A Song for His Heart by M.C. Roth
General Release Date: 28th September 2021
Word Count: 78,359
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 264
Genres:
BONDAGE AND BDSM,CELEBRITIES,CONTEMPORARY,EROTIC ROMANCE,GAY,GLBTQI,MÉNAGE AND MULTIPLE PARTNERS
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Book Description
It only takes one rock star to crash the perfect honeymoon, but it might take two to save it.
Ian and Trent’s honeymoon is supposed to be perfect, but before they even make it to Miami, Mac—Ian’s manager and best friend—is already interfering. As soon as the plane lands, Ian starts to drift away from Trent, falling back into his closeted habits and disappearing for days to record a new album, leaving Trent alone in an unfamiliar country.
Trent is at his breaking point when Ian tries to disappear again after three days away. He can’t be the househusband Ian obviously needs. Trent is ready to collect his bags and head back to the airport when he overhears Mac’s secret, which threatens to turn his life upside down.
Reader advisory: This book contains a fistfight precipitated by sexual assault/forced kiss, MMM relationships, alcohol consumption/intoxication and mentions of past alcohol abuse. It is best read as the sequel to The Drumbeat of His Heart.
It was hot, so blindingly hot that Trent’s T-shirt stuck to his back like a film of sticky cellophane. He’d thought he’d worn light enough clothes beneath his fall jacket, but apparently he’d underestimated just how different the Miami climate would be.
The humidity was enough to make his hair feel like it was standing on end, and his face felt gross after only a few seconds. It was also pitch black, but hot enough that it could be mistaken for mid-afternoon during a Canadian summer. It was one o’clock in the morning, but the pavement was still warm as if the sun continued to bake down from above. The breeze was steady and slow but did nothing to wipe away any sweat from his skin.
Ian sighed as they pushed through the glass doors that lined the exit. There were people milling around with haphazard piles of stacked luggage and sleepy expressions, which Trent was sure that he mirrored. He could hear planes taking off and landing in the distance, but the ground was completely solid beneath his feet. It was great to be able to walk normally again.
“It’s so good to be back home,” said Ian as he looked around the terminal, eyeing up different cabs and rideshares as they waited for passengers. “It’s a touch warm for September, but you won’t get better weather. No hurricanes in the forecast, either. That’s something you have to watch for at this time of year.” He raised his arm, hailing the nearest cab, before picking up all but one of the suitcases.
Trent was frozen. The soles of his sandals had melted into the sidewalk the moment that he’d heard the word home from Ian’s lips. He’d never thought of this place as Ian’s home. It was more of a place that was best left forgotten.
“You coming, T?” Ian’s shout dragged his attention back to the thick, dark air of night. Ian was waiting for him behind a cab as if nothing were amiss in the world. His eyes were bright and his smile was wide, whereas Trent was aching to fall into the nearest pillow.
He dragged the last suitcase over to the idling cab and shoved it into the trunk with all the others that were stacked neatly like a Tetris game. He pushed against the lid then leaned his full weight on it before it finally snapped shut. His eyes felt grainy as he rubbed them then slid into the back seat next to Ian. The pressure in his ears hadn’t quite equalized yet, and the night had a dream-like quality to it.
He’d taken a lot of cab rides in his life. Having no vehicle at home had forced his hand in that. When he did call the cab company, he had to bribe them to get them to come out of their normal area by offering them double the fares.
This cab was different from any he’d ever sat in, and it had him blinking to awareness as he looked around the interior. The driver smiled at them, smelling faintly of expensive aftershave that made his mouth water. The interior was clean too, with no tissues shoved into any available pocket and only a few speckles of dirt on the floor. He’d expected the stale smell of cigarettes, something that was illegal now in his home town but still managed to cling to the interior of older vehicles and their drivers. This cab was downright tasteful.
“It’s too dark to see anything right now, but I’ll take you out tomorrow in the Corvette and show you around town properly,” said Ian as he looked through the dark windows. He still managed to look squished in the spacious back seat, with his knees pushed right against the base of the driver’s spine.
“Sleep first.” Trent let himself slide sideways until he was leaning on Ian’s shoulder. The broad expanse would make the perfect pillow. The muscles tensed under his cheek and he peered up, wondering what was wrong. Ian was flushed while he looked between the driver and Trent.
Trent pulled away, feeling colder than the air-conditioned interior, and leaned against the window instead, letting his eyes droop. They’d come so far together, but sometimes it was the same as when they’d first met. Trent tried to blame it on Ian’s background and the lack of support he’d had from friends and family, but sometimes he couldn’t help but take things personally.
“Sorry,” said Ian in a low voice as he reached out to grip Trent’s hand. “Old habits, I guess.” He squeezed once before letting Trent’s fingers slip through his, bringing his hand back to rest on his lap. Trent grunted in response, trying to let the rebuke slide off him the way it used to. Who am I kidding? It never slides off.
Someone was shaking him moments later, and he batted them away with a flick of his wrist. He blinked, his eyes sticky and gritty as if he’d been asleep, although he couldn’t remember dreaming. His neck was sore, though, so much so that he dreaded pushing himself upright.
He moved with a groan and winced as his shoulder suddenly came to life with numbness prickling his fingertips. There was a line of drool along the window that Trent quickly wiped away before anyone else could see.
The car had stopped moving at some point, but the engine was still running in a low idle that hardly made a noise. The seat next to him was empty, as was the driver’s seat, but he could see the blur of people moving outside the dark windows. He pulled the door handle, pushing the door wide as he attempted to stumble out of the car. The belt forced him back into his seat.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Trent grumbled under his breath. Ian was already laughing, a roaring noise that was much too loud for the early hour. Even the cabbie let out a small chuckle that made his round cheeks jiggle.
“That’s two, T.” Ian leaned in the door way, reaching across Trent and freeing him from the belt. “You get to three, and you get committed.” It took Trent’s brain a few seconds to realize that Ian was talking about a psychiatric ward.
“Don’t get me started, Ian,” said Trent, nudging his husband back so he could step out of the car. “How many times have you forgotten to turn the lights off? Or left the stove on? A lobotomy might be the way to go for you.” He shook his leg out, tapping his sandaled heel against the pavement as he looked around.
It was still dark out, but there was enough light from streetlamps and house that it looked similar to dusk. There was a thick sidewalk on either side of the two-lane road that was paved to utter perfection. It looked like every twenty feet or so there was a palm tree on the thin grassy boulevard that was mowed and vibrant green, even in the dark. Beyond that were stone fences and wrought-iron gates that lined the opposite sides of the sidewalks. It was as if he had awoken in some sort of apocalyptic universe where everyone had built up walls to keep the zombies out.
Ian was dragging his large bundle of suitcases to the nearest gate. This gate had stone pillars on either side and a black iron fence that spanned an area that was wide enough for three cars to pass side by side. The lane was a cobbled driveway of every shade of beige and grey that was lit with lanterns that glowed a mellow yellow colour. There was an outline of a house beyond, but it was shrouded by darkness. At least, Trent thought it was a house. It looked more like a mansion from this distance.
“Come on, T. There is a California King that’s calling our names,” said Ian as he stopped at the gate and punched a code into a small box that Trent hadn’t noticed. “The code is 49248 if you ever get locked out.” There were a few consecutive beeps, then a click before the gate slide smoothly sideways, leaving a yawning maw for them to walk through.
The cabbie was already back in his car, patiently waiting for Trent to remove the last suitcase and close the trunk so he could carry on. Trent could only assume that Ian had already paid the man and hopefully left a tip behind too.
“What the hell is a California King?” Trent asked as he grabbed the heavy case and slammed the trunk shut. He gave a little wave through the back window and the cabbie accelerated slowly down the winding street.
Trent rushed to follow Ian through the gate before it could snap shut on his heels. It looked heavy enough to break him in two if he were unlucky enough to get caught in it.
“It’s like a king bed, only bigger and more awesome.” Ian dropped his cases and pulled Trent into a hug, leaning down to place a kiss on his lips. “It’s so good to finally have you here.” His smile broadened under the dim lights.
As they approached the house, it grew from the shadow of a mansion into an actual one. The stone drive was crescent-shaped around a green circular garden that stood at the front of the house. In the middle of the garden was a palm tree that shaded a bunch of colourful shrubs underneath. It was all maintained and neatly trimmed, even though Ian hadn’t been there in weeks.
It was about a one-hundred-foot walk before they finally made it to the front door, and by that time, Trent was thoroughly intimidated. The imperial measurements that Ian always insisted on were clogging his over-tired brain.
Ian produced a key from the pocket of his carry-on case and fiddled with the door, entering a second code as he turned the lock. The lights flickered on in the front hall as the door finally opened.
Trent’s mind was too tired to come up with any description beside the word ‘massive.’ The foyer itself, with its grand staircase leading up to a second floor, was bigger than half of his house back in Canada. The floors were some kind of material that shimmered under the bright lights, although they transitioned to a more traditional wood through the doorways on either side. The ceiling was at least twelve feet high and lined with pot lights that kept any shadows at bay.
“How the hell do you change the lightbulbs?” Trent murmured to himself as Ian busied himself with dragging the luggage through the door. All Trent had to do at home was stand on a chair to change his lightbulbs, which were maybe a measly eight feet up.
The door clicked shut behind them, and there was a clunk as the lock engaged automatically. Ian moved past him and up the stairs, leaving all but one suitcase behind.
“Are there zombies here?” Trent asked as he stared back at the door. With the gate along the road, why the hell would Ian need such an intense lock on the front door? Or maybe there were vampires. Sexy zombie vampires. I’m way too tired.
“Just a few gators, but I haven’t had one close to the house in a few years, so we shouldn’t have to worry,” said Ian as he looked back over his shoulder. “They aren’t any worse than that raccoon you tried to fence with.”
‘Fence’ was a generous word for what had actually happened. Trent had only been in his boxers when he’d seen a raccoon in the backyard, snarling and circling. He had grabbed a tea towel, which was the closest thing on hand, and the broom at the back door, hoping to scare the thing off with some waving and shouting. He hadn’t expected it to turn on him with razor-sharp teeth that were dripping with likely infected saliva. He had pinned the raccoon to the ground by its snarling head, and they had circled each other as Ian laughed in the doorway and ignored Trent’s frantic pleas to call animal control. Luckily, one of his neighbours was a trapper and had rushed over after hearing Trent’s screams. He’d laughed too when he saw the scene, but he had stepped in to help with the animal shortly after.
“Well, I hope I get to see you fend off a gator with nothing but a pool noodle,” said Trent as he climbed the stairs after his husband. From the middle of the stairs, he couldn’t actually reach the banister on either side. What if he suddenly lost his balance and fell? There would be no way to catch himself until he hit the bottom. His staircase at home was narrow, steep and led to the dungeon of his tiny basement, complete with a cracked floor and the occasional mouse.
They turned down a hall that was lined with doors that were mostly shut. The floors were a deep, rich wood and the walls were an unfortunate beige. They passed a small bathroom that was filled with black fixtures, gleaming porcelain and a different shade of beige on the walls. Fifty shades of beige and not a spot of colour to be seen.
“It’s all bedrooms and stuff up here, so it’s pretty closed in, but downstairs is mostly open-concept,” said Ian as he finally pushed open the door to their destination.
The room was utterly massive, with a ceiling that peaked to a skylight that currently showed a thin shimmer of stars that had managed to cut through the city lights. The room was bigger than any bedroom he’d ever been in, and in the middle was the largest bed he had ever had the pleasure of seeing. The sheets were stark white with a fluffy comforter on top, and the room was so cool that it sent a shiver up his spine. His shirt had long since dried in the cab, but the air conditioning here was really pushing it.
“I ordered a side stand for you before we came, and it looks like they got it in here okay,” Ian said as he motioned to what Trent could only presume was his side of the bed, where a dark wooden side table sat. It was completely bare except for an unopened box of tissues that someone had placed there. A matching stand, heaped with a clock, a lamp, a watch, a charging cable and a few music magazines, sat on the other side.
Ian was moving to yet another door, which opened to reveal a walk-in closet that was filled to the brim with neatly hung clothing. Trent dropped his bag and crossed the room, grasping the handle on the remaining door and pulling it open to reveal a glistening bathroom.
“How is everything so clean? You’ve been gone for months.” Trent ran his finger along the pristine marble countertop. The shower in the room was the second largest he’d ever seen, the largest being at a hotel in Toronto that he had visited the previous year for Ian’s concert.
“Lisa comes in every week and keeps it spiffy while I’m away, and she’s on call for stuff like deliveries. When I’m in town, she usually comes every day.”
His voice drew closer, and suddenly Ian had closed in behind Trent, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him back against his chest. Trent leaned back into Ian’s warm bulk and played with one of Ian’s thick wrists. His fingertips didn’t come close to touching when he wrapped them around it.
“You have a cleaning lady?” asked Trent. He could hear the awe in his voice, as if he had just discovered that Ian was a prince. He knew how much money Ian had, and it was upwards of the multi-millions, but the number rarely glared at him.
“Well, it used to be a guy named Steve who did it, but then he moved out of Miami, so the service sent Lisa instead. I just have to let them know when I’m coming and going, and they take care of the rest.” He mouthed against Trent’s neck. “Now, am I missing something, or did you not see the bed? You were supposed to dive right into those sheets.” He moved lower to suck a bruise along the junction between Trent’s neck and shoulder. It was just below the small bruise he had left on the plane, and it turned Trent’s knees soft in the same way.
“Mmm, back rub first,” said Trent as he rolled his shoulders and stiff neck. Ian could be rather vigorous, and in his current condition, he could actually pull a muscle—or worse. “You give the best back rubs, and I love it when you fuck me when I’m all loose and gooey.”
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M.C. Roth
M.C. Roth lives in Canada and loves every season, even the dreaded Canadian winter. She graduated with honours from the Associate Diploma Program in Veterinary Technology at the University of Guelph before choosing a different career path.
Between caring for her young son, spending time with her husband, and feeding treats to her menagerie of animals, she still spends every spare second devoted to her passion for writing.
She loves growing peppers that are hot enough to make grown men cry, but she doesn’t like spicy food herself. Her favourite thing, other than writing of course, is to find a quiet place in the wilderness and listen to the birds while dreaming about the gorgeous men in her head.
Find out more about M.C. Roth at her website.
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