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

He was sputtering water from unprepared lungs before he could put two and two together to come up with “the little bastard just pulled me in the pool!”


“I warned you!” Darien said, holding his hands up in defense.


“I’ll kill you,” was Malcolm’s only reply. Then he was after the suddenly startled Darien with a speed bore by rage. Darien was quick, slippery as a dolphin, and the toned muscles underneath his skin were by no means there for show. It wasn’t impossible to back him into a corner though. It was, in fact, surprisingly easy once Malcolm stopped trying to catch and worked instead on corralling.


“Wait!” Darien said, holding out one hand and laughing nervously. “It’s only cloth! And I really did warn you! Besides, you were standing there for so long and—”


Chapter 11