Table of Contents
Warning
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
About the Author
BurnTuesday Temptations
BYScarlett Parrish
An Imprint of
Musa Publishing
Burn, Copyright © Scarlett Parrish, 2012
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author's imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
Musa Publishing
633 Edgewood Ave
Lancaster, OH 43130
www.MusaPublishing.com
First Published in More Love Notes (anthology) by Musa Publishing, January 2012
Published as a stand-alone story by Musa Publishing, September 2012
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.
isbn: 978-1-61937-521-5
Published in the United States of America
Editor: Elizabeth Silver
Cover Design: Kelly Shorten
Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna
Warning
This book contains adult language and scenes. This story is meant only for adults as defined by the laws of the country where you made your purchase. Store your books carefully where they cannot be accessed by younger readers.
This story is down to the proddings of my editor, Liz, who stooped so low as to bribe me with photo after photo of Michael Fassbender. Lordy. How I hate her. And by 'hate' I mean 'ILU.'
Chapter One
I could have written a whole list of goals, but that night had only one rule: no names.
I'd had enough of them. Well, one in particular, but at least I'd managed to get rid of Sean Thomas eventually.
Sean. Thomas. My grandma, God rest her, had always said, "Never trust a man with two first names." I only wished I'd taken her advice. But she'd been dead for a few years by the time I met him, not around to warn me off. Not that she was given to hanging around in gay bars anyway; bingo halls were more her scene. Besides, the alcohol I'd thrown down my neck that night had skewed my thinking processes somewhat.
To be fair, he was a good-looking bastard and that wasn't just the beer goggles talking. Plus, he'd had the good grace to mask the fact he was a festering fucknut behind a rapacious sexual appetite. For a time.
It was just a shame that when I had crawled out of bed, bruised and battered (by choice, I hasten to add) and ready for a shower, he took his sexual appetite elsewhere. There was probably a "while my back was turned" punch line in there somewhere but going out tonight was supposed to be about forgetting Sean Thomas, not calling to mind his, uh, indiscretions.
I definitely wouldn't be thinking about the number of times he'd screwed around on me. Nor the fact I didn't care as much as I had expected to.
After instructing the cab driver to drop me off, "Just here," I threw a twenty his way and told him to keep the change. Too jittery to care about a couple of dollars here and there, I just wanted to get out of the car and walk for a bit, which is why I'd got him to stop a block or so away from Scarlett Parrish any of downtown's more interesting establishments. I tried to convince myself I wasn't heading to Archangel's looking for anything more than a few beers even though it just so happened to be a gay bar...
I shrugged, then looked over one shoulder to check no-one behind me had seen the movement and judged me to be a twitching mental case. But the evening breeze was just strong enough to justify someone adjusting their jacket on their shoulders and shrugging deeper into it against the cool temperature, so I didn't worry too much.
Trying to shake off those jitters didn't work. I had to face up to the fact I was horny, and, attractive though Mrs. Palmer and her five daughters were, sometimes taking matters into my own hands didn't cut it.
Because Sean's sexual appetite had been exhausting to say the least --- and damn it, I'd just thought of him again --- we'd rarely left the house. It was less of a relationship, more of a fuck buddies kind of thing.
No dating, just sex. Not something I had a problem with, but when I'd found out about his other paramours I'd wondered if I was the gay male equivalent of convenience food for him. A TV dinner with cock.
"Austin." One of the bouncers held the door open for me and winked.
"Haven't seen you here for a while."
"Did you miss me?"
"Like the deserts miss the rain," he drawled, not even bothering to look at me, instead busying himself eyeing up another patron, the sarcastic jerk.
I gave him the finger and headed to the bar. "Bottle of Miller, thanks."
As I reached into my pocket to fish out some money, I heard something at the side of me which could only be described as an exaggerated snort.
Exaggerated because I heard it above the pounding backbeat of music.
Whoever was laughing or having some kind of seizure must have played it up a bit, specifically so I'd hear him.
"You seriously drink that American shite?"
"Um..." Handing some cash to the barman --- service was fast here, the philosophy being get the clientele drunk, quick --- I glanced to my right at the dark-haired guy, letting the server drop some change into my outstretched hand without even looking at
