
Michael Danner stared through the cracked windshield at the tree denting the hood of his brand new tow truck. Crap. That's what he got for staring up Graham's driveway instead of paying attention to the road in front of him.
He shook his head in disgust. It really was pitiful how even seeing just the light in the man's window gave him a certain thrill. Nothing like seeing the actual man, of course, but that happened so rarely Michael had taken to appreciating the small glimpses of life from Graham's cabin.
Wait. Graham's cabin ...
There had been a light on. He could probably make it up the hill in ten or fifteen minutes, most likely. Better than sitting here. That was assuming Graham was at home. The man owned ten cabins in the area. He could have been checking on any one of his tenants when the storm hit.
Michael huffed out a sigh then groaned at the resulting cloud of mist from his breath. He would need his snowsuit if he was going to make it in this blizzard. In the truck or out, he could still freeze to death. He zipped his jacket up tight then pulled on his gloves. Michael flexed his stiff fingers. Must have been from gripping the steering wheel. Now he understood what accident victims meant when they said they ached after a mere fender bender.
A loud thump caused him to jerk when a chunk of snow fell onto the hood of his truck. He muttered under his breath before snagging his sock cap from the glove box. He yanked it over his head, trying to remember why he'd thought it a good idea to keep his snow gear in the aluminium tool box in the bed of his truck.
He counted to three then shoved out into the high winds and biting sleet. Michael clung to the side of the bed to remain upright, grinding his teeth when the bitter cold took his breath away. Tucking his chin down, he pushed forward to use the rear tyre as leverage to climb over the edge.
It took nearly everything he had to sling one leg into the back of the truck, more still to get the rest of him in there. He landed in the snow heap that had accumulated over the time he'd been driving, sinking like a stone to the frigid metal underneath.
Why did Mr Jones have to be stranded by a bum car today of all days?
Michael's teeth began to chatter and he shoved himself upright. The cab of the truck gave the wind a place to harbour, swirling in a near-tornado fury. He flicked open the latch and opened the lid to his toolbox, determined to get his gear on, and fast. Michael watched in stunned horror as the suction from opening the box lifted his snowsuit just enough for the wind to catch the fabric.
He made a grab for it but his frozen fingers wouldn't close around the slippery material and in a flash it was gone — whisked away to God knew where. Michael stood there, dumbfounded. He glanced down at his gloved hands, back up at the black hole his suit had vanished into, then again at his hands. The fact that he already couldn't feel his fingers finally registered in his muddled mind.
Oh God. I'm in trouble.
He shifted to stare up the hill toward Graham's place. Could he make it before hypothermia set in? He pushed out a breath, slowly took another. No choice now.
Inching his way to the tailgate, holding on to the tow hook for support, he gave one last thought to finding the suit before pushing off into the snowdrift at the rear of his truck. Wouldn't do any good. In as long as it would take to find the suit, he would be half dead. Tucking his hands under his armpits, Michael ducked his head and started the trek to Graham's.
It took forever. No matter what he tried to do to distract himself from the chilling numbness working its way through his body, Michael was reminded again by each breath he laboured to draw of the icy air around him. One glance backwards showed he'd made it far enough that he couldn't see the truck anymore. Of course, that didn't say much since it was a blizzard, but it was something.
He yelped as another blast of wind brought ice pellets and a dump of heavy snow down on his head. Getting a move on, Michael wondered how close he was to Graham's house. Just a few more steps. Keep moving. Whether he wants you there or not, Graham is at the end of this walk. Just ... keep ... moving.
Michael's thoughts turned to those soul-deep eyes that burned a hole through him whenever their paths crossed in town. Lust blazed like a flash fire, warming him with a heat that wouldn't do him a lick of good if he didn't make it to safety. Michael pulled the unconsciously seductive image of Graham front and centre in his mind.
Sexy, dishevelled brown hair that matched the chocolate of his eyes, lean muscles that Michael longed to feel wrapped around him. And when Graham focused on Michael, usually by accident, Michael felt it from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. Some men found that intensity off-putting, but Michael wanted all that attention on him. Not even sub-zero temperatures could keep his cock from thickening at the thought of the other man.
Stomping his frigid feet a little harder with each step, he mentally scolded himself as he blew a hot breath against his fingers. He shook his head, banishing the thought of more than a passing glance from Graham. The man's heart was as locked away as Michael was frozen. One foot in front of the other, that's what he needed to focus on. Not some lonely doctor who quit humanity because his cheating boyfriend decided to go out for a trick in the middle of an ice storm.
A rumble penetrated Michael's mental ramblings and at first he thought he imagined the bobbing light to his right. But it continued closer, faster. A snowmobile. "Hey! Hey, over here!" He dug at the last of his strength and waved his arms as he fell to his knees. His chest hurt with each heaved word, and the glacial air burned as he sucked it into his lungs.
The dark vehicle turned in his direction, coming fast as it arrowed towards him. It slid to a stop with a spray of snow directly in front of him. When the driver killed the engine, the silence was deafening. Even the wind whipping around them didn't filter through the fog filling Michael's mind now that rescue had arrived.
The person on the snowmobile jumped off and raced towards him. A firm grip on his arm brought Michael's attention up. And he found himself trapped.
Deep chocolate brown eyes, furious and worried, stared out at him from between a hat and scarf wrapped tightly around what could only be Graham's face. Michael's heart raced this time for an entirely different reason.
Graham's muffled voice barely penetrated the scarf around his mouth. "What the hell are you doing walking in this?" Michael copped a grin ... at least, he hoped that's what it looked like. "Looking for you."
The grip on Michael's arm tightened as Graham shifted to wrap his other arm around Michael's waist. Well, if I'm gonna die, it might as well be in Graham's arms.
Graham hoisted Michael to his feet. "Damn it. Can you stand on your own?" "I can't."
Graham snapped his head around to glare at Michael. "Try."
Michael shook his head a little, feeling his eyes drift closed as his knees buckled, and the world went dark.
CHAPTER 2Why did it have to be Michael of all fucking people? Graham's stomach pitched. Oh God. He couldn't do this again. There was a reason he stayed the hell away from the pretty tow truck driver. Those big green eyes shining with laughter and life lured Graham like a siren's song.
Graham had a couple of inches on Michael but, at deadweight, he was still hard to manage. After a few staggering steps, Graham had Michael curled into his chest on the front of the snowmobile, zipping along the ground towards shelter and the fire Graham had left burning in his fireplace. It had only been a matter of a half-hour from the time he'd heard the crash, but the bitter cold would leave its toll regardless. Exhaustion was just as hard to get over as frostbite.
He swung in close to the back door, dismounted the fat machine and scooped Michael into his arms. Graham kneed the handle and kicked the door open, turning sideways to get through the entryway without hitting Michael on the doorjamb. "Need a bigger fucking door if I'm gonna be rescuing people."
Not bothering to take off his boots, he tracked snow and ice across the kitchen, through the living room and into the bathroom. He lowered Michael into the spacious tub he'd paid the extra money to have installed. Graham peeled off his snow gear then tackled Michael's iced-on clothing.
By the time he managed to strip his charge, Graham's fingers were frozen and fumbling. Though he shouldn't be thinking it, he couldn't help but admire the sleek body revealed with the disappearance of each piece of fabric. Michael wasn't muscular, necessarily, but smooth power emanated from the younger man even as he lay as still as stone.
Stop. He drew a deep breath and focused on what he should have been doing to begin with — warming Michael. Discarding his own clothing, Graham pulled on a pair of pyjama pants from behind the bathroom door then snagged a towel from the small linen closet next to the twin marble sinks.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Graham's Gift"
by .
Copyright © 2011 Em Woods.
Excerpted by permission of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.