About The Devil's Heel:
WARNING: This book has explicit
language and strong sexual content.
A Homoerotic Pirate Novella
Five years ago Drew Hibbard
dismissed Rogan Brockport from his life. Now, they meet again at the Governor’s
Ball and Rogan will know the reason for the abrupt, unexplained cut. After
Rogan saves Drew’s life during a pirate raid, he kidnaps him and the perfect
opportunity to extract answers from Drew is finally at hand.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED The Devil’s Heel
Copyright © 2012 Keta Diablo
Cover Art by Fantasia Frog Designs
Passage From the Book
Drew
clutched the fluted glass in his hand when Rogan Brockport descended the winding
staircase. His knees went weak, his throat dry. The intensity in the man’s gaze
as he crossed the room both terrified and thrilled him.
Rogan’s
rich, sable hair, tied at his nape, touched his broad shoulders and accentuated
the slight widow’s peak at his forehead. A long coat of iridescent gray with
burgundy and gold trim and cuffs overlaid a silk black shirt and hugged his
muscular torso. Knickers of the same gleaming gray fabric clung to his thighs
like second skin and met a pair of black, high-top leather boots. Drew’s eyes
were drawn to the long, flowing white jabot with gold brooch around Rogan's
neck . . . before his gaze settled on the man’s handsome face.
Rumors
abounded in Hampton about the rogue, scandalous accounts detailing the vicious
life he led at sea. The vulgar repartee bore testament to the dark side of
Rogan Brockport—a ruthless mercenary who delighted in filching booty from the
lowest order of men sailing the coast. Some said the difference between a
mercenary and a pirate was thinner than a blade of grass. Others said the name
of the man’s three-masted frigate—The Devil’s Heel—suited the man’s
persona.
A brief
moment of guilt assailed Drew. If the accounts were true, this dark side of
Rogan they spoke of materialized after his own marriage to Claudia.
Good,
God, Rogan's steps grew more purposeful as he advanced. He cut a path through
the crowd, his dark brown eyes locked on his with a look that said he knew what
was under his fine attire.
Run, Drew, run!
His feet
felt nailed to the floor.
Who would
believe that after all this time he still craved Rogan’s touch, heard his voice
in his dreams? During his marriage to Claudia, he’d lie in bed at night and
imagine Rogan beside him, licking him, touching him, and yes, thrusting into
him until his world shattered.
Oh,
Claudia knew when they married the union would never be consummated. He’d been
upfront and open with her from the onset, and she with him. She’d married him
to uphold her social standing in the community, and he’d married her to soothe
his wounded pride and broken heart. He loved Claudia in his own way, and she
him. In many ways, theirs was the perfect match.
If not
for Rogan Brockport.
Oh, God,
in another minute he’d be standing before him. Too late to run now. Well, he
wouldn’t sate his maddening hunger beneath the man again. He’d rather die alone
and destitute than to submit to the cold-hearted bastard.
Fallon’s
voice drew him from his licentious musings. “I’m off to sample the fare at the
buffet table. Shall I bring you something?”
Drew
shook his head and stifled an impulse to ask him to stay. Even Rogan wouldn’t
cause a scene in the crowded room, and Drew would love the opportunity to put
the guttersnipe in his place once and for all. He braced for the unpleasant
encounter mere moments away.
Rogan
offered his hand with a smirk, his intent, no doubt, to remind him of what his
virile masculinity had always done to him. “Ah, Drew, widowhood becomes you.
I’ve never seen you look better.”
The
stinging retort died somewhere in his throat. He saw only the beautiful
physicality of the man and Rogan had only shaken his hand.
Rogan
locked eyes with his. “Rather neglectful of Fallon to leave you to the
she-cats, wouldn’t you say?”
Finding
his tongue, Drew lifted his chin. “There’s only one beast in my line of vision,
Rogan, and I can’t imagine whatever would possess the cunning creature to sniff
me out.”
“Touché,” he whispered in that sensual
voice that made Drew shiver with need.
He turned
his head and scanned the crowd. “Whatever you want, be quick about it.”
“I want you,
Drew, and I don’t intend to be quick about it.”
Even as
Drew turned to look at him again, hot blood rushed through his veins. “We have
nothing to discuss, so be about your business and leave.”
“Oh, come
now.” Rogan smiled. “For old times’ sake, have a drink with me.”
He’d
forgotten how that sinfully gorgeous mouth could turn him to pulp. “I have no
intention of drinking with you, Brockport.” He allowed his words to linger.
“Ever again.”
Rogan
leaned in, his low words a whisper of warning. “I’m certain you don’t relish a
scene the very first night of your reemergence into society.”
He stood
so close, his distinct scent of sandalwood and pure man wafted around Drew,
causing the muscles in his lower belly to throb and his cock to stiffen.
Without conscious thought, his gaze ran the length of Rogan’s powerful body and
settled on the expanding bulge in his breeches.
Christ, help him; he had to get
away from the man.
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