Sometimes Fate steps in and brings you exactly what you need. It's up to you whether to accept the gift.
That's the situation Andrew finds himself in when he gets lost in Michigan one night and stumbles upon the Dew Drop Inn… and Raj, who seems far too perfect to be real. Not only is Raj gorgeous, but he seems to be into Andrew, too.
Raj knows what he wants. He's been waiting for his destiny for years. The only question is whether he can convince Andrew that they're meant to be. That their meeting was written in the stars.
Previously released as Destiny Drops In, Destiny Goes Spare, and Destiny Takes a Holiday.
Excerpt Andrew was lost.
Not just in the sense of he didn’t know where he was, either, because that was true, too.
He’d only moved to Maine a few weeks earlier, and while he’d known he wasn’t entirely familiar with the geography, he’d had no idea that going for a night ride on his Harley would get him so turned around.
He’d been cruising slowly past the closed shops and such, hoping to find something open, and he’d been more than thrilled when he’d stumbled across the little house with the so-quaint, so-unlikely name. Hell, he’d been chuckling when he parked his bike out front, angling it between a truly huge pickup truck and an incredibly tiny Toyota.
Then he’d gone inside and found out what lost really was.
He blamed it on that ass.
Not a donkey or anything, but an actual ass. A man’s ass.
One that was obviously attached to a body, though he hadn’t noticed whether that body was good or bad.
He’d walked through the door and seen that the bar was lit well enough that nobody was going to trip if they weren’t exceptionally drunk.
He’d noticed that the music wasn’t so loud that people couldn’t talk… and then he’d realized that ‘people’ meant men because wasn’t a single female he could see in the place, aside from the bartender.
All of that had become irrelevant a moment later, though, because he’d heard a voice groaning ‘bloody hell’.
Andrew had always been a slut for accents, and he knew it, so he wasn’t even surprised when the words had him turning to look.
He was also an enormous hound for a nice ass, and in this case, ‘nice’ didn’t even begin to cover it.
That ass was round and firm, bent over the edge of the pool table.
Even through the thickness of denim, Andrew could see the toned muscles flexing.
He felt those flexes in his cock, somehow, and only the sudden worry that he might get thrown out of the bar before he found out where he was -- and watched that stellar ass for a while longer -- kept him from rubbing his hand up and down over his own zipper.
“Hey,” he managed when he finally reached the bar, “what do you have in bottles?”
He stopped the woman about three beers in. “Yeah. Heineken. Thanks. And if you could tell me where I am and how to get back to Lancaster Heights…?”
He wasn’t expecting the hand that touched his back. Especially because it actually touched his back, the warm digits somehow finding their way around the jacket he held and under cotton to stroke skin.
“Be happy to direct you, mate,” the owner of the fingers murmured right into his ear. “Can’t say I’m all that familiar with Lancaster bloody Heights, but I’d be willing to give it my best shot, yeah?”
God… Andrew was harder than he’d been in months. Just from the way that voice spoke in his ear. Just from the knowledge that it most likely belonged to the gorgeous ass he’d been perving on.