Malcolm didn’t have a lot going for him. He wasn’t one of the blessed, or one of the beautiful. He didn’t have many talents. He was, however, a damn good chef. He worked hard and he insisted on perfection -- not just from himself but also from everyone else in his kitchen. And if that made others miserable, that was just too damn bad. If one couldn’t live up to expectations then one didn’t belong at Burgeon Manor.<br><br>Darien on the other hand, was everything Malcolm envied, hated, and secretly fantasized over. Lean, slim, with a smile that could melt ice and enough charm to woo demons, Darien surprised Malcolm by showing not only interest but also attraction. Which only meant one thing as far as Malcolm was concerned: Darien had to be playing some kind of game. There was no way that a rock god like Darien Flint could have honest feelings for someone like him.<br><br>Yet the more Darien tries to know him, the more Malcolm feels himself being drawn into the lie.

Rockabye

“Well, my intention wasn’t to kill you,” Malcolm said, crossing his arms and setting his jaw. “Until I saw your bare feet in my walk-in. Now I have no choice.”


The man’s shirt was not undone as Malcolm had first believed. It was clasped with a single snap, low over his crotch. A fact that Malcolm’s internal whore bemoaned instantly. For while it was still open enough to enjoy the view of smooth chest and stomach, even enough to notice just how very low the waist on his pants actually was, the snap managed to keep anything below the contour-enhancing hide out of sight.


Chapter 4