Loverman | BD Roca
A Sydney Stories Novel
Release Date: November 12th, 2020
Length: 70,500 words
Universal link: mybook.to/loverman
Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55841006-loverman
A rock star hiding a vicious crime.
A billionaire’s son fighting for his own identity.
Kemp Lansey and Charles Durant, once stepbrothers. One, now a famous singer. The other, a renowned photographer. Reunited after eight years, Kemp tells himself that it’s just sex—fierce, damned near bloodletting sex.
Sex and a mutual understanding.
Kemp doesn’t want Charles’ millions.
Charles doesn’t want Kemp’s fame and glory.
Kemp tells himself he can have their new relationship, as long as Charles never finds out Kemp is guarding someone else’s secrets—secrets that drove them apart all those years ago. Secrets that could tear apart the life of someone Kemp loves. Secrets that could end their relationship.
Kemp walked away once. He should walk away again.
All he has to do is hide the truth from Charles.
Because Charles can’t know. Can he?
Five minutes later Charles was dragging the curtains over stable’s windows. Kemp hit Silent on his phone.
He doubted they’d even hear Dylan and Ben arrive, not at the main house. Grabbing the stables had been genius, but right now, Kemp had more interesting things to think about, like the man standing across the room from him, slowly stripping free of his clothes. Kemp shut down his phone, leaned back against one scrubbed brick wall, and watched the show.
“Long evening,” he remarked.
Charles grinned. It was a rare sight, that open, wide grin, and Kemp drank it in even when he knew, awareness scratching like fiend at the back of his mind, that a discussion awaited them back in Sydney, one about his toxic fucking mother, money, and ownership.
But he hadn’t gotten this far, survived Maxine’s glory years and the Palm Beach years and that horror and every other fucking thing before fame and fortune came along, ready and ripe, without being able to compartmentalise, and he was compartmentalising right now like a goddamn Olympic champion.
“Endless,” Charles agreed, on a low husky breath. That grin again. “Especially when you began on the Janis Joplin best-of.”
“My interpretation of ‘Me and Bobby McGee’ was out of this world.”
“It was only bettered by your styling of ‘Son of a Preacher Man.’”
“What can I say?” Kemp strolled across the room, slid the last button on his shirt free, and dropped it to the floor. Charles’ gaze slid over his chest, down the sliver of dark hair that arrowed into his hip-hugging jeans. “Janis and Dusty got me through many a rough night.”
Which wasn’t far from the truth. A memory flashed: he and Viva in the pre-Durant days, huddled in the living room of the shitty flat Maxine was renting back then, Maxine out clubbing in the a.m. with fuck-who-knew, Dusty Springfield playing on YouTube while Viva told him how she was going to make incredible movies one day. And Kemp had listened and worked his way around the catalogues of all the great classic singers and spun his own dreams. Who the hell had Charles had to tell his dreams to? Share his heroes with? No family, no siblings, no friends he could trust. The loneliness of it cut Kemp up deep inside. It gutted him.
If he let himself think about it too deeply, he’d let himself realise that it always had.
About The Author
BD Roca grew up in Brisbane, Australia and still misses the scent of frangipani and living in funky old Queensland houses.
When not writing, she enjoys yoga, and the occasional glass of pinot, although not in combination. She can be reached at email@example.com