Freddie Markson likes to have fun. He loves men, and knowing he's headed to Rome, Italy for the summer means only one fling after fling after fling. But from the moment he meets the wealthy Patsy Abbott, Freddie realizes his priorities are about to change. She challenges him to pick up a guy on the flight, and while that goes well enough, it's what happens after they land that will change fun-loving Freddie forever.
His name is Santo Mancusi, and he's among the most handsome men Freddie has ever seen. A chance encounter through Patsy has the two men hooking up. But Santo has a secret past, one he is reluctant to revisit. After a night of rapturous sex with Santo, Freddie realizes this may just be more than a fling. Could Cupid have pierced his cynical heart?
Drenched in the heated passion of Rome, Freddie's adventure will take him from the ancient Colosseum to the rolling hills of Santo's family's Tuscan villa, all in pursuit of a passionate love he cannot deny. With secrets exposed, hearts opened, Freddie and Santo realize that anything is possible.
“Oh, no,” Patsy said. “It’s fascinating. So let me guess, you’re not the relationship type.”
“Uh, no.”
“So, you’re not looking for love? For the ideal companion to share your life?”
“Nope. Not now, not for quite a while,” Freddie said. “Though actually, that’s what this trip is supposed to be about.”
“How intriguing. Do tell.”
So he did. He told this perfect stranger all about his friends Jake Westbury and Matthew Donovan, both of whom had already left for their trips to London and Paris respectively, and while he was sure Jake was acting like the dog he was, Matt “is probably already married and has his second child on the way. And he’s only been there two weeks.”
“Sounds like you don’t think much of your friend, Matt.”
“Oh, quite the opposite. I admire the fact he knows what he wants. He’s the sensitive one. Me, I’m just not wired that way.”
“Now you sound like my brother. Bigshot, international lawyer, he’s gay and he loves sex -- I’ve heard more about his antics than I ever wanted to, which is probably why I’m the fag hag he insists I am, and hey, if I am it’s because he made me that way, you know, nurture versus nature ... ha ha -- but he’s afraid of commitment, or so he thinks he is. Anyway, we have this ongoing game. Since we both travel a lot, we meet a lot of people. How many men Colton has bought membership into the mile-high club I don’t know -- but it’s a lot. Me, that sort of sordid sex doesn’t interest me. That doesn’t mean I can’t help further the cause. So, Freddie, have you found any boys here to your liking? I saw some queen walk by with a pink carry-all and quickly dismissed him. Another guy had his baseball cap worn backwards, another no-no I’m guessing. Hey, what about that one?”
Freddie looked to where she was pointing, his eyes zeroing in a guy flipping through cyber pages on his iPad. He was blonde, trim, tall, could have been straight except for the limp-wristed motion he used on his tech device. Patsy had picked up on it, raising an eyebrow as she sipped at her red wine.
“He’s not even sitting near our gate.”
“Doesn’t matter. Few other flights remain tonight, could just be stretching out. Look at his legs, nice and long. Damn iPad is blocking his package. Still, he’s got potential. Cute in a preppy way, but I don’t think that’s much of a problem for you. Once the Tommy Hilfiger clothes are off, men are men. Bodies are bodies, skin is skin.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll keep him in mind. Hey, what about that guy?”
That guy proved to be one of their flight attendants, a dark-haired, dark-skinned man of thirty-something years waiting around for the arrival of their plane with a gaggle of coworkers. He was nattily dressed in tight dark-green slacks, a white shirt that hugged a fit, if short-ish, body. His blazer was draped over nearby luggage. He spoke excitedly with his fellow coworkers, arms flailing with passion. Ooh, a fiery personality, no doubt annoyed as well at the delay. Probably had that much energy in bed, too, Freddie thought.
“Okay, I’ll give you him.”
“Please,” Freddie pleaded.
“So, we’ve got our choices narrowed down. The tall blonde tech guy, or the short, hunky African-American fly boy,” Patsy said. “Let’s see what happens when we board. Come on, kid, put on your best gay, let them know you’re here. Freddie Markson is on board, and he wants to play.”
“Damn, girl, you’ve known me thirty minutes, already you’re a better wing man than either Jake or Matt. Plus, you don’t represent any kind of competition, in case the guy likes star-crossed lovers like Matt, or sneaky whores like Jake. With me, it’s fun in the sun, on your back in the sack, a cock and a suck, a lock and a fuck.”
“My, my, dirty poetry. Freddie, I think you’re going places.”
He grimaced. “Not really. Look at the monitor.”
Another delay. One more hour. Shit. The time was flashing at them, a tease, just like a stripper who never delivered on his promise of showing all his God-given goodies. They ordered another drink and waited out the latest delay. Freddie announced the second shot was on him, and when Patsy tried to protest he said he’d hear nothing of it.
“Let your hair down, hon,” Freddie said. “There’s no fun when you wear that bun.”
She rolled her eyes. “More poetry, huh?”
