Time Slip Lover

By H.C. Brown

Millionaire Zack Daniels erotic dreams about an 18th Century English Lord who once owned his house, leads him to search for more information on Alexander. His information sends him to the wine cellar to search for a secret passageway.

The next moment, he time slips to 1775 and comes face to face with the man of his dreams.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luminosity Publishing LLP
• Release date: Jan 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9781910397817

H.C. Brown

H.C. Brown is a multi-published, multi-genre, bestselling, award-winning author.In 2016, she was delighted to be named Luminosity Publishing’s Bestselling Author of 2015.In 2015, she was delighted to be named Luminosity Publishing’s Bestselling Author of 2014.In 2015, Highlander in the Mist was placed 3rd in Historical and Rock ‘n’ Leather was placed 3rd GLBT in the Easychair Bookshop Competition.In 2015, Highlander in The Mist was nominated in The Romance Reviews 2015 Readers’ Awards.In 2011, she was delighted to receive nominations in three categories in the 2011 CAPA Awards: Favorite Author, Best GLBT Romance, and Best Science Fiction Romance.She was nominated for Best Historical M/M in the 2013, Goodreads Book of Year Awards.H.C writes about strong alpha male heroes and girl next door heroines in complex settings, and all her stories have happy endings.H.C. welcomes feedback from her readers.

Book preview

TIME SLIP LOVER

H.C. Brown

Millionaire Zack Daniels erotic dreams about an 18th Century English lord, who once owned his house, leads him to search for more information on Alexander. His information sends him to the wine cellar to search for a secret passageway.

The next moment, he time slips to 1775 and comes face to face with the man of his dreams.

TIME SLIP LOVER

H.C. BROWN

WWW.LUMINOSITYPUBLISHING.COM

LUMINOSITY PUBLISHING LLP

TIME SLIP LOVER

Copyright © May 2015 H.C. Brown

ISBN: 978-1-910397-81-7

Cover Art by Poppy Designs

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this literary work may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Zack Daniels tangled his fingers in his lover’s mass of blond hair and dragged him to his mouth. He ran the tip of his tongue over his soft lips and kissed the corners of his smile. He understood their time together was limited and slid Alex’s willing body over him. Ride me.

You, good sir are the most unconventional man I have ever had the pleasure of bedding. Alex dropped long lashes over his remarkable blue eyes and wet his lips. "Although, it would seem you, my love, are doing the bedding." He eased his slippery hole over Zack’s aching cock and sat up moving this way and that to drive him insane.

His gaze moved over the man’s handsome face, the long curls cascading around his shoulders, and down his pale torso. He gripped his small rounded hips enjoying the smooth flesh under his palms. He craved this unique person every waking minute. I’m going to ride you to hell.

Please do. Alex’s full lips curled into a smile.

He rolled his hips, driving deeper into paradise. Flames of passion licked his balls and curled deep inside him. Emotion rolled over him, and he clung to him, needing to be so much closer. He inhaled his lover’s fresh, musky scent, and dug his fingers into his white skin enjoying his sweet moans of delight. To fuck a man from a different time and teach him the many ways one can pleasure another and have him so willing to learn had been a dream come true.

So close, so close, the pleasure built sending heat flowing up his throbbing shaft. He gasped and lifted his hips to drive in deeper.

He heard knocking somewhere in the fog of desire, followed by a familiar voice of his assistant, Will Johnson.

Alex, it’s past eight and the auction starts at ten. The curtains opened flooding the room with light. If you plan to bid on that painting, you must get up.

With a groan of denied release, Alex gazed at the catalog propped up on his nightstand. The cover held the image of an 18th Century portrait of Lord Alexander Swift. His attention went to the handsome face, his sad eyes and drifted down to his full tempting lips. God damn it, he could still taste his lips, and the scent of him lingered on the bed linen. He had to have the portrait of his dream lover no matter what the cost. With a moan, he tossed back the covers and slid from the bed. He ran his fingers in a caress across the catalog. I’ll see you soon Alex.

Did you say something? Will walked out of the dressing room with a black suit hanging over one arm.

Alex lifted his chin. He’d had a brief affair with Will and since then the man had overstepped his place but what could he do? How do you fire an ex-lover? He shook his head. I said, run me a shower.

Two hours later found him inside Sotheby’s, anxious to buy the painting, and take his prize home. He would start with a high bid in the effort to get the sale. He lifted his bidder’s card. Thirty thousand.

The bid is thirty thousand pounds. Come now, ladies and gentlemen, this portrait of Lord Alexander Swift by Benjamin West is dated 1775 and is in extraordinarily fine condition. The auctioneer surveyed the silent crowd with a critical stare.

Taking a casual pose, Zack flicked his attention to the opposing bidder. The man in the slick Italian business suit met his gaze with a slow smile. Zack lifted his chin and stared at the painting. From the moment he had laid eyes on the portrait of the handsome young man in the Sotheby’s catalog, he had wanted to buy the painting. Lord Alexander Swift’s troubled expression held a distant loneliness, and reached out to Zack across the centuries and straight into his dreams.

A strange twist of fate had brought him to London in the form of an inheritance on his thirtieth birthday. A distant relative had bequeathed him the townhouse once owned by Lord Swift in Berkeley Square. The will came with explicit instructions on renovation and repair of the old building. Over the past year, he had restored the house to its former glory and now required this painting to complete the task. During the years Lord Swift had owned the property, the painting had hung at the top of the stairs, facing the front door. For some unexplained reason, he had a compelling desire to finish the house by restoring the painting to its original position, in time for the anniversary of Alexander’s death in June. Then came the dreams, the lust filled adventures had rocked his world. Perhaps he would reach an orgasm with the painting in the house or go stark staring mad.

Forty thousand. The man in the suit lifted his bidder’s card.

Zack sighed. With his fortune to back him and the prestige of being the owner of some of the most famous galleries around the world, he rarely had people bid against him for very long. They should know better. If Zack Daniels wanted a painting, Zack Daniels would go to any price to secure a purchase. He cleared his throat. Seventy thousand pounds. He shot the opposing bidder a cold stare.

After the usual pause, the hammer came down, and Zack moved to the clerk to settle the account. Have it shipped to 42 Berkeley Square, Mayfair. He turned and strolled back to the painting to gaze at Alexander.

Warmth pooled around his heart. He touched the man’s pale cheeks, tracing a finger over the long, blond curls, tied back in a queue. The young man appeared to be about eighteen in the portrait, slight of build with delicate features, yet his research revealed West had completed the portrait on Swift’s twenty-fifth birthday, the day he had inherited great wealth and lands from his father. He rubbed his chin. One would think His Lordship should be overjoyed on such an occasion, and yet Alexander’s blue gaze followed him with heart-wrenching sadness.

West has captured the essence of his subject, don’t you think?

He turned to see Business Suit gazing at him with a friendly smile. Essence?

My name is Jake Williams. You may have heard of me? replied Business Suit in a cultured Boston accent.

Can’t say that I have, sorry.

Ah—so you don’t know about the letters. Jake Williams inclined his head toward the portrait. The love letters between Alexander and the Honorable David Fitzhugh. In a time when the crime of sodomy held the death penalty, to write love letters to a man … my God, can you imagine the implications?

Zack straightened his shoulders. You have these letters?

"I most certainly do! Copies of the original documents are in my book, The Gay Lords. Jake took a card from his jacket and gave it to him. I know you’re restoring Alexander’s house. Perhaps we could meet over lunch, and I’ll give you the details I didn’t put into print."

In truth, he craved information about Alexander. Living in the young lord’s house and seeing each room as if through Alexander’s eyes, Swift had become his obsession. With a laugh, he met Jake’s hazel eyes. I’m free now.

Great, how about having lunch at The Square? It’s a great restaurant. Jake smiled. We can walk from here.

Sure. He followed him out of the foyer into the busy street, and they turned in the direction of Bruton Street. So how did you come by the letters?

I bought them, along with a few other sundry items, at an auction—in Boston, of all places. Jake fell into step beside him. At first I thought they were written by a woman until I researched the names. Most of them begin with ‘my love’ or ‘my dearest,’ so until I took note of the addressee … well, what a bombshell.

How did the letters end up in the States?

I believe, due to the anti-sodomite movement at the time, Fitzhugh took flight to America. Jake sighed. "Of course, there is no proof he fled England under suspicion of sodomy. Nothing I researched points to him having a gay lover during his life. I do know he joined the colonists in the War of Independence and died in Boston in 1790. He stopped outside a bookstore. Look, I’ll grab a copy of my book. You must see the portrait of David Fitzhugh."

Zack stared into the shop window, his gaze not focusing on any item. His mind reeled. Even in this enlightened world, homophobia caused misery and distrust. He reflected on his own youth. Sure, he had taken his share of beatings from the local thugs, but now at six-five and built like a linebacker, no one crossed him. On the contrary, the beatings and the snide remarks had made him more resolute to succeed in everything he did. He respected love in all forms. Gay, straight—who the fuck cared as long as that wonderful connection happened between two consenting adults? He almost felt sorry for people who could not see love if it hit them smack in the face. So many refused to recognize or understand that the sweet love between two men, or women for that matter, held the same deep emotion as straight love. Anger welled from deep inside fueled by the oppression he knew Alexander would have endured during his life. Those twisted sons-of-bitches would not have understood how cruel they were to deny the freedom to express love without prejudice.

In Alexander’s time, for a gentleman to touch a man’s arm or cast a suggestive look could lead to prosecution for sodomy, a hanging offense. God knows, in those days they used the sodomy accusation to destroy many people’s lives.

You gotta see this. Jake thrust a book into his hand.