Finding Home Read online

  FINDING HOME

  A Wild Heart Novel

  Shayne Ford

  Copyright © 2017 by Shayne Ford

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, organizations and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features mentioned in this book are the property of their respective owners and have been used without permission and in an editorial fashion only, with no implied endorsement.

  The publication/use of these trademarks is not associated with, approved of or sponsored by the trademarks owners.

  This book is for entertainment purposes only. The author and publisher disclaim any and all responsibility for any liability, loss, or risk, personal or otherwise, incurred as a consequence, directly or indirectly in relation to this book.

  This book is intended for mature audiences only.

  Written by Shayne Ford

  www.shayneford.com

  Twitter:@ShayneFordBooks

  Cover design by Shayne Ford

  The image on the cover is a licensed stock photo, and it is used for illustrative purposes, any person who may be depicted on, is a model.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Also by Shayne Ford

  About the Author

  1

  JAGGER, Amsterdam

  Sweat coats my abs, chest, and arms as the music courses through my blood. Beams of lights shift and throb and sweep the crowd, blinding me, and the people, yet they keep dancing and waving their arms, swept away by the music. Heat pulses in my veins, arousing me.

  I lower my eyelids and observe them while giving them what they want.

  An hour later, I walk off the stage, and stride across a hallway filled with fans. Female voices follow me around.

  I stop, so they can take my picture. Their fingers slide onto my sweaty skin. They clamor for attention and cheer, once they receive it, and then they smile, drinking me in.

  Minutes later, I pull away and enter the back room.

  “Your car is waiting,” says a cute girl with a headset, handing me a towel.

  I check my phone and sift through the messages when a hand taps me on my shoulder.

  “Do you need anything else?” the same girl asks.

  “No, I’m fine,” I say, and she gives me a small smile.

  I throw a hooded jacket straight on my bare torso, zip it up and run out the room.

  Moments later I crash into the limo, briefly getting bit by the cold wind sweeping the streets of Amsterdam.

  I sink into the back seat and text him first, then Violet.

  Her plane just landed.

  Violet: How is he?

  Me: I don’t know. I thought he’d pick me up. He’s not here, yet. I just texted him again.

  Violet: Let me know when you talk to him. I have to go now. My car is here.

  Me: Love you, baby.

  Violet: Love you too.

  I arrive at the hotel close to midnight. After a quick shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and check the phone again.

  Where the hell is he?

  I near the window and look outside, my gaze sweeping the canal, lingering for a moment on the leafless branches restlessly shaking in the wind. I call him again.

  No answer.

  Annoyed, I toss my phone on the table.

  The screen lights up with a message

  Braxton: Hey. Sorry, man... I’m here. I was caught up.

  Me: Where the fuck are you?

  Braxton: I’m in Amsterdam.

  He gives me the name and the address of a club and summons me to him.

  I pull on a pair of ripped jeans, heavy boots, a slim fit black T-shirt, and a leather jacket. My hair is still damp from the shower.

  Shivering, I hit the street and hail a cab. The wind throws razors and needles at my skin. I lift the collar up, cold and tense like fuck. Shit. It’s fucking chilly.

  Luckily, I get a cab immediately. The car glides away, swishing by cafes, clubs, and restaurants.

  We make a few turns and stop in front of a two-story building. The first floor is sunk in darkness. In contrast, the second level is washed with light.

  I pay the fare and climb out.

  Several nightclubs line the street, crammed with patrons, and despite the late hour and nasty weather, the cars keep pulling in and out.

  The loud music pounds my brain as I walk into the dimly lit space. I blink a few times to adjust my sight and take in the elegant interior. Dark leather benches and marble tables sprawl along the walls. Carved in wood, the bar is lined with mirrors.

  I glance around, looking for him.

  “May I help you?” the hostess asks.

  “I’m good,” I say, deadpan, and cut my way to the bar.

  I order a drink, take a swig and glance in the bar mirror, furtively checking the people’s faces. I spot Braxton at the other end. To my surprise, he’s not alone.

  A few bangs drape over his eyes as he tilts his head down and curls his lips into a flirting smile that makes my stomach shrink into an aching ball.

  I shift my gaze to his companion. A flirting grin sits on his face as well. In his thirties, blonde and well built, he drinks Braxton in.

  My chest gets tight, my fingers tensing around my glass as I study them for a few more moments. Tailored suits hug their frames. Braxton’s shirt is open at the neckline, the crisp, white fabric a stark contrast with his sable black hair, his blue eyes looking almost gray.

  Smoothly, I close the space between us, stop behind him, and softly nod to his companion. The man smiles, pleasantly surprised. I slide my hand on Braxton’s back, our eyes connecting in a mirror. A grin lights up his face, his expression shifting in an instant.

  “Hey, man,” he says, swiveling in his chair as the other man examines me, curious.

  Braxton rises to his feet and gives me a hug, the scent of his cologne rolling over me.

  “Peter, this is my friend... Jagger.”

  We shake hands, a smile narrowing the man’s eyes, as he swiftly gives me a once over.

  Suddenly, I feel out of place, and for the next few moments, Braxton does all the talking. For reasons I can’t fully understand, he’s nervous as well.

  After a few more glances in my direction, Peter joins the conversation, the topics shifting from politics and art to trading paintings.

  I order another drink and gulp down half of it, and as much as I hate it, I can’t stop feeling like a third wheel. Had it been any other man, I would've bailed out by now.

  Close to one o’clock, and three drinks later, Peter pushes out of his chair, shakes hands with Braxton, gives me a soft nod, and swaggers to the door.

  Braxton turns around, shifting his focus to me.

  I look at him, sullen.

  “Hey, man. I’m glad to see yo
u,” he says, his hand curling around my neck.

  “Really?” I grump.

  I bring my glass to my lips, and take a sip, mostly to conceal my expression as I take in the two men making out in a corner.

  “What’s the problem, Jagger?”

  “You were supposed to come to my show,” I say, not looking at him.

  He fidgets in his chair, and I sense his stare.

  I shoot him a quick glance. A playful smile drapes over his lips.

  If this is his idea of fucking with me, he’s chosen the wrong moment. I’ve been away from home for two weeks. I spent the whole fucking week flying from one place to another. Two days from now, I’ll head to Rome.

  And the most important thing, we haven’t seen each other since he left for school at the end of the summer, and now Violet is away too, visiting her family back in the States.

  So yeah, call me picky, but the last thing I wanted or expected was to find him in the company of another man, and in a mood to fuck with me.

  His fingers slide on my hand.

  “What’s the problem, Jagger?”

  His touch is tender, yet his annoying smile is still clinging to his lips.

  I toss my drink back and throw cash on the counter.

  “I think I need to go now,” I say, the alcohol flowing freely in my system, fueling the anger barreling through me.

  “Hey!”

  He cuffs my wrist and forces me to turn to him.

  Our eyes lock, and I hurl him a glare, killing his smile.

  “What is it, Jagger?”

  “Not here, and not now,” I growl through my teeth, and yank my arm out of his lock.

  He pulls his wallet out, throws a few bills on the counter, and rushes after me. I push out the door, make a right and stride away. His footsteps ring out behind me.

  “Jagger?”

  He grabs me by the elbow, pulls me off the sidewalk and pushes me into a narrow, dark alley squeezed between two buildings.

  “Why are you mad, Jagger?”

  My eyes go to his lips, his hand coming smoothly to my neck. He erases the sliver of space between us and presses his body against mine, turning me into a firestorm.

  And I let him. I wish I could fight him, yet I can’t. I’ve missed him all this time. That doesn’t mean I’m less angry or suspicious.

  “If I fucking have to tell you why I’m mad then there’s no point in saying anything to you...”

  White mist escapes our mouths, intertwining in the air. It’s cold as fuck and yet I’m burning.

  He runs his thumb across my jawline, and angles his head, planting a soft kiss on my lips. A shot of pleasure spikes through me.

  I suck in a sharp breath as the scent of his cologne coats my lips. Softly, he rolls his hips, grinding into me, his hard cock sweeping my erection.

  “Fuck me...” he purrs, and he does it again, waves of pleasure blasting through me.

  He breathes in me, waiting for me, for my reaction. Stirred up, I grab his neck and lock his mouth, possessively thrusting my tongue between his lips.

  Groaning, he kisses me back, sucking the air out of my lungs, both so fucking hard. The pleasure rams through my veins, reminding me how much I missed this.

  I palm his groin while he runs his hand down my cock, sucking on my tongue. He starts to twitch against my hand and tears away, a moment later, sinking to his knees.

  He slides my zipper down and frees my cock.

  Panting, I hurl a side glance to the main street. The alley is shrouded in darkness, and luckily, not many people have ventured outside, and yet I can’t stop the rush of panic at the thought that someone could walk in on us.

  My thoughts fall into oblivion as he curls his hand around my shaft, his warm wet tongue sweeping my crown. I’m cold, but only for a moment before he sheathes me with his mouth.

  “Fuck...” I grunt, my back hitting the wall of bricks behind me.

  I jerk my hips, a growl scraping my throat.

  “Damn it, Brax...”

  I grab a fistful of his hair and spread my legs so he can touch me. Cold air rolls over me, and then fire licks me. He bobs his head, sucking me harder.

  It doesn’t take long really...

  “Brax... Oh, fuck...”

  He hits all the right spots and turns me into a pulsing blaze, and before I know it, I’m holding his face with both hands and fucking his mouth, throbbing in every fiber of my body.

  My cum shoots into his mouth, hot and steamy like his lips. He pulls up to his feet and crashes into me, his mouth coated with my cum.

  He kisses me again, his chest hard against mine, his skin burning through his shirt, his cock full, and hard as iron.

  For a few moments, I lose myself in him before he pulls away and I can breathe again.

  “Were you jealous?” he asks tauntingly, and whether intentionally or not he flashes his annoying smile again.

  The lingering pleasure vanishes in a blink of an eye. I push him away, and silence falls between us as I slowly close my fly.

  “Go fuck yourself, Braxton!” I growl.

  He grins, taking my anger in his stride, and my fist sinks into his chest, sending him crashing into the wall across from me.

  I spin to walk away, and he grabs my shoulder and yanks me back to him. I shove my palm against his chest and throw him back.

  “Don’t play fucking games with me, Braxton!” I bark, and his grin finally dies out. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  We share a stare for a moment, a different expression sliding onto his face, and then he tilts his head down, and silently pins his gaze on the ground. He tucks one hand in his pocket, running the other through his hair.

  He finally tips his chin up, yet he avoids my eyes.

  Something’s amiss.

  “Who the fuck is this Peter guy? Are you fucking other men now?” I shoot at him, my eyes darting back and forth between his lips and his eyes.

  I anticipate one of his obnoxious smirks, and if he dares to flash one, I’m ready to punch him in the face.

  “Who the fuck is he? Huh?”

  “He’s an art dealer,” he says quietly.

  “And why do you have to meet him at a gay club? You were supposed to pick me up. Remember?” I bark, my throat tight like shit. “Why the hell is he more important than me?”

  There’s silence on his lips, his eyes slipping away from mine, and blood starts dripping from my heart.

  “Braxton?”

  “We met to discuss business.”

  “In a gay club?”

  “He’s gay.”

  “Hmm... He is. And why were you flirting with him, if the only reason you were there was to discuss business? What does he think you are?”

  “He knows what I am,” he says calmly.

  “Do you? You made me wait the whole fucking evening, and then you asked me to come here and made me wait some more, so you and your friend could finish up your night.”

  “He’s not my friend. I mean he is, but not in that way,” he says with a mellow voice.

  “He was checking me out.”

  His eyes go down on me before he looks up. They soften as he drinks me in, and my heart dances a little.

  “You look good,” he says.

  He shoves the other hand in his pocket, and his shirt opens across his chest. His hard body fills his clothing well. His hair is longer.

  “You too,” I murmur. “What business do you do with this man, anyway?” I ask, softer this time.

  “He’s helping me sell a couple of paintings.”

  “You need money?’

  “No. I’m making money.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to focus on your school?”

  He breathes out a sad chuckle, and stares down again, studying his shoes, and it dawns on me that despite how good he looks, I’ve never seen him so unhappy.

  “I am, but I started to deal art.”

  He raises his eyes and runs his fingers over his lips, a familiar gesture I love
so much. His gaze stays on me as I inch close to him, and bring my hands to his face.

  Mixed emotions fill his eyes. Sadness, melancholy, and a longing I know so well. I run my fingers across his clean-shaven cheek as I study his eyes.

  It’s been almost two months since we saw each other, and he’s changed so much. He’s lost and sad.

  “What happened to you, Brax?” I ask softly.

  He leans back against the wall and clenches his jaw, fighting back his emotion.

  His gaze shifts away.

  “Tell me,” I murmur, tenderly stroking his cheek with my thumb.

  He looks back at me with soft, glistening eyes.

  “Did you hook up with other people?” I ask.

  He doesn’t say a word, and the more the silence pours between us, the mistier his eyes become. “Have you?” I ask, sneaking my hand inside his shirt, touching his bare chest.

  He burns beneath my touch, the way he used to.

  “No,” he murmurs.

  “Then why did you have to act that way? Were you testing me?”

  His lips draw into a sad smile. I tip his chin up and lock his eyes, gently running my finger over his lips.

  A few moments tick by before he speaks.

  “The time I spent away from you was not the way I thought it’d be...” he mutters, his old voice coming back to me, flowing through me, and sending tingles down my spine. “Things fell apart for me once I left. I missed you, and I missed her...” he says with a sad voice.

  “We missed you too...” I mutter, and he softly puffs, tears sparkling in his eyes. “I really missed you, Braxton...” I say, serious.

  “You have Violet.”

  “What does it have to do with Violet? She was home, working, most of the time anyway, and I was traveling,” I say, unsure whether this makes him feel better or not.

  “It’s different for you, Jagger. Even if you’re not home, she’s there waiting for you.”

  “You could’ve come home once in a while...” I say.