Chris is a man drifting through life, but after one bad choice too many, he finds himself marooned in a gay resort in sunny Spain, paying off a debt to a London gangster.
He meets an enigmatic Irishman, Ciaran, who is as charismatic as he is elusive. Chris can’t tell if Ciaran is just a mirage, a sunny ghost whipped up under the Mediterranean sun. Passion burns both men up, until the summer fires fade and the rain comes.
Chris washes up in Ireland, and here, in cold Dublin he must finally face the truth—the people you love can break you…or save you.
Except it seemed it would last longer. El Twinky had returned with two cappuccinos. Chris was a little taken back with the brazen nature of the waiter. He guessed when in Rome…
“Mind if I join you?” asked the guy, sitting down before Chris could reply.
Chris’ eyes narrowed, as he became suspicious of the invasion of his privacy. “Your boss doesn’t mind?”
“Oh I don’t work here,” said the guy with the same mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Right,” said Chris a little uneasily.
“Why don’t we drink these coffees, then go back to your place and fuck like rabbits?”
Chris put his hands up. “Listen mate, I think—” he started before the man’s smile stopped him. “You’re pulling my leg aren’t you?”
The guy reached over and squeezed his knee once. “Course I am,” he said with a smile that revealed his neat white teeth. There was a little gap between his two front teeth that Chris found cute. “I’m Ciaran.”
Chris held out his hand, and simultaneously a little metaphorical light went off in his head. “You’re Mattie’s nephew!”
“Ah I’ve been unmasked! You’re Chris right. Sarah’s brother.”
“That’s right,” said Chris, unaware he was smiling back at the young Irishman.
“I wasn’t expecting you until the weekend.”
“It’s rained for three days in London. I came early.”
“Don’t knock it. I give you three weeks of sun, and you might miss the rain.”
“I doubt it,” retorted Chris, unsure if he was talking about the rain or the city itself. He found himself staring at the man a little too intensely, for Ciaran coughed and dived into his elaborately made cappuccino. Chris sipped on his, working his way through the cream head to get at the coffee. He was a little taken off guard by his attraction to the younger man, and he suspected a bit of the bravado was just for show. He still had that sheen of inexperience, an exotic spice that hung in the air.
“You like the coffee?”
“It’s great.”
“Liar,” said Ciaran smiling, and Chris felt that flash of attraction again. Blond, tanned, lithe, with that beautiful Irish lilt. He stared deeply into the man’s blue eyes, briefly but intensely, and Chris held the gaze, watching as that cute blush reached the younger man’s cheeks once again. Behave, Chris warned himself. “The coffee’s fine.”
“You English are so polite,” scoffed Ciaran.
