Since he first laid eyes on Michael Phelps as a teenager, young Beau has longed to be an Olympian; the better to sleep with as many other Olympians as possible. Too bad he's a flop at every sport he tries.<br><br>An offhand reference by his European mother reveals a family connection to the world of competitive shooting, and a quick -- if not wholly truthful -- email nets Beau an invitation to Luxembourg to train with Marcel, a dashing rifle champion. He jumps at the chance, and, when he learns they aren't actually related, at the champ.<br><br>Sparks fly, but Beau’s never exactly been what you’d call a one-man man. Will Beau’s smoldering desire for Marcel burn hot enough to keep the torch of his Olympic dreams aflame?

Hot Shots

Marcel came around the corner at the same second I re-zipped my jeans. “So…” he started, glancing once—then, eyes wide, a second time—at my bulging fly. “What are you doing?”


“Oh, nothing,” I replied, ever-so-casually. “Just admiring your office. These medals are so cool.”


“Thanks,” he said. “So…” this time he directed his gaze, and mine, to my foot. “You’re feeling better, I see.”


Shit! I frantically raked the room with my eyes for my crutches, reaching out for their protection, coming up empty.


“They’re in your room,” he said. “I’m glad—I thought you seemed to be getting better.”


Chapter 4