Choices

To celebrate the release of Honor Bound, my Japanese historical romance from Red Sage, I wanted to base my free read on a Japanese myth. During my research, I came across the story of the bamboo princess. As soon as I read it, my imagination went into overdrive. Below is the twist I put on this popular tale. I hope that you enjoy it!

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Title:Choices

Blurb: Can a bamboo princess outwit five princes and win a chance at love?

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Historical (Shogun Era), Paranormal

Heat Level: Sensual

Miki stopped pacing and wrung her hands. “But I can’t marry any of them. I don’t even know them.”

Her father rubbed his eyes. “I know, child. I know.” He picked up the stack of letters from the nearby chabudai. “But if you don’t marry one of the five princes, then they shall all become angry.” He shook his head as he shifted through the stack. “These are powerful men, Miki. I ask you, what will happen to your mother and I if we provoke the wrath of five kingdoms?” He waved the letters in the air between them. “These princes want to marry the bamboo princess. To deny them would be foolish.”

Miki lifted her chin. “Why does everyone insist on calling me that? I am neither made of bamboo, nor a princess.”

Her father placed the letters back on the chabudai. “I know, but no matter how hard I try to convince them otherwise, they insist that --”

The door opened, cutting off his sentence. Shiro, their head servant, entered with a bag over his shoulder. His large frame filled the doorway as he scanned the room. Miki took in his wide chest and narrow hips and felt a fluttering in her chest. He had proud, noble features and a sharp mind, one worthy of any king. And yet Shiro had been born on the wrong side of the sheets and was destined to serve instead of lead. Not that it mattered. Miki loved him regardless of his birth. It was society who had betrayed him, just like it had betrayed her.

Shiro’s features softened as his gaze rested on her, and it was as if a spell had been cast on the room. The air heated and a dull ache formed in her lower abdomen. She longed for this man with an intensity that made her dizzy, but knew that she could never act on it, at least not in public.

Ever since she was old enough to walk, she had loved Shiro. They had played side-by-side together as children, unaware of their different stations and different destinies. They would chase each other through her mother’s gardens and play otedama by the irori on cold winter nights.

“Put it over there, Shiro.” Her father motioned to a spot in the far corner of the room where they had been collecting bags of raw bamboo for market.

Miki held her breath as Shiro walked past. He was close enough to touch, and Miki longed to reach out and hold the hand of the man who had given her comfort in her youth, the one person who made her feel normal. She didn’t dare, however. Instead she watched the muscles ripple in his back as he approached the corner and settled the heavy bag on the floor. She wasn’t allowed to speak with him, but they had been meeting regularly under the cover of darkness. The meetings were thrilling and brief, and Miki lived for those stolen moments of passion.

“I suggest you read over these again.” Her father turned his back to Shiro and gestured toward the letters. “Surely one of these princes will suit your needs.”

Miki looked over her father’s shoulder at Shiro’s back. He appeared focused on the bamboo before him, but Miki saw his muscles tense and knew he was listening. Miki longed for the carefree days of youth. With age brought responsibility, and while Shiro was sent to work the land, she was too special to join them. At least, that was what her parents had told her. Instead Miki was kept hidden away in their home, away from cruel men who would want to use her for their own selfish gain. Men like the princes who wrote those letters.

“Miki, are you listening to me?”

“Of course, Father.” Miki dragged her gaze away from Shiro and to her father. Throughout her entire life, Shiro and her father were the only men who didn’t look at her and think of riches. It was why she loved them both so much.

Her father looked over his shoulder at Shiro, who was still organizing the bags of bamboo. “If I could change things, I would.” He returned his gaze to Miki. “But I can’t have five kingdoms angry with me.”

“If I choose one prince, then the other four will be angry.” Miki shook her head. “You can’t win, father.”

He thought or a moment. “Perhaps, but the one you marry would protect you from the others.”

“What if a sixth man, one not a prince, was to offer protection?” Shiro’s low voice rumbled through the room.

Miki held her breath as tension filled the air. Servants were never allowed to speak unless spoken to. Her father was more lenient than most, but to have a servant offer input on her future was not normal. Slaves in other households were punished for much less.

“Father, Shiro did not mean --”

“I spoke out of turn, Master.” Shiro inclined his head. “I am sorry.”

Miki tried to push back on her building desperation. “Father --”

Her father held up his hand, cutting off her words. Then he turned to face Shiro.

“If a sixth man saved my daughter from marrying someone she did not love, and spared me from the vengeful princes, I would welcome him with open arms,” he said.

The tension in the room evaporated as Miki realized that Shiro would not be punished for his mistake.

Shiro bowed to his master and then glanced at Miki, a smile forming on his lips. “I shall have to think about it, then.”

Miki watched him leave and wondered if he had a plan. She made a mental note to seek him out later that night.

“Think about it, child,” her father’s words brought her back to the present. “I trust you will come up with an answer.”

Her father followed Shiro out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Miki rushed over and scanned the letters again. One prince praised her body’s unique glow, saying that it could light the darkest night. Another admired her delicate fairy-like features and suggested that they could charm the most unruly king. The third lauded her singing, comparing it to an enchantress who could hold entire armies immobile with a few notes. The fourth and fifth spoke of her eyes, calling them beautiful silver orbs that could bend the most stubborn man to do her bidding.

None of them mentioned the rumors that she was causing the bamboo on her father’s property to grow golden nuggets in their stems. That was the real reason why the princes wanted to marry her. They believed the home she lived in would become rich and powerful.

These men didn’t care about her. Not one of them had visited. Not one of them had asked her whether she preferred tea or sake, or if she burned incense when she prayed. They didn’t care, and they never would.

Not like her father, who had found a golden-haired baby girl hidden among his bamboo plants and had taken her home to raise her as his own. He had loved and protected her as if she was part of his blood. She owed him much, and yet she found that even knowing this, it was difficult to make such a large sacrifice.

She tossed the letters aside and wiped her watery eyes with the back of her hand. How could the fates be so cruel?

A knock at the door jarred her from her thoughts. Before she could answer, it opened. Shiro’s dark head peeked inside.

“Are you all right?”

All of the worry and anger faded at the sight of her lover. “I am now.”

He glanced behind him and closed the door. “I don’t have much time.”

“There’s never enough time.” She knew she sounded bitter, but she couldn’t help it. If the princes had their way, then she would soon move away, and never be able to see her love again. Thinking about it made her chest ache and her eyes fill with tears.

“Miki.” His features softened and he closed the distance between them. “What happened?”

“It is nothing.” She had this moment with him, and she was determined to not waste it thinking of the future. Miki pushed her worries aside and smiled as he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her into the air.

“I’ve missed you,” she said as she reached around his head and loosened the leather strap around his hair. Black strands fell to his shoulders and she ran her fingers through them.

“You missed my hair,” he joked.

“No, I’ve missed you.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “Not a moment goes by, where I don’t think about you, about us.”

“And I think about you, too.” He turned their bodies and stepped forward until her back rested against the wall. “Every minute of every day, I think about moments like this.” The playfulness in his eyes disappeared, replaced by something dark and hungry. “I don’t want to lose you, Miki.”

Her joy faded, despair and sorrow taking its place. “Put me down, someone will hear us.”

“Your parents are sleeping.” He loosened his grip and let her slide to the floor. Miki’s skin heated as she slid against his hard, muscular body. Desire wound around her like vines, wrapping around her muscles and winding them tight.

When she touched the floor, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. Miki gasped at his sudden advance, but then melted against him. He nibbled at the side of her mouth, coaxing her to open. With a sigh, she parted her lips and tilted her head, deepening the kiss.

Shiro tightened his strong arms around her, cocooning her in warmth and safety. She inhaled his rich, earthy scent, tasted his jasmine-infused tongue, and knew that after work he had enjoyed tea served by one of the other servants instead of her. A stab of jealousy lanced her chest, and she did her best to let it go. She would never be able to bring him tea, or massage the sore muscles in his back. Their stations in life were so different. Their relationship could never be more than what it was, a collection of stolen moments and vague promises.

Miki broke the kiss and turned away as a hollow hole formed in her chest. Why couldn’t things be different?

“Talk to me.” Shiro reached up and pushed a golden lock from her face.

“No.” She grabbed his wrist and stopped his affectionate touch. It was all too much. If she couldn’t have Shiro, she didn’t want anyone. Miki let go of his wrist and stepped away.

“Miki, don’t shut me out. Please.”

Miki retrieved the letters and shoved them at his chest. “These princes will ruin me. Because of their greed, I will be taken away from you and forced to submit to a man I do not love.” She shook her head as her vision blurred with tears. “I can’t stand it.”

“Shh…” He ran his thumb down the side of her cheek. “Don’t cry. I may have a plan, but I need to read the prince’s demands first.”

She handed him the letters. He scanned the words, his features hardening as he flipped through the pages.

“These men don’t love you,” he said after a few moments.

“I know. They only want me for my curse.”

“You’re gift.” He placed the papers aside. “Ever since your father brought you home, I knew you were special.”

She fought the urge to smile. “How could you? You were four.”

“But I still knew.”

“Why? Because I was found among the bamboo, or because I glow like the stars in the sky?”

“Neither.”

“My hair, then.” She ran her fingers through her blonde locks. She hated the fact that she looked so different. Why couldn’t she be like everyone else? Then no one would care if she chose to spend her days with a servant instead of a prince.

Shiro slid his fingers up and down her arms, sending tingles of awareness over her skin. “It was your smile.”

She snorted. “I was a baby, just barely out of the womb.”

“And I was a young boy. And yet I knew then and there that we would become close.” His features softened. “It wasn’t until much later that I dared hope --”

“Please Shiro, stop.” She took his hands, and eased them away from her body. “I can’t bare it.” She nodded to the letters. “I wish I could burn those and make the selfish princes go away.”

“Maybe you can.”

She jerked her head up and met his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“You could say that your hand in marriage is based on one condition.”

“A condition?”

He nodded. “Yes, tell them that they must answer a question. Then make it something so difficult, that none of them will be able to come up with the correct answer.”

She thought about it for a moment. The idea had merit, but everything hinged on the question.

“What should I ask them?” she asked.

“That’s for you to decide.” He put his finger to her lips as she opened her mouth. “And don’t tell me your question, for I will need to answer it as well…if I want to have your hand in marriage.”

Joy filled her heart as he took his hand away. “You would challenge the princes?”

“I would challenge those self-centered princes and many more if you were the prize.”

Her spirit lifted, and Miki threw herself into Shiro’s arms. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She stood up on her toes and pressed her lips against his. Heat slid over her body as he reached up and cupped the back of her head with his hands. She parted her lips, offering up not only her body, but her mind and soul as well. He was the one, her soul mate, she could feel it in her bones. Why couldn’t her parents see that?

Or perhaps they could. Her father was normally a reasonable man, not caught up in local Japanese politics. The threat of the wrath of five kingdoms was enough to give anyone pause. If she could manage to send all of those self-righteous princes away, then perhaps her father’s heart will open to the possibility of her marrying Shiro.

The thought sent a warm rush through her body, and a low, pulsing ache in her core. She grabbed onto Shiro’s cloak, curling her fingers into the thick fabric at his hips. She tugged him closer and parted her lips, inviting him to take more of her, to claim her for his own.

He growled, a low, throaty and passionate sound, as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. She could feel his erection pressing against her lower abdomen. It stroked the sparks of her desire into a roaring flame. Heat and need swirled through her like steam from a teapot, and a primal desperation gnawed at her core. She let go of his cloak and slipped her arms around his trim hips, then rested them on his tight, firm ass. He slid his hands down and let his fingers trail over the open skin of her neck. His heady masculine scent surrounded her, making her feel dizzy with desire. His sweet jasmine taste made her crave more. She let her hands roam, wishing that she wasn’t touching rough fabric, but skin.

Miki knew he wanted the same, she could feel it in the way his body hardened, the quickness of his breath. He slipped his fingers down her arms, trailing them over her thin house robe until they rested by his hips. Then he grasped her arms and eased her hands away from his body.

She held back a whimper as he broke the kiss.

“We have to stop this,” he said.

“Why?”

“We aren’t married.”

“It’s only a matter of time.”

He smiled as he stepped out of her embrace and dropped her arms. “But we aren’t yet, and I could never disgrace you in that way. You’re too valuable to me. Once we’re together, I promise to give you so much more than just a kiss.” He reached out and cupped her cheek with his large palm. “So much more.” He ran his calloused thumb over her smooth skin. “But until then, your virtue must remain intact.”

Miki frowned. “Whether or not I am a virgin on my wedding night is not your decision to make.”

“Normally I would agree.” He dropped his arm. “But in this case, I know your father well. If word of our passion for each other spread, it would risk the anger of all the princes, and bring shame on your family.”

Why did he have to be so right all of the time? “I don’t want another minute to pass with us apart.”

“We only need to wait a little while longer.”

All of the erotic sensations she had felt before vanished, leaving her tired and irritable. She motioned to the door. “Fine. If I can’t be with you, then you might as well leave.”

“Miki…”

“Don’t ‘Miki’ me. You’ve made your point clear, now get out.” She walked over to the door and opened it for him. “Tomorrow, the five princes will come and demand a decision. I must prepare.” She motioned outside.

Shiro hesitated, clearly wanting to say something, but instead he nodded. “As you wish.”

Miki held her breath as he walked past, his masculine scent filling her nose and sparking the familiar longing in her core. She fought it back, knowing that it wouldn’t be appeased tonight. Perhaps it never would.

If everything went according to plan, then tomorrow she and Shiro would be betrothed. One misstep, and Miki would never see her lover again. As he approached, Miki realized that she didn’t want their relationship to end like this, with her hurt and him mad. She touched his cloak as he brushed past her, stopping his movements.

“You didn’t kiss me goodbye.”

“The next time I kiss you, you will be mine, and there will be no more goodbyes.” Then he was gone.

Miki closed the door and picked up one of the letters. She read through the scrawling script and then she put it down with a snort.

Miki paced the small room and chewed on her fingernail.

Tomorrow she’d put forth one question, and her fate would be sealed. If one of the princes figured out the answer, then she’d be forced to marry him. If the question was too hard for Shiro, then she could lose him as well. What was she going to do?

*****

Shiro stood in the shadows behind the bamboo plant as the princes walked into the grand room. The old bamboo cutter rose with his wife as they entered.

Miki’s father was getting on in years and was no longer the young, strong man who took Shiro in when he was orphaned at seven. It saddened his heart to know of his adoptive father’s frailties, but it also made him better understand the old man’s reasoning. Miki’s father could no longer defend his home from invaders, and needed his daughter to marry someone who could not only support her, but him and his aging wife as well. Shiro hoped more than anything that he could be that man.

“We demand an answer,” one of the princes announced as he stormed into the room.

“We have waited long enough,” another added.

“My daughter prepares herself, she has assured me that she has chosen, and will join us momentarily.”

Just as the old man had spoken, the door in the back room opened and in walked Miki. She was a vision to behold. Her long honey-colored hair was tied up tight in a bun, as was customary. Her face was painted with care, and her delicate, fairy-like features pulled at his heart-strings. A faint white glow shone around her body as she moved, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. They all saw the enchantress, the woman with the power to bring riches to whatever household she resided. Shiro didn’t see any of that. He only saw his beloved Miki, his soul mate.

Miki carried herself, not like a bamboo cutters daughter, but as a queen. Shiro had never been prouder. She would make a perfect wife.

Wife. For years Shiro had wanted her to be his, but didn’t know if her parents would allow her to marry someone born on the wrong side of the sheets. Her father’s words last night proved that her family would not only accept him, but welcome him with open arms. Finally, after years of waiting, Miki could be his. All he had to do was answer her question.

He felt his cock harden, and tried to think of less sensual thoughts as she strode to join her father. She appeared confident and strong, but Shiro noticed how she held her shaking hands at her sides. He resisted the urge to go to her, to gather in his arms and take her away from all of this. It wasn’t time yet. Once she sent all of the princes away, he would have his chance to claim her.

He only hoped that he could answer her question.

The princes took their turns bowing and kissing Miki’s hand. Jealousy rose up and stabbed Shiro’s chest, and he forced it back. Patience.

“I have made my decision,” Miki said after the last one moved back in line. “I will offer all of you a quest. The one who completes my quest will have my hand in marriage.”

The princes all nodded their agreement.

“She is wise,” one said.

“I will surely win,” said another.

Miki waited until the murmurs ceased. “Whoever first brings me my heart’s greatest desire shall have my hand in marriage.”

The princes whispered to each other as a dark hole opened in Shiro’s chest. Miki’s greatest desire? What could it be? He had no idea. For years their encounters had been so brief that they had no time to speak of such things.

“My lady,” one prince stepped forward and bowed. “What is your greatest desire?

She smiled. “That is for you to guess.” She looked at each of them in turn. “A good husband would know his wife’s desire, and seek to give it to her.”

The princes murmured between them once more.

“I believe my daughter’s request is fair. I will grant it,” her father said.

The princes nodded their agreement and Shiro began to panic. What could Miki’s greatest desire possibly be? He had no idea.

“I know what you desire.” The first prince stepped forward. “It is wealth. Marry me and I will give you as much money as you can spend in three lifetimes.”

Miki smiled. “I am sorry, that is your desire Prince Kochi, not mine.”

The prince’s features fell as he heard the words. He swallowed and straightened, determined to keep his pride. “As you wish.” He turned to the others and wished them luck.

One by one, the other princes made offers to Miki – power, fine silks and travel to great lands. Each time Miki turned them down. One by one the princes left until only one was standing.

“I know your heart’s greatest desire,” the prince said.

She raised her brow. “You do?”

“It is to marry.”

Miki’s features became a cool mask. “Oh?”

“Yes,” The prince smiled in victory. “It is to marry a prince and become a great princess, worthy of a fairy-tale ending.”

Miki visibly relaxed. “You are wrong, Prince Saito. I do wish to marry, but not for the reasons you suggest.”

“What other reasons could there be?”

Miki smiled, but did not answer his question.

“Then you are a fool.” The prince frowned and glanced at her father. “And I am lucky so as to not marry such a foolish woman.”

He stormed off back to the kingdom from which he came.

Miki closed her eyes as her father embraced her. “You did it, child.” He kissed her forehead and stepped back. “That was very clever of you, but I have to ask. What was the answer to your question?”

Then suddenly, everything became clear. “I’ll tell you the answer.” Shiro stepped away from the bamboo plant. “But when I answer the question correctly, you must allow Miki to take my hand in marriage.”

“You do not have to marry him if you don’t want to,” her father said. “Shiro was not part of the deal.”

Miki smiled at her father and patted his hand. “No, if Shiro can answer the question, then I will marry him.” She turned to face him. “Tell me, what is my heart’s greatest desire?”

He approached Miki, taking sure, measured steps as his eyes locked with hers. “You’re greatest wish is to marry, but not for the reasons the prince believed.”

Her smile widened. “And tell me Shiro, what are my reasons?”

He stopped only inches away from her. “You want to marry someone who challenges your mind and speaks to your heart. You want to marry not for money, or power, or political connections, but for love. And not the fairy-tale kind of love, because that always ends the story. You wish the strong, enduring love that grows from years of being together and sharing each others hearts. That kind of love does not end a story, but begins it.”

Miki’s smile lit up the whole room. “You are correct, Shiro. That is my heart’s greatest desire.”

Her father laughed as he pulled away from his daughter. “Well, I guess that settles it, then.”

“Yes, it does.” Shiro took Miki’s hands in his, and knelt before her. “Miki, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Their gazes met, and Shiro saw all of his love mirrored back at him in her gaze. “Yes, I will marry you.”

Joy burst from his chest. Shiro stood, wrapped his arms around her hips, and lifted her into the air. She laughed and grabbed his shoulders as he spun her around the room.

“You have made me a happy man, my beautiful Miki,” he said as he put her back onto the ground.

Miki’s face flushed, and her silver eyes glowed with happiness. “And you have granted me my heart’s desire.”

Shiro knew that it was improper for a man to kiss an unmarried woman in front of her father, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He had too much happiness to keep it all inside. He didn’t think that her father would mind his emotional outburst. After all, Miki wouldn’t remain unmarried for much longer.

The End

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After over a decade in the scientific world, Suzanne needed a creative outlet. She tried scrap booking, cooking, crocheting, painting, and piano, none of which held her interest for very long. Then one of her friends suggested writing. Thrilled with the idea of creating her own worlds, she opened up her lap top and never looked back.

When Suzanne’s not writing, she can be found playing with her two daughters, testing her husband’s latest kitchen creations, or curled up with her favorite romance novel in her central Massachusetts home.

Website: www.SuzanneRock.com

Pairing: m/f, erotic (capture/bondage)

Length: Novella

Price: $3.49

Buy Link:

http://www.eredsage.com/store/HonorBound.html

Blurb:

Deep in the Hidaka Mountains, Akito is commissioned to capture the goddess of desire. He expects to use all of his samurai skills to complete the task. What he doesn't expect is the resurrection of his deceased lover, or the number of immortals who wish them both dead.

Condemned to an eternity of loneliness, Jin curses the day the mother goddess tricked her into becoming immortal. When a seasoned samurai enters her prison, she’s determined to build the man’s desire so she can harness enough strength to break the bonds that tie her to the mountain. As the intruder makes himself known, memories long buried rise to the surface and Jin becomes desperate for Akito to believe the truth – that she is his beloved. Can she earn his trust in time, or will they both succumb to the forces that strive to keep them apart?

Reader Alert!: This story contains a dominating samurai, a sexually frustrated goddess, and enough rope to bind them both together for eternity.

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Put You in a Song by Elizabeth Silver

Every time I buy a CD (and yes, I still buy the physical discs instead of hitting up iTunes), the first thing I do upon cranking the stereo volume, is flip to the liner notes. Who made this shiny little miracle of music happen? Who did the artist thank, and in what order? Long before I started writing my own stories, I used to daydream stories about those people in the liner, and wonder if it was as beautiful to them as it was to me to see someone else paying homage, even superficially, for all time?


Then my favorite musician married my favorite actress and started writing music about her, and putting her in his liner notes. But that wasn’t enough for Keith Urban. No, he had to write the song that I couldn’t resist using as the inspiration for my story:





That is the kind of love I adore writing about, and that is exactly the love I wanted to write about here for my turn at TMDRA. I hope you enjoy it!


Sing along if you know the words...

Deeply closeted country musician James Johnson’s career is on the rocks when he goes away on writing retreat with his on-again, off-again lover and song writing partner, Whitney Turner. Except the harmony turns to discord when the old fight threatens to split them for good. Can they work on the same page, or is James’s career (and love life) done for?


Rated – Adult – Appropriate for 18 years and older only
Genre – Contemporary M/M
Heat Level – Erotic



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From Nashville Heart Weekly, May 30, 2011:

While many artists would have taken time to lick their wounds after a flop as spectacular as Jimmy Johnson’s failed pop experiment, JJ’s House, industry buzz has it that the once-popular country crooner is headed to an undisclosed location to start writing all new songs for his next album. That same dedication to his craft that has kept Johnson afloat through some rocky times in his career – rehab for his much-publicized drug problem, the fallout from the annulment of his three-month marriage to actress Shelby Carr, and some decidedly not family-friendly photos in a certain ladies’ only magazine being a few of the more popular high points – and those closest and most loyal to Johnson have hinted that this song writing retreat will be as much about production as it will be about finding his country roots again.

If that’s true, then Johnson couldn’t ask for better company along the way. Whitney Turner, known by all the best names in the business as the man to have working on your tunes, has been packing his bags for a little getaway of his own. Turner co-wrote some of Johnson’s biggest hits to date with the artist himself, including “Old Dancing Shoes,” “Knocking on Your Door,” and of course, the ever popular ballad “Somebody Else’s Name.” If they’re pairing up again, it’s probably safe to say that Nashville will never be the same...

~*~*~
The mountains rose up all around them, covered in their early summer green. A few of the bushes and trees still clung to late spring buds, bright pink and white splashes that zoomed by as Whit drove the rental along the road. They’d left the general store and incorporated county roads about an hour back, and James had finished off his coffee almost as long ago, but the further and further they got from Nashville, the reporters, the reviews that made it sound like he’d suddenly gone tone deaf instead of just produced an album no one wanted, the better he felt.

The Jeep bounced over a pothole big enough to swallow them whole, throwing James a few inches in the air despite his seatbelt. He looked over at Whit and laughed.

“You look like a kid at the county fair, man.” James tossed his empty paper cup in emphasis. “I didn’t know you were into off-roading.”

Whit’s smile was wide and bright in the late morning sunlight as he tossed his head to get a shock of black hair out of his eyes. “We’re almost there,” he said, popping a fresh piece of his favorite gum in his mouth. Sure enough, he slowed down just before taking a dirt road James hadn’t even seen coming, and then the jostling eased up as the tires found old tracks worn from decades of visitors, coming round a bend just as the trees parted.

The log cabin sprawled lakeside, the back end half-hidden by trees and bushes, like the forest was trying to take it back, or maybe just keep it safe, cradling the house in branches and ivy. There were glints of glass in the shingled roof, modern skylights hinting at who knew how many other updates that might have been made over the years, while a long porch ran half the length of the front of the house, complete with rocking chairs that could have come right out of a “country life” photo somewhere. There was even a tire swing hanging in the shade of a lakeside tree.

“It’s gorgeous,” James said quietly.

“Thanks.” Whit pulled the Jeep up onto the gravel drive in front of the house. “Not much of the family comes out too often since my grandfather died, but we used to spend every summer here, running wild as heathens.”

James laughed. “You must have been one giant freckle by the time school started in the fall.”

“Well, we can’t all be blond-haired, brown-eyed country boys.” Whit punched James’s arm just hard enough to sting. “Some of us have to suffer with the burden of being the pretty ones.”

Without even bothering to come up with a retort, James climbed out of the Jeep. His duffle bag and guitar were in the back, right next to Whit’s gear and the coolers of supplies. Everything they needed for the next few days, and it would be easy enough to refuel after that.

They unpacked the Jeep quickly and got everything piled on the porch. Whit unlocked the front door and stopped, turning to James with a small smile.

“So I finally got you alone,” he said, leaning in. Whit’s fingers were warm and familiar on the back of James’s neck, his breath minty and close. “What’m I gonna do with you?”

And there it was. That old, familiar panic; the conviction they were being watched, that a reporter would jump out of the nearest tree with camera flashing and tape rolling. It didn’t matter where they were, or how far away they were from the rest of civilization. All that matter was the surge of panic that rose up like bile in the back of James’s throat, turning his head.

Whit’s mouth landed awkwardly on the corner of James’s. For a moment, they both froze, and then Whit pulled away with a sigh like guitar strings out of tune.

“James—”

“We can wait until after lunch to start work, I figure,” James said. “Long drive, and I could use a shower and a nap, you know?”

For a long moment, he thought Whit might call him on it, might start them off on the path they’d both been avoiding for so long. Then he stepped back, face closing off and those sky-blue eyes shuttering against him.

“Yeah. We can work after lunch. Whatever you want, Jim.”

Jim. Ouch. Whit only brought that one out when he was his most pissed off, and the only hope James had of fixing it was to lay low for a while until Whit cooled off. Maybe try to get some work done.

Right.

Work.

James followed Whit inside the house, feeling as off-track and lost as his last album. There were people expecting a new batch of songs from him yesterday, and he was fresh out of do-overs. It was time to get cracking and start writing.

Just as soon as he figured out where the music in his soul had gone.

~*~*~
They didn’t talk much as they worked that afternoon, bent over notebooks and blank sheet music pages. James told himself it was because they had their own thought processes to work through before they could come together and make the songs happen, and that they both knew better than to force things along, but he knew otherwise.

Every word James tried to write sounded hollow and trite, and every note he scribbled fell sour on his ears. They went through two pots of coffee before Whit cursed and pushed back from the table, announcing he was going to bed early. James had just grunted and spouted some bullshit about the both of them being worn out, even though he felt like clawing out of his own skin and climbing up the walls out of sheer frustration.

Maybe it had been too long since they’d done this, he wondered as he set a new pot on to brew; his last album hadn’t had any collaborations on it at all, and Whit hadn’t put out any new music in almost a year. Maybe they’d just forgotten how to play well with others.

That was a lie, and James knew it. He still remembered their argument when Shelby had tired of their sham of a marriage and left, and James had shown up at Whit’s door only to be sent back home to his big empty house. Whit had needed more than the occasional lay when it was convenient for them, and James... well. It was better to be considered a player that wouldn’t settle down that the truth, and they both knew it. The damn tiger in the corner of the room, threatening to tear it all down if James wasn’t careful.

~*~*~
The mattress was musty and lumpy, but the sheets were soft enough that James didn’t care. All he wanted was to sleep in a little more. The sky had been getting light with sunrise by the time he’d hauled his sorry butt to bed, but he’d not only finished a rough draft of some lyrics he’d started the night before, but had also made serious progress on a second song. The pages for that, a few snippets of lyrics but otherwise wordless for now, were tucked away safe until later, something he could work on alone.

Grumbling at his crowded thoughts as they insisted on waking him up, James buried his face in the pillow and snuggled deeper into the covers. That was right about when he felt the mattress dip and the familiar press of Whit against his back. Comfortable, always with just the right amount of give, and something James had thought he’d never feel again.

“Your rhyming scheme sucks,” Whit said, kissing the back of James’s shoulder. “But maybe we can fix it up a bit, find a better singing rhythm.” His arm curled around James’s torso, hand flat over his heart. “Might have been a good B-side, if they still had ‘em.”

“Fuck you, it’s single material,” James muttered. He relaxed back into Whit’s body.

“You say that about everything you write.” He could hear the grin in Whit’s voice, and knew his lyrics had done the job.

“That’s because I’m a genius.”

“Sure thing, babe.” Whit kissed his neck. “Now shut up, I’m trying to go back to sleep, yeah?”

James smiled into the pillow as some of the bands around his heart eased a bit. “Yeah.”

~*~*~
Three days later, and things were better. Almost like old, only not, and James knew there was a talk looming in their future, but thought maybe it could keep a while yet. All he wanted was to bask in the glow of those stolen hours, working together on song ideas, playing in the kitchen, fighting over bed linens, and the hot, passionate sex that threatened to set the whole house on fire when they came together.

Still, James would catch Whit watching him out of the corner of his eye, looking thoughtful, like he had a whole monologue locked and loaded for just the right moment. So he knew it wasn’t going to last. It was just a matter of time.

“I wish I could make it all stay just like this,” James said at the end of the third day.

“Hmm?” Whit sounded casual, but James could feel the tension in him. They were sharing a lounge chair, James between Whit’s legs and leaning back against his chest as they watched the sun going down behind the pines at the far side of the lake.

“You and me, all alone with no one to bother us or get in the way.” James laced their fingers, tan and freckled, together until they were almost knotted. “I wish I didn’t have to go back to the groupies and the plants that pretended to be groupies that I’d supposedly slept with. If I was brave enough, I could just tell them...”

Whit sighed. “That you’d been getting your rocks off with other dudes since you were sixteen and they were barking up the wrong tree?” He rested his cheek on top of James’s head. “You and I both know that’s only if you want to deep-six what’s left of your career in a hurry. That’s why we’ve always been just this, James.”

“Yeah, well.” James laughed hollowly. “What if I wanted more than just this? Something more than just the occasional stolen fuck when we can get away would be nice. I want what other people have, Whit. I want that romance we’re always so keen on me singing about.”

Whit locked up behind him, moving quickly to climb out of the chair without dislodging James. “As if I’m going to get to give it to you,” he said. “Look, do me a favor, Jim, and stop dangling what I can’t have in front of me, yeah? It’s not cool and I don’t play those games.”

“Whit—”

But Whit didn’t stop, his boots loud on the dock as he stormed back to the house. And James just sat there, clueless and helpless and feeling like he’d just done something very wrong when all he’d been doing was trying to say that Whit was the only thing that actually felt right in his life.

James waited until long past sunset, half-hoping that Whit would come back out and they’d be able to pick things back up again, pretend everything was fine like they had about nearly everything else. Eventually, he had to give up and go in on his own, when the dusk chill settled in to a night cool, and James only had his shorts and a thin t-shirt for protection.

The house was dark despite the banked coals in the fireplace, and there was no sign of Whit in the living room or kitchen as James made his way through for a lonely cup of coffee. Even the pot was cold, so he took a few minutes to warm up the last dregs on the stove, forehead on the range hood and eyes closed. Every move, every sound seemed to echo strangely, and the cabin felt as empty as James had that night Whit had sent him home.

I don’t want to be your back-up lay anymore, Jim.

And now James had tried to give him just that, more than he’d ever offered before, and things were more broken than ever. He didn’t understand why, and if he didn’t understand, he didn’t have a prayer in fixing it.

Familiar footsteps scuffed on the linoleum behind him as James poured the reheated coffee into his mug. He turned around slowly, feeling like a man meeting the firing squad, and might as well have been shot, as much as the hurt in Whit’s eyes damn near killed him.

“There’s no hope for more than this,” Whit said. His voice sounded like gravel, and James’s fingers curled reflexively around the mug instead of reaching for him. “I got that a long time ago, before you made it big, before you got married. I’m reminded with every girlfriend, every gossip column tying your name to another girl willing to play the game in exchange for her fifteen minutes. If there’s no place for a gay cowboy in Nashville, then that goes double for his fuck buddy.”

James stood there, numb. It wasn’t anything they hadn’t talked about before, but this time he heard more than just a breakdown of their messed up situation. It was the wedge that was finally doing its job between them. He reached for Whit and stumbled into the kitchen table instead.

“But we can...” James tried, and then trailed off. He didn’t know what they could do, but there had to be something.

“Don’t pretend that we’re like everyone else and all we have to do is just win over a few family and friends,” Whit said, shaking his head. “You’re not, Jim. You’re special, one of country’s rising stars. And me? I’m... I’m just the guy you sometimes write songs and sleep with. We can’t be together all the time, not with things the way they are, and I know a hell of a lot better than to even daydream that you’d ever want to give all that up to be with me. I’m flat out not worth it.”

“Don’t even say that. You’re my friend.” James could feel the moment slipping through his fingers. “You’re much more than that, always have been, even when I’ve been a shit to you.”

Whit shook his head and smiled sadly. “I’m self-deluded, is what I am. But at least I’m being honest now.” He sighed. “Look, I think it’s best if I sleep in my room tonight, okay? I should be back to normal in the morning, but for now... for now, I really just need the space.”

“Yeah. Sure.” The words sounded strangled, probably because of the huge knot lodged in the middle of his throat. James swallowed thickly and let Whit turn around and pad quietly out of the kitchen, leaving him with nothing but a table covered in song notes and a mug of lukewarm coffee.

~*~*~
No matter what Whit said, the next day was hell for the both of them. They barely spoke, neither one able to make eye contact. If it had been anyone else, any other situation, James might have joked that Hell was being locked away for the next month with someone that just dumped you. But he really wasn’t feeling up to humor, so he just settled for staying out of Whit’s way as much as possible.

By mid-afternoon, James was ready to start climbing the walls. Instead, he grabbed his iPod and went for a walk.

Whit thinks I don’t really want to be with him, he mused as he put the music player on random, he thinks I’d never be willing to even admit wanting the things he wants. But if I just tell him, he’d never believe me. Life’s never that easy, is it?

Right then, the music shuffled up one of his own singles, and James heard his voice singing the familiar words of “Somebody Else’s Name.” He and Whit had written it over a weekend when he’d been told by management that he was going to have a whirlwind marriage with Shelby. Getting married would mean no more playing around, nothing; it might have been a bogus marriage on both sides, but James was still a man of his word, and even if he only had, at most, brotherly thoughts about her.

The ballad had been an instant hit, a tear-jerker that he couldn’t get away from playing even now, two years later. It was easy to get lost in the technicalities of the music, but just now, walking along a lake with only one other person around for miles, James found himself listening to the words he and Whit had written for each other.

And he had an idea.

~*~*~
He waited until after dinner to shut himself up in his room, not that they got any work done before they ate. They just sat in opposite corners of the living room, reading books and doing a piss-poor job of pretending the other wasn’t there. James sure hoped this worked, because if it didn’t, there was no way he’d be able to spend the rest of the month like this, even ignoring the fact that his heart felt like it was in a million pieces in his chest.

For the first couple of hours, he just worked on paper, scribbling notes and trying to get into the flow of the music when every part of him wanted to be downstairs with Whit. But then it was always like that; looks that lasted too long and conversations at parties cut short until they could stand a little closer. It was like the music flowed better when they were together.

The first few attempts had to be scrapped for being depressing shit, and the one after that sounded more like a greeting card. It wasn’t until he heard Whit’s measured steps in the hall and let himself pretend they were coming his way like they should have been that a smile kicked up one side of James’s mouth and the words clicked.

And when it came time to work on the music, James gathered up his papers and his guitar and crept back downstairs. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if he woke Whit up with his strumming, now would it?

~*~*~

It was late by the time the song started feeling right, past midnight. Sitting on the floor in front of the fire in his jeans and t-shirt, guitar in hand and sheet music scattered all around him, James was about halfway through a play through of the first verse when he heard the stairs creak. Figuring he was busted anyhow, he kept going, putting a little more volume in his voice so Whit could hear him better.

He sang about wanting to keep Whit with him, wanting the world to see what they had. He sang about never being able to get enough of what it was between them, because if James was being honest, it had long ago stopped being just sex. Way before Shelby, before the fame. If it hadn’t, they’d have been able to quit ages ago. But there was no quitting this, and James needed Whit to know that he saw it now.

As the last notes faded, Whit knelt on the rug, hands running over the pages. He was wearing a pair of drawstring pants that James was pretty sure were actually his, and somehow that gave him a little more courage.

“You should pick up the tempo, make it more peppy and less of a ballad,” Whit said. He didn’t look up for a long while, but when he did, his face was serious, eyes unreadable in the firelight.

“Whit.”

“But it’s good. I think you’ve really got something there.”

“Whit.”

“You’ll want to change the pronouns before you record, though. You probably don’t want to go around singing about putting other guys in love songs, Jim.”

“Whit, will you shut up?”

Whit’s hands clutched at the papers, but he closed his mouth and sat back on his heels. It was enough of an opening to get out what needed out, James figured.

“It’s for you,” he said. “I’ll fix the tempo if you want me to, but this song, I didn’t write it for any album, I didn’t write it to sing about some nameless girl. I wrote it for you, because it’s all about you. I’d thought I made that pretty damn clear, didn’t you?”

Whit didn’t say anything, just looked down at his hands. But he didn’t leave, so James hoped he was on the right track. All he could do was keep trying until he got it right, until he fixed things enough that Whit could see that he really was right there for him.

James shook his head and set his guitar aside. “This, we, can’t end like this. Not when we’ve never really tried. I know it’s going to suck, I know it’s going to be hard, but you’re worth it. God, are you ever worth it. So if you think the song needs fixing, we can do that. Together. Okay?”

Whit laughed, just once, and finally looked up. There were tears in his eyes, but a real smile on his face as he held out a hand to James. And that was it. The sign James was waiting on.

Crawling over the small space between them, James met Whit’s kiss eagerly, hands cradling faces, like they might drift apart again if they didn’t hold on tight from here on out. James’s fingers tangled in Whit’s hair for a few seconds, clinging a little tighter when Whit tried to pull up for air.

“Bedroom,” Whit whispered against his lips.

That one word was enough to push James into action, and he was up and heading for the stairs in a heartbeat, fingers laced with Whit’s. Not like he had to pull Whit along; Whit followed right behind him, laughing and shoving to make him go faster, get there sooner. Their bare feet skidded on the polished wood floors, and James banged to a halt against the wall just outside Whit’s room, pulling him in for another kiss, curling one hand around Whit’s hip, smiling into another light kiss.

Whit leaned back, not enough to break the contact of their bodies, but enough to watch was he traced the lines of James’s face. “I always do like lookin’ at you,” he said, as quiet as the shadows around them. His voice was low and slow, that old drawl that hardly ever came out after so much time in the music industry. “Knowin’ you’ve shown me parts the rest of the world can’t even dream of. Even when it killed me to know it, I did still like the lookin’. Maybe because it reminded me of times like this, you know?”

“Whit...” James cupped the side of Whit’s face in his free hand. “I don’t know what I do without you to love the real me just as much as I...” He swallowed around a thick knot, the words refusing to come out just yet.

But Whit understood. Of course he did. He just laughed. “You little shit,” he said. “Stealing my thunder and sayin’ it for me.” Another laugh, this one right against James’s mouth. “Come on to bed, babe.”

They stumbled into the bedroom, working together to get their clothes off so that by the time they fell together onto the mattress, there was just the thin cotton of James’s boxers between them. Still way too much in the way of clothes, but nothing at all considering what they’d already blasted away in the past few minutes.

James lifted his hips to help get that last bit out of the way, and then finally Whit was kneeling between his legs, the pair of them naked and so very hard that James thought he might burst the second Whit touched him. It hadn’t been all that long, but it had never really felt like this before, and James was so glad Whit had left the light on so he could see the flex of muscles under fair skin as Whit stretched his long, slender body to reach the bedside drawer for the supplies.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” James said, the words like a prayer. “Why have I never told you that before?”

“Beats me,” Whit said. He kissed James’s chest, just above his heart.

“Well, you are.” Teasing fingers brushed the length of James’s cock, leaving cool traces of lube, and James would have arched right off the bed if Whit hadn’t been kneeling over him. It took more effort than it should have to keep going, but he managed. “Don’t know what you’re doing with someone like me.”

Whit chuckled. “You have your moments,” he said. And then those fingers pressed against James’s entrance, sliding in with easy practice after only a moment.

James’s eyes fell shut, trapping him in a world of darkness, sensation, and Whit. There was just Whit, kissing up his chest; Whit, spreading him open with plunging motions that made breathing almost impossible; Whit, whispering in his ear how much he wanted and needed James. James turned blindly, kissing him hungrily, tired of waiting to be filled with Whit's cock.

And then he got it.

At the first push of Whit’s cock, James clung tighter to him, trying to pull him in faster, deeper. It was the familiar old dance between them, James rushing and Whit dragging it out until James had pushed enough buttons to get his way, and for a moment they fell into it like always. But then Whit kissed the hollow of James’s throat, stilling them both.

“We’ll get there, babe,” he said, breathing softly over James’s sweat-damp skin. “I promise I’ll take care of you so long as you let me.”

At that, James opened his eyes and relaxed a little, head easing back on the pillow, one leg falling to the bed so Whit had a little more freedom. Whit’s smile said he knew that was as good as he was going to get this time around, but it was still welcome.

James rolled his eyes. “You are so lucky I’m crazy about you,” he said.

“Again with the stealing my line.” Whit thrust in deep, filling James completely and robbing him of any kind of comeback. Which was fine, because he so very full and complete, and the slow, deep thrusts Whit picked up were so perfect, lighting James up from the inside.

James ran his hands up Whit’s flanks, feeling each powerful thrust in the ripple of muscle and shock of penetration. Up he went, along Whit’s sides, to feel how hard he was breathing, his heart beating as wildly out of control as James’s. And then one hand cupped the side of Whit’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss, dragging him deeper.

“Oh, God.” Whit groaned, shuddering. “I can’t...”

Forehead to forehead, breath to breath, James forced enough coordination into his legs to plant his feet flat and push up, taking control with short thrusts. “It’s okay,” he murmured, hands running all over Whit’s back and shoulders. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah.” Whit’s arms slid under James, hands cupping his shoulders from behind so his next thrust, hard and deep and tooth-rattling, didn’t send James flying. At least not physically. The feeling of being damn-near split open on Whit’s cock had James almost incandescent with bliss, and he surrendered to it gladly, anchoring himself with his heels in the small of Whit’s back and fists in the sheets. He was so close already, had been from the moment Whit first pushed in, but now James couldn’t hold back any longer, not even if Whit had begged him.

James shoved a desperate hand between their bodies and wrapped it around his cock, jerking quickly. The hard length was slick with sweat, lube, and his own pre-come, and his hand moved easily as he brought himself off. Above him, he felt Whit start to come apart, heard his moans breaking down, and it wasn’t more than a couple of seconds longer that James joined him in a chorus of surrender, their voices blending perfectly.

It was long minutes before either of them could move, Whit pulling away to toss the condom while James wiped himself down with a handful of tissues; familiar motions despite the unfamiliar territory James now wanted, and hoped Whit had heard him asking for in the song.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to check. Whit just curled around him from behind like always, pulling the covers up over them like a shield against the rest of the world, and kissed the back of his shoulder, whispering, “If we do this, and you go off and get married again...”

“I promise, you’re the only one I wanna...” That hadn’t been what James had meant to say, but it was true, so he let it be and kept going. “Move in with me. I’ve got the space and I only ever feel right when you’re with me.”

Whit’s arm tightened around him, pulling him closer. “How about we just finish your album? We’ll pick out china patterns to match the new platinum record later.”

James snorted. “A working honeymoon, huh?”

“If I’ve got you all to myself, I might as well take advantage of it,” Whit said.

“Shut up and go to sleep.” James snuggled back as he said it. “We have work to do in the morning.”

~*~*~
From the liner notes of Where You Are:

...This new album is so very different than all the others before it, because it’s got more of me in it than any others. It took longer than I’d planned to write it, produce it, and finalize it, but what you hold in your hands is probably one of the most honest things I’ve ever done in my life. And to that end, I need to thank my manager, Scar Parrish, for riding me when I needed it and giving me space the rest of the time; the label for the creative space to do what needed doing; the Jimmy Johnson band for all their long hours and effort in and out of the studio; and my producer, Jenna Urban, for her tireless work and putting up with me leaning over her shoulder with my random ideas. And last, but certainly not least, I want to thank my writing partner and best friend, Whitney Turner, without whom none of this would have been possible. I love you, man. Thank you.










**********


International woman of mystery and wearer of many hats, Elizabeth Silver is a writer, a nerd, a professional cat-herder, and a self-proclaimed Internet junkie. With her feet planted about halfway between New York and Philadelphia, Elizabeth has often been accused of having her head in the clouds, although what she’s really doing is just thinking really hard. Elizabeth can frequently be found at the local diners or coffee shops with free Internet access and bottomless refills, working on new story ideas. Online, Elizabeth can be found:


On her website and blog – UrbanSilver.net
On Twitter - @LizSilverWrites
With the Dirty Birdies


Elizabeth’s books can be found at Loose Id, including her most recent release, Where the Heart Is, co-authored with Jenny Urban.