New Year's Fire

Kate Steele

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It's December 30th, New Year's Eve is approaching and veterinarian Dean Conlon has plans for a seductive celebration. Unfortunately, his lover, Scott Whittaker, is acting like a jerk. From the moment their day began, Scott has bee...
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It's December 30th, New Year's Eve is approaching and veterinarian Dean Conlon has plans for a seductive celebration. Unfortunately, his lover, Scott Whittaker, is acting like a jerk. From the moment their day began, Scott has been grouchy and grumpy. He's even gone so far as to suggest that they throw the poor defenseless kitten they found in the stables out in the snow!

His patience at an end, Dean tells Scott where to get off and, kitten in tow, goes off to his clinic to brood. On Dean's return from work, Scott apologizes for his bad behavior but like a fool Dean lets the perfect opportunity to set things straight slide by. Now he's really got a problem. Tonight is New Year's Eve and unless he finds a way to mend the breach between his lover and himself, the start of their New Year is going to be anything but happy.

With the help of an understanding heart, good food, champagne, and a toy hand selected to rev Scott's engine, Dean hopes to stir the banked embers of their passion and set this New Year's Eve on fire.

  • Note:This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, male/male sexual practices.
“Are you ready yet?”

“Don’t be so damned impatient,” Dean admonished gently, while pulling the zipper up on his olive green canvas barn coat. “It’s not like we’re getting a late start or anything.”

“We will be if you don’t quit dragging your feet.”

Dean eyed his lover, who stood with his hand resting on the front doorknob. Normally, Scott had a sunny disposition, but today, he wore an expression of mild annoyance. His blue eyes sparkled with barely suppressed ire and his blond hair was still tousled from running his hands through it in frustration. He’d been pissed ever since his favorite football team had given up what was supposed to be an easy victory. Scott’s shouts and curses as he’d sat in front of the television had sent their dog, Dickens, scurrying upstairs to hide on the landing.

“Just because your team lost doesn’t mean you have to get your panties in a twist. Give it a rest.”

“Shut. Up. I don’t give a shit about that. I’m going. If you ever get ready, you might want to come out and give me a hand.”

With that, Scott opened the door. Dickens, who, in contrast to his master, had been patiently waiting, now bounded outside ahead of him. In the wake of man and canine, a draft of frigid air swept through the open doorway. With an exasperated sigh, Dean thought for a moment and realized that what Scott had said was probably true. It wasn’t really that disastrous football game that was bothering him. From the moment Scott had gotten up, he’d been quieter than usual or rather snippy when he did say anything. Something else was definitely bothering his partner.

Grabbing his gloves, Dean followed dog and lover out the door and paused on the porch as the door swung shut behind him. It was snowing. Again. The fat white flakes brought a crooked smile to his lips.

He descended the porch stairs and stopped. Then, as he bent down, he called out, “Scott! You dropped something.” Gathering a double handful of snow, Dean expertly packed it together. When Scott turned, Dean straightened, assumed a throwing stance, and let his snowy missile fly. It caught Scott dead center in the chest, exploding in a cloud of stinging white.

“You asshole!” Scott yelled, wiping the cold remnants from his chin and throat. “You are so asking for it.” And the fight began.

Snowballs were constructed and released with precise accuracy, while Dickens furiously barked at his masters’ antics. The combatants maneuvered around the yard, doing their best to dodge the icy projectiles that were flying fast and furious. Slowly, incrementally, Dean found himself being herded into a trap. By the time he realized what was happening, he was caught at a corner of the house against the porch and fenced in by the honeysuckle trellis. He had nowhere to go when Scott charged, grabbed him around the waist, and pulled him down into a snowdrift.

A large hand cupped Dean’s head and pushed his face into the snow, while another hand shoved piles of it under the collar of his coat. Body flailing and bucking against Scott’s hold and the blistering cold that engulfed his head, neck, and back, Dean was finally able to break free. He came up sputtering and cursing to hear the welcome sound of Scott’s laughter. Wiping the snow from his face, he struggled to hide his satisfied grin. Their snowball fight had certainly lightened his lover’s dark mood.

Presenting Scott with a mock scowl, he clambered to his feet and unzipped his coat, flapping the loosened garment to rid himself of the wet, slushy mess that was stuck inside. Unlike his scowl, the goose bumps that marched over his skin were quite genuine. “You fucker. This shit’s cold, you know.”

“You started it, babe.” Scott stood, brushed the snow off himself, then moved to stand in front of Dean. Reaching out, he took hold of the lapels on Dean’s coat, and with a forceful yank, brought them nose to nose. “And I finished it. Let’s get the horses seen to; then I’ll take you to bed and warm you up.”

His lips closed over Dean’s. Dean immediately melted against him. This was the man he was used to. This hot, happy, and oh-so-sensual man. He willingly opened his mouth to accept the insistent tongue that demanded entrance. Scott’s kiss was so scorching in its intensity that the heat it kindled made Dean shiver from the tips of his frozen ears to his icy toes, which were curling inside his boots. He pushed himself deeper into his lover’s embrace and held on, groaning a protest when he was finally released.

“Work first, Doc,” Scott reminded in a low rumble.

Dean frowned in earnest. “Come on, then,” he grumbled, letting Scott go. “Let’s get this done. Damn, you have a one-track mind.” He turned and stomped off in the direction of the barn, fumbling for the zipper of his coat and fastening it as he walked.

“Now who’s grumpy?” Scott caught up to him and gave him a slight jab with his elbow.

“I’m not grumpy. I’m horny.”

“There’s a dwarf Disney never thought of.” Scott opened the barn door and stepped inside with Dickens on his heels.

Brow wrinkling, Dean followed and closed the door behind them. “What?”

Without stopping or looking back, Scott headed for the feed room. “You know, Grumpy, Sneezy, Sleepy? They’re all rather mundane. Horny probably would have livened them up.”

Dean chuckled. His irritation fled. “You ass. You’re nuts.”

“About you.” Entering the feed room, Scott handed Dean a bucket. “You shovel up the oats. I’ll start on the water buckets.” With a wink and a grin, he left Dean to his assigned chore.

Copyright © Kate Steele


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