Simply Perfection Read online

  A Total-E-Bound Publication

  www.total-e-bound.com

  Simply Perfection

  ISBN # 978-0-85715-449-1

  ©Copyright Trina Lane 2011

  Cover Art by Lyn Taylor ©Copyright January 2011

  Edited by Stacey Birkel

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

  Perfect Love

  SIMPLY PERFECTION

  Trina Lane

  Dedication

  To DJ Manly, who gifted me with his generous spirit, patience and creativity to come up with the perfect title.

  And to all the fans that have fallen in love with, supported and demanded more of these characters-THANK YOU!

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  The Thing from Another World: Winchester Picture Corporation

  Goodwill: Goodwill Industries International, Inc.

  Operation Petticoat: Universal Pictures

  iPad: Apple Corporation

  Boutari: Boutari Wines

  La Crema: La Crema Winery

  Sotheby’s: SPTC, Inc.

  Dunkin’ Donuts: Dunkin’ Donuts USA, Inc.

  Mercedes: Daimler Chrysler AG Corporation

  The Stork Club: Sandrest Corporation

  Bushmills Black Bush: Old Bushmills Distillery CO Limited

  Driving Miss Daisy: Majestic Films International

  At War with the Army: Paramount Pictures

  Ace Ventura: Morgan Creek Productions, Inc.

  The Green Mile: Warner Bros. Pictures

  Speedy Gonzales: Time Warner Entertainment Company.

  Predator: Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation

  Footsteps in the Fog: Columbia Pictures

  Where the Wild Things Are: Warner Bros. Pictures

  Adobe Lightroom: Adobe Systems, Inc.

  Jell-O: Kraft Foods Holdings, Inc.

  Cole Haan: Cole Haan Corporation

  Armani: Giorgio Armani S.p.A.

  Xbox 360: Microsoft Corporation

  Prologue

  Niall Roberge lay in bed after waking from a dream, peace and excitement warring within his body. He’d finally seen them. The men who would own his heart. One man was lithe and blond with sky blue eyes. The other strong of heart, mind and body, with dark green eyes of the forest. For years one of Niall’s grandfathers, a full blooded Mohegan, had told him when the time was right, Niall’s future would be revealed.

  He’d been shown at a very young age that three hearts could live in harmony, and as a child he’d asked Manto, the great spirit of his ancient people, to gift him with such pleasure.

  However, as time passed slowly. Niall became doubtful. He’d searched in the clubs of his youth and in the galleries of his peers, waiting patiently for the moment when his eyes would connect with another man and he would know he’d found one of his soul mates. With this night’s dream, Niall knew two things. First, Manto had heard and granted the request from his youth, and second, the waiting period was over. Niall would soon reach the end of one path in his life’s journey and begin another.

  Let the adventure begin.

  Chapter One

  Matt Lincoln sat at the small table inside the bistro, waiting for his date to show up. He looked at his watch with a frown. Jaime was twenty minutes late. As Matt took a sip of his water, he thought, not for the first time in the four months they’d been dating, Jaime was frequently late. There’d been a time or two when Jaime hadn’t even shown up at all, only to call hours later with profuse apologies and promises for it to never happen again. Each time Jaime swore his work had kept him late and there was nothing he could have done to prevent it, but deep inside Matt knew those were lies. Jaime worked as a buyer for one of the major department stores in Brookline. It’s not like there were fashion crises that happened at all hours of the night.

  Maybe Matt was being unfair. After four short months, more of it spent texting than actual time spent together, Matt couldn’t have a real understanding of the demands Jaime’s job made on him. Hell, maybe Jaime had a devil of a boss, like in that movie, where he was forced to run out for steak and coffee at the drop of a hat.

  Matt looked at his watch again. Twenty-five minutes late. He’d told his patients countless times to value themselves and their needs in a relationship. Maybe he should listen to his own advice…

  This is the last time.

  His cell phone buzzed on the table and Matt unlocked the screen to find a text message from Jaime.

  soz baby. Can’t make it 2NITE somet has cum up.

  Matt scoffed and whispered, “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

  I'll text u L8R. mebe I cn cum by ur place 2NITE.

  Matt’s fingers flew over the touchscreen—We need 2 tlk. Call me

  He dropped the phone onto the table in disgust at the same moment the waiter stepped up to the table.

  “Is there a problem, sir?”

  The young blond, who’d introduced himself as Tim when Matt first arrived, had a crease in his brow and the pair of sweet brown eyes tightened.

  “No, sorry. I just got stood up for dinner and hit up for a booty call in one fell swoop.”

  Tim’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “You got stood up?”

  Matt nodded.

  “I can’t believe…well that is…I mean…look at you! I’d give my left nu— arm to date a guy like you.”

  Matt’s laughter went no further than between them, but the tension in his body floated away into the open space of the restaurant. “Thank you. I’m flattered but think I’m a bit old for you.” The waiter’s face turned a charming shade of pink.

  “Oh come on, you can’t be that much older than me. Besides there’s nothing wrong with a little seasoning, in my opinion. Not that I’m trying to hit on you or anything, I’m just saying.”

  “I can’t decide if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

  Tim looked over his shoulder and quickly turned back to the table, pad at the ready. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ve let my mouth get away from me. Will you still be dining with us this evening?”

  Matt looked over Tim’s shoulder and saw a middle-aged, pencil-thin man with a permanent scowl on his face staring in their direction. He’d been so eager to try this place after Logan and Clay raved about the food and service. “You know what…yes. I’ll have the flattened lemon chicken with za΄atar and Turkish cheese pancake. I’d also like a glass of the Boutari Moscofilero.”

  “Excellent choices. Do you wish me to remove the other place setting?”

  “Please. Who wants to be reminded of unpleasantness
with a good meal in front of them?”

  The waiter removed Jaime’s place setting with a little wink, and Matt had to smile. Tim seemed like a good kid, and Matt would make sure to leave him an extra large tip for the ego stroke.

  When Matt’s wine appeared, he took a sip. The cool spicy flavours and aroma filled his senses. It was perfect. Matt nodded his head in appreciation. Despite dining alone, Matt was determined to make the most of the evening, and come tomorrow he sort out his love life—or lack thereof.

  * * * *

  Man, it was cold outside. Trevor Mitchell shivered as a gusting north wind made its way through a gap in his coat. Trevor jogged across Dorchester clutching the warm bag of take-out from his favourite barbeque place. Partly because he didn’t want his dinner to get cold and partly because he hoped to absorb some of the heat leaching from the bag. Fall, winter, spring or summer didn’t matter, he easily got chilled. At work, an efficient air conditioner frequently sent him running for his lab coat, which always made Logan laugh. Logan always told Trevor if he would put a little bulk on his frame then he’d have some extra insulation. However, despite Trevor’s life-long efforts, the top of his head never crossed beyond five foot nine, and the scale never tipped over a hundred and fifty. He’d tried god-awful protein shakes that tasted like chalk and working out till his legs collapsed beneath him, but nothing helped. Now that Trevor was twenty-eight, he’d come to accept the fact that Rambo he never would be.

  Now he realised that was fine since his smaller stature allowed him to catch the eye of some seriously hot, bigger men, and Trevor did like them big. The bigger the better, in his opinion. Unfortunately, those wonderfully big bodies often came with enlarged egos and attitudes.

  A shiver, not from the cold, raced over Trevor’s body when he remembered some of his previous relationships. It wasn’t that Trevor minded a little rough sex on occasion. However, more than one of them wanted to take the games out of the bedroom and make them real. Trevor had no intention of being a part of that scene. It wasn’t only with sex either.

  He didn’t know why, maybe it was his smaller size, but often the men he dated tried to treat him as though he needed to be babysat, or they tried to control every part of his life. It annoyed Trevor when they would demand to know where he was at all times, call constantly to check up on him, or try to tell him what he should eat and wear. He’d been on his own for years!

  Logan had been livid when he’d caught sight of bruises around Trevor’s wrist a few times at work. Trevor had tried to explain it was no big deal, but his friend—a former Army Ranger—told him over and over there was no excuse.

  Trevor stopped and looked over his shoulder when he heard heavy, fast-paced footsteps behind him. Nothing was visible. Not one person. When he turned, all Trevor saw was darkness. Despite their valiant effort, the warm glow from the widely spaced streetlamps did not dispel the harshness of the fall night. Maybe the weather had driven everyone inside and only Trevor was foolish enough to be out and about. When walking alone at night from the ‘T’ station, Trevor was always on guard. The area around his apartment wasn’t known as crime ridden, but he’d always believed in the motto, ‘better safe than sorry’.

  Safety didn’t play much of a factor in Trevor’s decision to sign the lease in Dorchester after getting his first job at the crime lab, though. More like the cheap rent.

  He shook off the heebie-jeebie feeling and increased his pace. Fortunately his place was only another couple of blocks down Greenwich.

  Maybe it was time to invest in a car so he wasn’t dependent upon public transportation. Up to this point, it had hardly seemed cost effective when he was a quick ten minute walk to the ‘T’ station and could jump the Redline to work at the Boston Police headquarters with ease. Not to mention the cost of insurance, parking and initial investment. The thought of riding home from work in a warm car was appealing, though.

  Trevor ran up the flight of exterior stairs to his front door. The building housed six units, and his was located on the back side on the second floor. He searched the pocket of his coat for his keys. A loud crash from some metal trashcans in the alley alongside his building nearly made him drop his dinner and scream like a little girl. A low yowling from a cat had him looking over his shoulder. The poor thing sounded scared, and Trevor felt the same when he spied a hulking shadow peering around the corner of the building next door. Maybe it was his imagination but the faceless form seemed to be staring right at him. He quickly opened the door to his apartment and locked himself inside.

  His back pressed against the door, the bag of take-out gripped so tightly in his hand, it was a wonder his fingers didn’t rip right though the paper. A few seconds later Trevor realised what a ninny he was being and shook his head at his overactive imagination. There was no boogie man stalking him and The Thing was not lying in wait outside his door.

  He quickly hung his coat on the hook beside the door and walked the three steps to the edge of the wall that formed a rectangle in the centre of his apartment. A kitchenette sat on the exterior side of the rectangle, sharing space with his living area. His bedroom rested at the opposite end, and a tiny but functional bathroom was housed in the interior. Bare brick walls and hardwood floors kept the atmosphere clean and simple. All in all, Trevor thought the little hideaway was perfect for him.

  He flicked on one of the small under-cabinet lights he had mounted and set the bag of take out on his three feet of counter space. He reached up into one of the three frosted glass cabinets to remove an oven-safe dish, a plate and a glass. He opened his mini-fridge under the counter only to discover his milk had expired two days ago. Trevor gave it a sniff and, detecting a hint of sourness, poured the remaining contents down the round, undermounted stainless sink. It looked like he would be having water with his dinner tonight, which had become cold despite his best efforts. Trevor pushed the buttons on his stove to preheat the oven. The thing was half the size of a regular appliance but sufficient for his needs. It wasn’t like he was a gourmet chef.

  Trevor walked the few paces over to his sofa and dropped down in exhaustion. He looked out the two large windows overlooking the backyard of the building and caught sight of a shadow from the branches of the large oak tree blowing in the fall night air. The weatherman had said a cold front was approaching tonight and by the feel of things on Trevor’s way home, he could definitely confirm the prediction. Trevor searched for the remote in the edge of the cushions for a minute then clicked on his new television.

  He was a bit of a self-admitted audio- and videophile. Trevor worked with top-of-the-line equipment during the day for the Boston crime lab unit, and a couple of months ago he’d reached his breaking point. Unable to stand coming home to the nineteen inch CRT TV he’d picked up at Goodwill when he moved in for one more second, he’d withdrawn part of his savings and sprung for a new forty inch LCD TV a couple of months ago. The colours leapt off the screen and, despite not forking over the cash for the surround-sound system, Trevor thought the sound quality was excellent. It wasn’t like his apartment needed surround-sound anyway.

  The oven beeped and he placed his barbeque chicken and corn in the dish to heat up then slipped it in to heat for a few minutes. Trevor walked down the short hallway to his bedroom and, despite his inner pep talk by the door, peeked out the blinds of his window to see if anyone stood on the corner. Just as he thought, there was nothing.

  Trevor pulled a pair of comfortable sleep pants and a long sleeved T-shirt out of his dresser. He didn’t bother to turn on his bedside lamp. He knew every inch of his bedroom. The well-washed fabric was soft and slid over his body with the comfort and familiarity of an old friend. Trevor eyed the bed with longing but knew he should eat at least a portion of his dinner before collapsing. It had been a long day, and he hadn’t taken the time to eat lunch. If he went to bed without dinner either, he would probably wake up starving later, and Trevor had every intention of sleeping a full eight—if not more—hours tonight.

&nb
sp; He shuffled back into the living area and retrieved his dinner. Setting his food down on sofa, he got comfortable. It was a good thing he liked his sofa because there was no room for a dining table. He channel-surfed until the classic movie station flashed up on the screen, and he saw that they were playing Operation Petticoat—a Cary Grant comedy he loved.

  Two of the characters were trying to steal a pig, and Trevor’s laughter echoed off the bare walls. He looked around. While he was proud of being able to support himself, it was times like this when he wished he had someone to share his space with. Share his life with. Maybe someday he would meet the right man, but until then, he always had Cary.

  Chapter Two

  Three weeks later, Matt placed some brochures for his psychiatric practice on a table at the annual health fair sponsored by Fenway Health. Matt often got referrals from the LGBT friendly medical centre, and he made it a point to reserve a table every year. Recently his practice had become well known for offering mental health services for individuals in the community. He hadn’t opened his practice with that specific intent, but was more than happy to have the confidence of his brothers and sisters.

  Matt looked across the large meeting hall and nearly swallowed his tongue at the beauty of the man on the other side of the room. Black silky hair floated across the width of his shoulders, his wide chest tapered down to a lean waist above jeans that moulded to his hips like second skin. He looked up at Matt and their gazes locked. The other man’s eyes flared open and his chest expand with a great gasp. Matt sincerely hoped the response was born of pleasure.