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

Malcolm’s hands dug into the fabric of Darien’s pants, kneading flesh, enjoying everything about the fact he could fit a hand perfectly over the swell of each side of Darien’s ass. Like they were made to be there.


“Un unh,” his conscience warned. “Careful.”


Darien’s voice was low, quiet, teasing and it managed to drag Malcolm’s thoughts back. “Why don’t you lie down?”


Chapter 17