Friday, 18 December 2015

Bad Boy Wants Man to Love

At last! The final Hill brother looks for romance!

Atticus Hill is the second oldest of the six Hill brothers. He’s also the only brother who hasn’t found his Mr. Right yet and his father’s twelve month deadline is fast running out. The only man who appeals to him is Roger King, the drummer at the gay bar Midnight on Tenth.

Roger has his own problems. He’s actually the owner of the bar, not just the drummer, but no one knows that. His parents died in a car crash when Pete, his brother, was only a few months old, and Roger, at the age of eighteen, chose to rear the baby himself, studying and working part-time as he did so. Now he’s achieved his dream. He owns the gay bar and Pete has graduated college. He wants to renovate the bar but that means telling his secret. Is it time for him to put himself first or not?

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Atticus cherished and fostered his role as the bad boy in the Hill family. From the time he could say his first word—which was no—he knew his older brother, Kai, was the driven one, the one who would ensure he succeeded. Atticus had the same black hair and black eyes as his father and brother, but he didn’t want to be a carbon copy of either of them. He rode a Harley motorcycle, always dressed completely in black, and grew his hair long and shaggy.

Right now he stood just inside the gay bar, looking at the stage for the drummer. Midnight on Tenth was the only decent gay bar in town, and Atticus was a regular visitor here, although he seldom picked up a one-night stand anymore. He was thirty-nine and even he was ready to find Mr. Right and settle down.

His decision had been hastened by his father’s edict nine months ago to all six of his sons that they had twelve months to settle down and give him some grandchildren. Since then, all five of his brothers had found their own Mr. Rights. Hell, his perfectionist brother, Storm, had even married his Mr. Right.

There were also two grandchildren for his parents to dote on. Christabelle, the girl his oldest brother Kai and his partner, Alan, had rescued, had a son, CC, born on Christmas Day. And Jude, his golden-haired, stunningly good-looking brother, was in a relationship with Stuart, who had a baby daughter, Kathleen.

Sawyer, brother number four, was happily settled with police lieutenant Mitch, and just recently his baby brother, Ross, had set up house with Perry Scott, a carpenter. Which left him the odd one out. Thirty-nine and with no one special.

No one who even made his pulses pound the slightest bit faster. Except maybe the drummer.

The drummer was tall and muscular, with brown hair and eyes, and a lot of piercings. Atticus could imagine tugging on the rings that adorned his body while they fucked. The man put a hell of a lot of effort into his drumming. He usually wore sleeveless shirts, and his skin glowed with sweat by the end of a set of music. Atticus liked the idea that his bulk was all muscle, not fat. He was a big man himself, six feet three and solid, and he liked to fuck hard and fast. He needed a fit and strong partner, not some frail twink who’d break if he pushed him against a wall and slammed his dick into his ass with no preparation.

The drummer. Mmm. The drummer was the only man who’d had even the slightest effect on his libido in months. It was time for Atticus to revert to his old bad habits and fuck the man against a wall to see if he still wanted to know him afterward. Unfortunately, in the past, the answer had been mostly no. But maybe this time he’d find someone who was more than a one-night stand. Someone who suited him. The drummer was his only hope.

He waited until the set of songs ended and then pushed his way through the crowd, arriving at the edge of the stage just as the drummer was leaving it.

“Buy you a drink?” he asked.

The drummer nodded. “You’re Atticus. I’ve seen you here often, although not so much lately.”

That was a surprise. He didn’t have the faintest idea of the drummer’s name. Hell, he couldn’t even remember the name of the band, yet the drummer knew him.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked as they moved toward the bar.

“Espresso caipirinha, please.”

Atticus just stared. He’d never heard of it.

“The barman knows.”

Yeah, well he would. That was his job. Atticus would Google it on his cell phone later.

Once again he pushed his way through the crowd. That was the advantage of being six three. He could see how to get to the head of the line a lot faster than short people.

“A longneck and an espresso caipirinha, please?” he asked.

He watched the bartender prepare the drink, but it wasn’t easy to see, as he turned his back after he added the ice coffee and Atticus had already figured that bit out himself.

He paid the man and shoved his way back out of the crowd. The drummer, whose name he still didn’t know, was leaning against the wall. Atticus was surprised he hadn’t grabbed a table, and then he wondered if maybe the staff wasn’t supposed to. No, he was sure he’d seen some of them sitting before.

“You know my name. What’s yours?”

“Roger. This way.”

Atticus followed him around the side of the bar to a narrow alcove with just one small table there. Roger sat so he could watch the crowd, leaving Atticus with his back to the room. He didn’t like that at all and moved his chair to the side of the table where he was beside Roger and could look at the crowd by turning his head to the side.

Roger grinned. “I’ve never met a nervous bikie before.”

“I’m not nervous. I just like to know what’s happening.”

“That seems reasonable. Why did you want to buy me a drink?”

Atticus took a long pull on his beer and noticed Roger just took a tiny sip of his drink.

“I want to fuck you. Tonight. Is that okay?”

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