Running scared has never felt so good.
The prospect of a night in a haunted folly terrifies Alastair de Vere almost as much as admitting the depth of his feelings for his cousin’s dashing fiancé. Love between men is utterly forbidden, but Jude captivates him in a way no woman ever has. Confessing the attraction could gain or lose him everything.
When a spirit seeking to end a century of torment takes possession of Jude, Alastair must face his deepest fears, for only by surrendering to fate can he hope to win freedom for them both.
“…secret rooms, pent up forbidden love, juicy sex, and an HEA, all made “Pure Folly” a delicious read.” – Madame Butterfly
“…mystery, great characters, and a paranormal aspect that fulfils a reader’s wildest expectations.” – Rainbow Reviews
Alastair bit his lip. His fantasies were foolish, but they were also damned hard to dislodge.
He couldn’t share a bed with Jude. Absolutely could not. No good would come of such close contact.
Alastair kept his expression rigidly neutral as he watched Jude caper upon what remained of the bed in the second tower room. The frame had collapsed the moment Jude sat upon it, and now the mattress had split, so that clouds of speckled feathers filled the air. Part of him wanted to whoop and caper too, the remainder feared the consequences.
“Too bad there aren’t any pillows to fight with,” Jude hollered.
Thank God, there weren’t any pillows, more like. A hot, sweaty, intimate fight would have left him completely undone. Already, his cock hugged his stomach, just from giving his fantasies free rein as he watched Jude bound about. Any closer contact would make his arousal obvious. Assuming it wasn’t already.
He surreptitiously covered his loins with his hand.
“Come up,” Jude extended him a hand, but Alastair shook his head, seeing the inevitable turn of events. Battered and breathing hard, Jude would topple him, driving him down onto the mattress. He’d straddle his loins– lean in so close their breaths would mingle. He dreamed of their lips meeting, of Jude tearing open his waistcoat, and stripping him of his shirt in order to find the crinkled peaks of his nipples. The rough wet caress of his tongue would drag across them, causing him to arch up off the mattress, sending him soaring halfway to heaven. Jude would examine his prick and find it perfect. He’d lick the red-hued tip like he was taking syllabub from a spoon, curling his tongue lovingly around it.
Of course, the reality made him nauseous just to think of it. He couldn’t face seeing the soft lines of Jude’s face becoming rigid, his stare fixed, betrayal flashing in his eyes. Jude, wiry sportsman, man’s man, would be appalled by Alastair’s unnaturalness. he wouldn’t need to raise his voice, wouldn’t need to speak a word because his abhorrence would be clear in his eyes. And he, Alastair Romilly de Vere, coward that he was, couldn’t face that outcome. Better he kept his perverse desire, to squeeze his friend’s firm arse, to himself.
“I’m going to make use of the privy,” he announced.
What he was actually going to do was wrap his palm tight around his shaft and soothe away some of the strain. It was the only way he was going to make it through the night with his mind intact.
It was the way he’d ended most of their recent evenings together.
Jude bounced to a halt near the foot of the decrepit bed. The front of his golden locks fluffed upward from his brow. The sheen of moisture peppered the skin below. He smiled warmly, one hand clasped around the bedpost. “You won’t get spooked going alone, will you? I can come and hold your hand.” His grin stretched impossibly huge and infectious.
Alastair swallowed hard at the crystal image of Jude’s palm clasped tight within his own as he tugged upon his cock with the other. “I’ll be fine alone.” He swung on his heels, and stiffly hurried away.