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161 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 14, 2011
Standing in that silent, shadowy room, it suddenly hit Swift that it was probably too late now for things to move in the direction he'd have liked. Time and tide. Love had its own circadian rhythms, and it was beginning to look like he and Max had missed their chance, that they'd slipped into a comfortable somnolence. Perhaps they would continue on indefinitely, but it was all too likely one of these days they were simply going to drift gently, quietly apart.
"The only reason I'm alive today is I had enough people who cared whether I lived or died to step in and…save me from myself."
"You look like that angel in the front room."
Swift was not particularly religious, but he experienced good vibrations in this old house of worship. It was a peaceful place, and he had needed peace when he'd arrived in Stone Coast fresh out of rehab six years earlier.
"I don't know if I need to go back into rehab or…or what. Just the thought of it makes me sick, but ever since Wanting it. I mean, I don't want it, but…"
"But you do," Max said calmly. His stoic acceptance of the unacceptable was a relief. Not least because Max so often saw the world in absolutes. Yes or no. Good or evil. Up or down.(…)
"I'm not going to let go of you. I'm going to hold you all night. so go ahead and feel whatever you feel. If you're still craving the cocaine, go ahead. You're safe. You can crave it all you want, but I won't let go, and if you still feel like you can't trust yourself in the morning, and it's what you want, I'll drive you to rehab myself. Okay?"
"You're wanted." Max flicked his cheek with the lightest of touches. "I want you."
"I guess…maybe I like to be needed."
(…)
"Or maybe…"
"Maybe what?"
Max's smile faded. He actually seemed to lose some of his normal healthy color as he said, "Maybe it turns out that I love you."
poets were mostly interested in death and commas.However, for Swift (probably Lanyon's least Adrien-like MC), he was mostly interested in three things: Police Chief Max Prescott, Literature and teaching students in his Lighthouse Program the value of literature.
It never failed to dismay him how many kids confused liking something with literary merit.(Some of you need to learn that, but I digress). When one of his brighter students, Tad Corelli, shows up outside his office door banged up, bruised, beaten, Swift immediately offers him assistance. A stay at his beachhouse and some cash.
"What about a girlfriend?" Max asked.Of course this being an MM romance mystery, there are a lot of tender moments to be savoured. My favourite is perhaps the one that would alarm a psychotherapist.
"Nah, I'm satisfied with you for now."
Max looked up in surprise.
Swift raised an eyebrow. "Are you interrogating me, Chief?"
The microwave pinged. Max offered his slow, devilish grin.
"Saved by the bell, Teach."
Max's scarred brow crinkled. He reached for the coffee mug on his desk. "Motive is tricky. See, what might be a good reason for me to kill someone might not be a good enough reason for you to kill someone."Swoon.
Swift stared at his hands loosely clasped around his ankle.
"I wouldn't. Deliberately hurt anyone."
"And my impulse is to hurt anyone who hurts you."
I love poetry.
Not like buying a poetry eBook, reading it and write a review after.
I love it like to have poetry paperback books on my real shelf in my real living-room. I like it like to pick up from time to time a suitable for my mood book and read a poem or two or even more.
I love poetry like writing it. Of course only for me....but I LOVE POETRY.
I have a weak spot for the main characters who have passion for words and writing.
Let one of them be a former drug-addicted, fragile, sensitive professor and lover of fine poetry and I'm lost.
Add to my excitement the hot, handsome Police Chief Max Prescott, a problematic relationship, a thrilling mystery story, a steamy sex, a fabulous writing style and you have me.
Whether you want it or not.
Maybe somebody would like more sex scenes and normally I'm THAT somebody who prefers a lot of sex. Also in my romance books.
But here it was a perfect mixture out of everything.
Here every dosage, every last detail was just right.
Except the writing. The writing was not just right.
IT was AMAZING. POETIC. DELICIOUS.
‘There are few things in this life more bamboo-under-fingernails than good poetry read aloud badly —unless it is bad poetry read aloud badly.’
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...read the words on this postcard. Like the one Swift got from Max.
‘Time and tide. Love had its own circadian rhythms, and it was beginning to look like he and Max had missed their chance, that they'd slipped into a comfortable somnolence. Perhaps they would continue on indefinitely, but it was all too likely one of these days they were simply going to drift gently, quietly apart.’
‘He woke with Max's arms wrapped around his torso and Max's genitals soft against his ass. And for the first time in days he wasn't aware of wanting anything but breakfast. Breakfast and Max. Not necessarily in that order.’![]()
The poet Wilfred J.Funk's 1932 list of
"most beautiful words":
Melody, Golden, Chimes, Luminous, Mist, Tranquil, Murmuring, Lullaby, Hush and Dawn.



“I’m not going to let go of you. I’m going to hold you all night. So go ahead and feel whatever you feel. If you’re still craving cocaine, go ahead. You’re safe. You can crave it all you want, but I won’t let go, and if you still feel like you can’t trust yourself in the morning, and it’s what you want, I’ll drive you to rehab myself. Okay?”
Swift closed his eyes. You’d think that someone who had needed as much help as he had in his life would be good at asking for it. Not this time.

