Author: Parker Avrile
Genre: M/M Contemporary Romance
Length: Novel, 202 pages in paper, 50,000 words
Publication Date: Jan. 24, 2018
Heat Level: Four flames
Author website: https://parkeravrile.wordpress.com/blog/
Buy Links: Amazon | BN | Googleplay | iTunes | Kobo
Blurb:
A celebrity matchmaking service pairs a lonely billionaire with a playboy actor. Are they nuts?
“Just be nice, and don't break his heart too fast. Wait until after the Oscars.”
Bad boy Trent has been nominated for Best Actor, and now the rising star needs to clean up his act. A steady man at his side will make him seem more authentic to the Academy voters. Some people might call them fake boyfriends, but Trent doesn't mind going the extra mile to make their gossip column romance seem real and red-hot.
“There are so many ways this could blow up into you screwing up and having fun.”
Ben isn't quite sure why Gran volunteered him for a series of dates with a Hollywood actor. The spotlight is for other billionaires. Ben chooses to be alone in the shadows. If he wants to be with Trent, he'll have to get used to the cameras.
Assured Elites never fails to put together the dreamiest matches, but this time they may have gone a step too far. Will Trent and Ben break their perfect record?
A Higher Flame is a full-length 50,000-word steamy gay romance novel that features a bashful billionaire, a secret beach, an oversized dog, and a bad boy who needs to clean up his act. Always a guaranteed happy ending, and absolutely no cheating or cliffhangers.
An Excerpt from “A Higher Flame” by Parker Avrile
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The first time I saw him in real life, as in the first time I saw him on video, Bennett Anderson was doing curl-ups on a stout bar that didn't give under the weight of his large, muscular physique. There were other guys in the room, most of them experienced lifters, but they faded into the background once Anderson commanded your attention. Using raw muscle rather than momentum, he lifted so slowly you could barely see him move.
Somehow, that made it almost impossible to look away. Lifting your body weight in slow motion tends to make the arm muscles tremble, but Anderson wasn't trembling. I flashed on a dirty fantasy of the guy flat on his back, those bulked-out arms of his lifting me higher and higher over his broad body. Mmm. There was a thought.
A trainer materialized at my elbow. “Would you like me to make some suggestions?” The name Brad was embroidered on his shirt in curlicue. Maybe his real name, maybe a work name.
I swept my elbow out from my body, a polite rejection. “Thanks, but not this time. I'm meeting somebody, but I want to wait until he's finished with his reps.”
“Of course, sir.”
Brad vanished as if he'd never existed.
The deep grunts of the other men in the room, the creak of the equipment, the mumble from the TV turned on a little too low... All that crap had vanished too. My total focus was on the sight of Anderson slowly, slowly lowering himself down to the floor. Working in slow motion was said to maximize the effectiveness of a weight-training routine, but most people lacked the patience.
I could make him lose patience, I thought. I could make him move faster and then faster yet...
Control your filthy thoughts.
As his feet hit the floor, his knees bent and spread out, unavoidably drawing the eye to the remarkable bulge in his sweats.
Stop staring. Take charge. You're not here to drool.
I saw the moment he saw me. He stopped dead in his tracks, and his mouth flapped opened for the briefest instant. Angelique hadn't mentioned I was coming. Good girl. Advantage to me.
“Hello, Bennett,” I said.
“Ben.” His eyes went narrow as he scrutinized my face, which gave me the perfect excuse to scrutinize him in turn. He still sported the tasty scribble of red-gold scruff he had in the video. It would taste fuzzy and tickle a little. Maybe leave some rug burn if you got too energetic. “What are you doing here, Trent? This is my gym.”
“It's my gym too. I was invited to join a couple of weeks ago. Isn't that convenient?”
“So Charlene Woodrow's your grandmother?”
Who? I sensed a trap, so I answered by lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug.
“I think my gran is friends with your gran,” he said. “The quilting circle.”
Did this guy even know who I was? Maybe billionaires didn't use Google. They only owned Google. Anyway, the gym wasn't the time or place to discuss our families or lack thereof. To get back on track with my evil plan, I began to boldly sweep my eyes up and down his big, sweaty body― one of my classic eye-fucks.
At least, if it was a regular guy I met in a gym, I'd consider it an eye-fuck. Maybe it was more of a dominance display when I was face-to-face with my first billionaire. I was making a point of evaluating him as a body― a sex object― rather than a walking wallet. So far, it seemed to be working better than expected. He turned pink at the edges and glanced down as if a little unsure of himself, which reminded me of those tabloid reporters who called him the bashful billionaire.
I liked it that I had him off-guard. It felt like I'd grabbed his attention the way he'd grabbed mine.
He swallowed hard and tried again. “So... I'm still not sure what you're doing here. The date's tonight, right?”
“Yeah, it's tonight. But I didn't want to go into it entirely blind.” I put some extra swagger in my voice. “Thought I'd take a look at my new boy first.”
He laughed, his moment of reserve forgotten. “Your boy? Maybe you're my boy, you ever think about that?”
“I can be your boy if you want me to. You wanna see how high you can dead-lift me?” I looked pointedly at the bulge in his sweats. It was, if anything, a little bulgier. I was getting to him, all right. More points for Trent. All the points for Trent.
Suzanne was right. This was going to be a blast.
But he shook it off and moved over to the next machine, a complicated-looking weight bench. “I'm here to work.”
“All right. I won't interfere with your routine. In fact, I'll spot you.” I folded my arms across my chest and watched with frank interest as he spread his big body flat on his back on the padded bench.
“I doubt you're qualified to spot me.” He began to lift a heavily loaded barbell over his head. Up and down. Down and up. The veins popped in those impressive arms, but he lurched through the first couple of lifts with less grace than you'd expect from somebody that size.
Ooh. Am I getting to you, big guy?
“Maybe you're lifting too much weight,” I said in a sweet voice. “Three hundred eighty pounds. That's a lot.”
He ignored me as he smoothed out his moves. Watching his muscles flex and hold tickled me right in the balls.
Down, boy. This isn't about you. This is about the mind game.
Of course, I couldn't neglect my own workout. Since my upcoming role didn't require a bulked-up beast, I headed for the nearest treadmill. Lean and mean was the look I was going for― the kind of physique that looks good in a suit.
Anderson continued performing his reps as slowly as humanly possible to maximize the strain on his muscles. He didn't look at me at all, or so he wanted me to think. That side-eye of his was oh-so-subtle. Just ask him. Nobody could see he was checking out my tight, round ass.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Trent,” he finally said. “I'll see you tonight. Right now, I need to shower and get ready for my massage.”
“Oh, is it that time?” I slapped on my most shimmering smile as I stepped off the treadmill.
“You don't need to escort me to the shower.”
“I'm just glad you reminded me. I have a massage scheduled for eleven.”
This wasn't side-eye. This was a dead-on squint of suspicion. “That's an interesting coincidence.”
Fuck, yeah, being the billionaire's fake boyfriend was going to be so much fucking fun. “Oh, it's no coincidence. One thing you're going to find out about me.” I smiled my most adorable smile. “I prefer not to leave anything to chance.”
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