Resonance
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About this ebook
Resonance: The quality in a sound. The power to evoke enduring emotions. Sometimes one can result in the other.
Rick Brandt would never have said he was claustrophobic; after all he’s been in plenty of enclosed spaces in his job as the village’s only handyman cum gardener. He even squeezed into a disused coal chute to rescue a trapped dog for an elderly resident. So why did opening his eyes in the MRI scanner induce a breath stealing freak-out that has him jabbing at the panic button.
Luckily, Mal, the radiographer running his scan has a pleasant voice and an excellent bedside manner that soothes Rick’s frayed nerves and rabbity heartbeat. Soon the resonance of his tone has gone beyond calming and Rick is lost in a fantasy of the man behind the voice. But things aren’t always what they seem and when Rick’s shocked surprise at the reality causes offence, the likelihood of him getting to experience Mal’s true bedside manner appears to be slipping away.
Lillian Francis
Lillian Francis. Author of gay romance. Happy Endings guaranteed. Eventually. Lillian Francis is an English writer who likes to dabble in many genres but always seems to return to the here and now. Their name may imply a grand dame in pink chiffon and lace, but Lillian is more at home in jeans, Converse, and the sort of T-shirts that often need explaining to the populous at large but will get a fist bump at Comic-Con. Lillian is a self-confessed geek who likes nothing more than settling down with a comic or a good book, except maybe writing. Given a notepad, pen, their Kindle, and an infinite supply of chocolate Hob Nobs and they can lose themself for weeks. Romance was never their reading matter of choice, so it came as a great surprise to all concerned, including themself, to discover a romance was exactly what they’d written, and not the rollicking spy adventure or cosy murder mystery they always assumed they’d write. Luckily there's always room for romance no matter what plot bunny chooses to bite them, so never say never to either of those stories appearing. Lillian lives in an imposing castle on a windswept desolate moor or in an elaborate shack on the edge of a beach somewhere, depending on their mood. And while they’d love for the heroes of their stories to either be chained up in the dungeon or wandering the shack serving drinks in nothing but skimpy barista aprons more often than not they are doing something far less erotic like running charity shops and shovelling elephant shit. Drawn to the ocean, although not in a Reginald Perrin sort of way, Lillian would love to own a camper van and to live by the sea.
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Resonance - Lillian Francis
Copyright
Editor: Katherine Halle
Resonance, First edition © 2015 Lillian Francis
Published by Finally Love Press
Cover Art: Garrett Leigh http://www.blackjazzdesign.com
Photo Credit: Dan Burgess http://www.danburgessphotography.com
Stock Site: M O O N Stock Photography http://www.moonstockphotography.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee. Such action is illegal and in violation of Copyright Law.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.
All trademarks are the property of their respective owners.
The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Warning
This book contains material that is intended for a mature, adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations.
Table of Contents
Resonance
About the author
Resonance
I cancelled an appointment with the vicar’s wife for this.
I gasped out as a tongue traced the outstretched dragon’s wing that crested my shoulder and wrapped around my bicep. I’m officially going to hell…
That wicked tongue caught the edge of my armpit on the way back and in my surprise I inhaled a mouthful of quilt cover. In a hand basket.
Warm breath ghosted over my flesh and my skin broke out in a rash of goosebumps.
"If my Ammi knew I was picking men up at work she’d be mortified. Pausing in his ministrations, he rested his forehead at the base of my neck and sighed.
Or vindicated. Always a disappointment."
I thought of his body. Of him. Long legs with muscled thighs. Dark hair that flopped endearingly over his forehead. His laugh, sudden and surprising from his studious demeanour. The encouraging comfort of his voice. The gentle focused way he was taking me apart with just his mouth and the lightest touch of his fingertips.
Not to me, Mal. Not to me.
Exhaled into my skin on a damp breath I could barely make out his response but I think he mumbled So glad you freaked out today
, before returning his attention to my artwork and his lips to the body of my dragon.
Something thick and heavy still lingered in the air along with the smell of sweat and spices and sex.
In an attempt to lighten the mood, I said, You know, when I said I fancied an Indian it was only innocent flirting. I thought you’d take me out to dinner.
Hmm.
His lips caught a ticklish spot on my side and I squirmed.
Homemade is better. And, I don’t know about the quaint old village where you come from, but around here it’s frowned upon to do this in a restaurant while our dinner’s cooking.
Amusement was back in his voice, which had been my intention. Now shh while I find out where that tail goes.
His mouth ghosted over the small of my back, pausing to tongue at my dimples. I wriggled, rubbing my rock hard cock against the welcome friction of the mattress. It felt as though he’d been teasing me for hours but in reality we’d only met for the first time…
6 hours earlier
Rolling my shoulder, I raised my right hand and fingered the trapezius muscle of my left shoulder, digging my fingers in to ease some of the ache. My arm had been playing up all morning, or at least from the moment the call had come through to say there was a cancellation and could I get to St Augustine’s within the hour.
Sometimes I wondered if the injury was nothing more than a figment of my imagination, the way it flared up when I was due for an appointment with the consultant or the physiotherapist, but then I would heft a bag of peat for Mrs Babbcock’s flower beds and the pain would blaze through me just like the