Chapter 1

Drake stared into the sullen embers of the hearth, his fingers drumming out a slow, measured rhythm on the arm of the sofa. One, two, three. One, two, three. It was an echo of his irritation. The formal dinner with his stepmother and her children had been a nightmare, a lavish affair that his mother would have hated. Despite the fact that it was her money that had built his father's empire, she had never given a good goddamn about the trappings of wealth. From the amount of jewelry dripping from Clarissa's angular form tonight, she did. Her two daughters, at fourteen and sixteen, were annoying little copies of their pretentious mother. Her son, Adrian, was an entirely different story.

Ah yes, Adrian. Therein lay the crux of Drake's frustration. Clarissa's oldest child had the golden good looks of a fallen angel, and the charm to match. Like Drake, he had ignored the heavy hints from his mother and Drake's father about tonight's dinner being a formal occasion, showing up in jeans that hugged his body like a lover's gaze and a grey silk shirt that made his remarkable storm-colored eyes even more striking. Beneath a careless, wavy mass of golden hair, his not-so-innocent eyes had followed Drake's every move, filled with uncertain attraction.

It was an unusual feeling for Drake to be uncomfortable around a young, available, obviously attracted man, but Adrian unnerved him. Something in those deep grey eyes spoke directly to his soul of depthless, frightening passion, but also of complete loss of self-control. Most of the men he'd flirted, or done more, with were every bit as cynical and jaded as himself, accustomed to coaxing a standard response out of his body and their own. Adrian had the untried look of a great racehorse going down to start his first race, the explosive power and stamina there, but banked until it could flare into flame. Uncomfortably, Drake shifted and reached for the wineglass on the side table. The tawny port burned a sweet, smoky trail down his throat as he swallowed.

A light, staccato tap drew his eyes to the door. As though summoned by his thoughts, Adrian leaned against the door jamb, a crooked smile on his lips.

"What do you want?" Drake grumbled. Adrian laughed, the sound as rich and dark as the port in Drake's glass.

"I thought I'd come talk to you, get to know you better, seeing as how we're practically related now," he drawled. "And I really hate drinking alone." He moved his hand out from his side, revealing the bottle of Ballantine's he'd been carrying. Drake scowled, even as his irritation gave way to grudging amusement, and motioned the other young man further into the bedroom.

"Well, don't stand there lurking," he said. "Come in and close the door. I don't bite." He stopped, considering for the moment it took Adrian to close the door, and then smiled wolfishly. "Unless you ask me to, of course."

Adrian glanced over his shoulder before crossing the room to take a seat on the opposite end of the sofa, his clear gaze coming back to Drake's amused countenance.

"You know, I almost believe you would," he joked nervously. Drake merely smiled more widely and stretched lazily, curling his bare toes into the thick pile of the rug.

"Mmm, of course I would. Isn't that why you followed me upstairs?" Smirking, Drake watched the boy to see if he would run or brave it out.

"Maybe," Adrian said, his eyes sliding away from Drake to the fireplace. "But I thought it would be kind of ridiculous to come upstairs and just jump you." Drake chuckled and passed a cut glass tumbler from the table to Adrian, and poured more port in his own glass. With the warmth from the fire without and the warmth from the alcohol within, he felt relaxed and just a little reckless.

"Well, in the interest of strengthening family ties," he said suggestively. "Consider me your willing servant." Adrian laughed again and shook his head, sipping his Scotch.

"Since I don't really have any family ties in the first place, that is quite an offer," he said somberly.

"I see. Another black sheep?" Adrian shrugged, nodding his acquiesiance with a wry smile. "Well, I guess we have to stick together," Drake continued, picking up his wineglass. They sat quietly, watching the fire and making idle comparisons of the newly blended family for a few minutes longer, while Drake waited impatiently for Adrian to make a move. Finally, he stood up in frustration, stripping off his lightweight linen shirt and tossing it over the back of a nearby chair.

"You know, Adrian, I was eventually planning on going to bed. Why don't you just come on out and say whatever it is you wanted when you came up here?"

Adrian stared at Drake's bare chest, his eyes slightly unfocused from the Scotch, and smiled lazily, tossing back a heavy sheaf of wheat-gold hair.

"Well, what did you have in mind, Drake?" he asked softly. He was staring, and knew it, but didn't much care. Drake's half-naked body was tall and slender, like a finely tempered tool. It was his fantasies come to life; with shoulders almost too broad for such a narrow body, and a chest sheathed in the kind of hard, flat muscle that only comes from heavy physical labor. The black leather pants he had appeared in had scandalized his mother, but they framed the long legs and narrow hips perfectly, to Adrian's way of thinking. With his thick, blue-black hair pulled back into a ponytail and his arms folded over his magnificent chest, Drake looked like a romance novel pirate come to life.

"Christ. You really can't say it, can you?" With a wry chuckle, Adrian shook his head and looked away. With a muttered curse, Drake moved back to the couch and straddled his lap, placing a knee to either side of his hips and settling his weight comfortably on the other man's lap. He rested his wrists lightly on Adrian's shoulders, his long, work-calloused fingers playing with the strands of blond hair that fell down Adrian's back.

"Well?" he asked mockingly. "Is this what you wanted?" Carefully, Adrian reached out to set his Scotch glass on the table and brought his hands down to rest lightly on Drake's hips. This close, he could see the metallic golden flecks in Drake's amber eyes, and the resemblance to the beautiful black-haired woman in the portraits downstairs. He wasted a few moments just absorbing the look of the man in his lap. His face, despite the sharp planes and angles, was almost too pretty to be masculine. His lips were too shapely, the lower lip just a little too full, his eyes too wide and framed in impossibly long, thick black eyelashes. Only the fact that his tall, slender body was so blatantly male saved him from being effeminate.

"It's closer," he admitted softly. His fingers tightened on the slick, fragrant leather and pulled Drake more firmly against his body. "But this is even better." Drake's lips quirked into that wicked, knowing smile as he dipped his head to lay a light kiss on Adrian's lips.

"And that?" he teased. Adrian shook his head at the sudden playful turn this encounter had taken. Sliding his palms carefully up the hard, smooth flesh of Drake's ribcage and back, he found the band holding that silky black hair back and pulled. It tumbled free with a sound like softly falling rain and a wave of sandalwood scent. Greedily, he buried his fingers in the thick, heavy strands, his fingers massaging Drake's scalp lightly.

"It could be better," he murmured, using his grip of Drake's head to tug his head down. He slanted his mouth across those pretty lips and kissed him, slowly, exploring and savoring the taste of port and Drake's lust. His hands slid down to cradle the other man's face, and he could feel the faint scratchiness of beard growth. Part of his brain, the part not completely lost in the simple pleasure of a really good kiss, wondered what it would feel like against his skin. Reluctantly, he pulled back and looked at Drake, who smiled back at him, his eyes filled with lazy warmth.

"Hmmm. I think you were right, Adrian. That was better." His voice had taken on a sleepy, sensual purr, and his body settled more comfortably into the curve of Adrian's. With a soft chuckle, Adrian ran his hand up Drake's back and shook his head.

"Much better. Unfortunately, that's about as far as my experience goes."

Drake raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

"I find that very hard to believe. Virgins don't kiss like that."

Adrian smirked and shrugged.

"Then I must be something special," he replied, smugly. "Because the most I've ever done is a little kissing and groping." Mischievously, he moved his hands lower, kneading the firm backside planted so comfortably in his lap, molding it against him, putting pressure on his rising cock. "Although I'd be more than happy to rectify that problem," he grinned.

Laughing, Drake moved back, off his lap. Looking the blond over, he smiled to himself. The little voice in the back of his head, the one with the pitchfork and the barbed tail was jumping up and down, shouting "mine, all mine!" with glee. Even his much-abused and often-ignored conscience was agreeing with that sentiment, although he doubted it was his guardian angel feeding him those mental pictures of Adrian's naked body sprawled across the bearskin rug in the downstairs study.

He kept his eyes on Adrian's face as he knelt between his legs, laying his cheek down against the denim-covered thigh and looking up the line of that well-built, muscled body into those cloudy eyes. His smile was a blend of sweetness, joy, and a dark knowledge he hadn't quite earned yet. His warm breath fanned lightly along Adrian's hip through the material, his hands running idly up and down the muscled calves. He curved his fingers around those long legs, feeling the softness of the jeans, washed thin from being worn so often, and the tiny, involuntary spasms that followed his fingers when they touched a particularly erogenous spot.

Adrian let his head fall back against the sofa, his eyes, under heavy lids, watching the dark boy with a feverish glitter. A delicate flush rose along his cheekbones, beneath the healthy tan that came from being young and outdoors. Drake suddenly remembered his father telling him that Adrian had been quarterback for his varsity team at St. Francis. The thought of Adrian in the locker room showers, trying to keep his gaze off the other players lest his traitorous body give away his secret, made him smile a little wistfully. He'd been that way once, trying to keep his reputation, his family's reputation, impeccable, dating girls, pretending he wasn't left entirely cold by their kisses and caresses. Then his mother had died, and image suddenly didn't mean a thing.