Sneak Peek Excerpt of Accompanied by a Waltz
As promised, here's an excerpt of Accompanied by a Waltz. I hope you enjoy it. This story will be released on February 14, 2011.
Please forgive any mangling of the english language, the editors have not had a chnace to fix my mistakes.
Excerpt:
Two years ago…
“Happy birthday!”
He cracked his eyes open to see his lover standing over him, carrying a tray and wearing nothing but a smile. “You know I hate birthdays, and turning forty-five is nothing to celebrate,” Jonathon responded to Greg’s cheerful voice. “What are you doing here anyway?” he added, as sleep fell away and he remembered that Greg was supposed to be in Los Angeles on business, not standing in their bedroom with breakfast in bed. Sitting up, the covers pooling on his lap, Jonathon made room on their bed.
The mattress dipped as Greg sat down, placing the tray over his legs before slipping beneath the blankets next to his lover. “I’ve never missed your birthday, not in seventeen years together, and I don’t intend to start now. I finished the infernal meeting yesterday and even got Harry Jenkins, the world’s most persnickety actor, to sign the damned contract before catching the redeye. I landed at Kennedy a few hours ago and drove right here.” Jonathon smiled, reaching out as Greg leaned closer, their lips touching lightly. “Happy Birthday, Boo.” Jonathon sighed softly against those familiar and loved lips, the very private nickname Greg had for him warming his heart just like it had for over a decade. Shortly after they met, Greg found out that Jonathon’s middle name was Beauregard and he’d loved it. Greg had started calling him his Beau and eventually shortened it to Boo and it had been that way ever since. “We have lunch with the kids today, and after that I’m off for the next three days. Where would you like to go?” Greg kissed him again before leaning back against the headboard with a smile.
Jonathon looked over the breakfast tray, pulling his gaze away from Greg. He’d been so sweet, he didn’t want to do anything to spoil it. “You know where I want to go,” was all he said, doing his best to push the thought of lunch with Greg’s three children out of his mind.
“I do, and after we finish breakfast,” Greg leaned close again, lips tugging on an ear, the sensation had Jonathon moaning again, “you can pack while I make sure everything is all set at the office. Then we can drive to the lake. I already called the service and they said they’ll have the house opened up, stocked, and ready. We won’t have to leave the entire time unless we want to.”
Jonathon looked up from the tray, feeling a little choked up. “Thank you.” He replied softly.
“Boo,” Jonathon felt a finger slide under his chin, “I understand about the kids. I had a talk with all three of them and told them that they’re all adults now and it was time they started acting like it.” Greg picked up one of the berries off the plate, bringing it to Jonathon mouth, and his lips opened automatically, sucking in the berry and one of Greg’s fingers as well. “I love you, Jonathon Pfister, and I have almost since the day we first met—and nothing is going to change that. They need to realize it and get over it.” Jonathon heard Greg sigh softly. “I should have dealt with them a long time ago.”
“It’s not your fault, and you can’t make them like me.” Jonathon took a bite of egg, fluffy and light, before getting another forkful, feeding them to Greg with a slight leer. “I know they blame me for your divorce, and before you say it, I know it wasn’t my fault or their mother’s. I understand that, but they don’t or won’t.” He’d like to say it didn’t matter, but it did. His one wish was that Adam, Eric, and Jeana would see that he truly loved their father and did everything he could to make him happy. “That’s enough talk about the kids,” Jonathon ate another bite before drinking his orange juice, and placing the tray on the floor beside the bed. “I have something much more important to talk about.”
“And what is that, pray tell?” Greg asked, as Jonathon rolled into his lover’s thick arms, letting his head rest on Greg’s shoulder.
“You, Gregory Mansfield. I’d much rather talk about you,” Jonathon flirted as his fingers carded through the salt and pepper hair on his lover’s chest. “I missed you all week and I’m glad you’re here.” Leaning forward, he let his tongue glaze around a nipple, the familiar musky saltiness of his lover’s skin bursting onto his tongue. Shifting on the bed, he threw back the covers and Greg took him to his arms, pressing them together, starting a familiar, passionate dance they’d done together for going on two decades now. Of course over the years, their flamenco had changed into more of a waltz, but that didn’t seem to matter, all that really did was the way they felt for each other.
“You’re still amazing, you know that?” Jonathon whispered as Greg held him tight, spooned to his back, his lover’s breathing already beginning to even out.
“So are you, Boo,” Greg responded sleepily as a hand slowly rubbed circles on Jonathon’s stomach.
“Are you feeling all right?” Jonathon asked, rolling over in Greg’s embrace, stroking a hand over his forehead, petting him lightly while surreptitiously checking for a temperature.
“I’m fine,” Greg tightened his grip, winding a leg between Jonathon’s, “The flight was just long and I didn’t get much sleep. I’m not as young as I used to be.” Greg paused his eyes opening, “Or as handsome.”
“Stop it,” Jonathon smiled, “You’re just as handsome at sixty-two as you were the day I met you, and don’t you dare think otherwise for a second.” Jonathon saw Greg’s eyes close and he slowly got out of bed, dressing quietly before leaving the room to let Greg sleep for a few hours.
Wandering through the house, he stopped dead in his tracks in the kitchen, or what had once passed as the kitchen. It looked as though a bomb had gone off. How anyone could dirty every pan in the house as well as every inch of the granite countertops making eggs, toast, berries and juice was beyond him, but somehow Greg had managed. Checking out the sink, he picked up a saucepan with congealed oatmeal in the bottom and began to laugh. The man was a wizard in the courtroom, arguments a model of logic and order, and could write a contract so ironclad an atomic bomb couldn’t break it, but in the kitchen, the man could make a chaotic mess faster than a two-year-old on a sugar high. But none of that mattered as he opened the dishwasher and placing the pans in their racks after scraping out the remains in the bottoms.
