No cover yet and still working on edits (although I think they might be done now), but here’s a sneaky peek at Squire.
This isn’t a long excerpt, just a quick look at when Rabin meets Izzy. And, yes, Brent would be Heaven Sent’s Brent Rose.
©2010 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved
When Rabin finally found the gate with the number Brent had given him, he was fairly bouncing with excitement. This place was fucking unreal. He leaned out his window to press a button on a pad mounted in front of the gate.
“Hey, Rabin.” Brent’s voice was crystal clear.
“How’d you know it’s me?”
“Cameras everywhere.” Brent laughed as the gate in front of Rabin began to slide open. “Come on up. Front door’s open.”
Daylight was slowly fading to twilight as Rabin parked his truck beside a dusty black Corvette and a recently washed white Mazda under the shade of a spreading tree. Rabin knew fuck all what kind of tree it was, but it sure was pretty, matching many of the other trees that surrounded the house and the embankment that led down from the house to the water. The house itself was two levels and looked like a huge cabin, complete with all the rustic finishes. Gorgeous.
After hefting his guitar case and the largest of his three suitcases from the truck, he headed toward the front door and found it open as promised. “Hello?” He stopped at the threshold. Loud pop music and a truly heavenly scent of some sort of cooking poultry lead him to his right and what he thought might be the kitchen.
Kitchen it was, all done up in dark colors to match the rural feel of the exterior of the house. The appliances were state of the art, lining the wall to the left of the opening that led into the room as well as the wall in front of Rabin. A huge island dominated the center of the room, complete with copper pots hanging above it. A four-seater table was built into a huge bay window overlooking the lake to Rabin’s right.
There was a young man who was very obviously not either Brent or Hell busy at the sink, his back to Rabin. He was on the short side, closer to Hell’s diminutive height than he was to either Brent’s or Rabin’s size. His hair was shining black, pulled into a tail that hung in gentle waves halfway down his back. He was singing and jiggling to the music, shaking slim shoulders, a trim waist, and a pert little ass. Reaching the chorus of the song, he belted out in a very nice if slightly off-key tenor. Tugging a towel from where it hung at the waistband of his jeans, he turned around, eyes closed as he sang into an imaginary microphone. Rabin grinned, enjoying the show. The kid was incredibly pretty. A softly rounded jaw and high cheekbones gave his face a gorgeous shape, and a long, thick fringe of that black hair hid his forehead, brows, and part of his eyes. Seen from the front, his snug, lime green T-shirt proclaimed Straight? So is spaghetti until you heat it up. Once the chorus was done, his dusky pink lips curled up in a smile and his eyes opened. Amazing eyes. Big and almond shaped, with irises as dark as chocolate bonbons and lashes any woman would die for.
Finally seeing Rabin, the young man stopped, eyes and mouth open wide in surprise. “Oh. Hi.”
Rabin felt like applauding but didn’t, since he still held his bags. “Hi.”
The kid’s mouth closed and his throat worked over a swallow while an embarrassed flush colored softly rounded cheeks. “You must be Rabin.” Tucking the towel back into his waistband, the young man hastily circled around the island toward him. One hand extended to go with a wide, welcoming smile. “I’m Izzy.”