What do you think?
Rate this book


274 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 1, 2009
Summary: Reverend Ian Kenyon knows the harsh sting of life and how a man can suffer a loss of faith. The death of his wife and newborn son shook him to his foundations, and he's been drifting ever since. Bryn Morgan has returned home from prison to the only family he has-an abusive father who abandoned him to the law when Bryn was unjustly accused of rape. Still poor, lost, and shunned, Bryn searches for work, any work that will allow him to survive. Reluctantly moved by Bryn's plight, Ian hires the young man to work on his farm despite Bryn's prickly, defensive nature. Soon Ian fears his growing feelings of grace and compassion might be something else, something more... heated. Whatever the cause, he knows they are impossible to pursue, because Heaven only knows what would happen if a man of God began to have forbidden feelings for his hired man.
Excerpt: “Ian?” he whispered.
“You’re… beautiful, Bryn,” Ian said in a choked voice, as if the words were being torn from him.
Bryn’s penis thickened at the buried honey and need in Ian’s tone. It had been days since they’d been able to touch or even look at each other freely. They had to be so careful around the little one and Mrs. Robson. But at night, Bryn dreamed. Dreamed of all manner of things, such as lying under Ian, feeling him pound inside his body. He didn’t think it would hurt quite so much if it were Ian.
In fact, he wanted Ian there, wanted it so much!
“I used to draw things when I was younger. Just scribbles,” Ian confessed in a soft voice, as if he felt what he had to say should be in a whisper even though they were alone. He leaned against an empty stall door. “Sometimes the branch of a tree or some wild orchids…. I stopped, since my father didn’t think it was an appropriate pastime for a young man.”
“And you always did what folks expected of you,” Bryn guessed.
Ian swallowed, reaching out to touch Bryn’s hair. At the last moment, his hand dropped. His fingers were shaking, Bryn noticed.
“Yes, I always do what’s expected of me.”
Bryn studied him, aching. “I’d love to see those drawings some time.”
“Bryn….” Reverend Ian’s face worked, and Bryn waited, lips parted.
Ian’s hand was white where it was wrapped around a support post. He closed his eyes before continuing, low, tortured, “God, I want to see you! All I’ve thought about for days is… is you. Your body, the way your hair falls around your face so I want to touch it. Your eyes in direct sunlight, when I can see flecks of gray in with the blue.” His eyes opened, and somehow they were standing close, leaning toward each other. “Will you come up to the hayloft with me?”