Trompe L’Oeil
Publisher: Loose Id
Cover Art: April Martinez
Release Date: August 30, 2011
eISBN: 978-1-61118-519-5
Also available at Amazon, All Romance eBooks and Fictionwise.
When Maxwell, a Depression-era artist, spurns the attentions of his sponsor, he ends up cursed to live out eternity in a painting. The man who cursed him delighted in playing the exhibitionist for Maxwell, and by the time the old man dies, Maxwell longs for his life and body back but he’s pretty sure he never wants to watch anyone have sex ever again. Until he discovers who his new owner is.
Tyler isn’t sure what to do with a life-sized painting of a nude man, but it was a gift from his sister to ease the pain of a disastrous break up and subsequent coming out. The gorgeous subject of the painting disappeared without a trace decades ago, rumored to have been killed by the painting’s previous owner in a jealous rage.
Becoming more and more fascinated by the man in his painting, Tyler uses his resources as a history professor to solve the mystery of Maxwell’s disappearance. He finds himself spending more time in his bedroom, talking to the painting, researching and aching to know the man in person. Maxwell falls under Tyler’s sweet spell, discovering the thickness of canvas might be an insurmountable distance to cross.
“Max, you’re going to get an education in modern music.” Tyler hefted the MP3 player in his hand. “Well, maybe not totally modern. But it’s stuff I like, and it’s way more modern than the last time you went dancing. Ought to help me get ready for tonight.” Ty gave his hips an experimental shimmy. “Haven’t been dancing since I started dating Preston. He said he didn’t like it, but now I wonder if he lied about that too. Maybe he went dancing with one of his boys on the side when I thought he was out working.”
That alone was enough to convince Ty to go out. Damn Preston, taking away something Ty liked. Maybe Ty would find a guy for himself.
He grabbed a towel and marched into the shower. Been a while since he prepared for a possible lover. He wasn’t craving sex, but it would be nice if he had the option. He still looked good, but he was getting older and needed to put his best foot forward to have a fighting chance.
Max waited breathlessly for Ty to return.
He waited a rather long time, but his patience was rewarded when Ty emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, naked except for the towel around his waist.
Max had a sudden flash of memory. When he was in university, he’d debated visiting a bathhouse he’d heard about. He’d walked past the nondescript doorway several times, imagining it to be full of attractive men dressed as Tyler was now. But he’d never quite had the courage to go in — the element of secretiveness and potential tawdriness made him nervous. Shortly afterward, he’d been recalled home, and there was never money again for such frivolousness. Nothing in his imagination had anything on the water-slicked beauty standing before him.
With the lithe grace of a dancer, Tyler moved across the room to the “docking station” device, plugged it into the wall, and inserted the object he called an “eye pod” into a slot.
Harsh rhythmic sounds swelled and filled the room. Max would have jumped had he been able, but from the look of almost bliss on Tyler’s face, he enjoyed the strange cacophony. Max was only able to understand about one in ten words, but every move Tyler made followed the underlying bass rhythm. Tyler writhed sinuously to the tunes, stimulating an awareness of how dark and sensual the music was. Of course, Max approved of anything that made Tyler move like he was in orgasmic bliss.
Tyler pulled on some pants, much to Max’s dismay. Until he saw how tight they were. Max swallowed. The pants drew the eye directly to Tyler’s crotch. His lean, nude torso rose above the pants, and if Max could have begged him not to go out, he would have. With Tyler actively looking for a little action, he couldn’t fail to find it. Without underwear, everything would be easy access.
Ty swayed in front of Max, giving him a show. “The pants still fit, don’t they?”
Well, yes, if mouthwateringly indecent was the look he was going for.
Tyler took a break from taunting Max to look in his dresser mirror, which was propped up against the wall by the closet. As he watched himself, he tweaked his small nipples to hardness and moaned softly. Max wanted to do that for him.
Tyler wasn’t going out shirtless, was he?
“Dunno, Max. You think I’m maybe too skinny? Looks okay when I’m dressed, but naked? Oh well. I’ll worry about that when I’ve had a drink or two.”
No. Not too skinny. Perfect.
Tyler swiped up the crimson shirt he’d laid out on the bed, pulled it on, and buttoned it. Max could have painted a shirt on Tyler that wouldn’t look as tight. He was gorgeous, and no one with eyes would be able to resist him. Dammit.
Frowning into the mirror, Tyler tilted his head. “Eh, Max, maybe not too old yet.”
Wasn’t too old for Max. Tyler was prime.
He disappeared through the door, and Max heard more rummaging and muffled cursing over the music.
Tyler dashed back into the room, turned off the docking station, and strapped on his watch. “Shit, I’m gonna be late.”
Looking at Max one final time, he smiled. All the air sucked right out of Max’s prison. Thick black eyeliner outlined Tyler’s eyes, making them look even more exotic and alluring than ever, bringing out the gold flecks in his polychromatic eyes. Max’s reaction upon seeing Antoine with eyeliner was a muted echo of the throbbing want and need thrumming through Max, like the music Tyler had danced to moments earlier. The hypnotic music and Tyler’s mesmerizing movements were out of the realm of the familiar, but he liked it all. He liked Tyler, more than he should, dammit.
Max flailed against the canvas, wanting to kiss Tyler’s smile, slide his tongue over those full lips, touch those raven-ringed eyes. Again, the impenetrable wall flexed under his frenzy. Was it merely a reflection of his desperation to touch Tyler? Was it madness? Max didn’t know, but he pounded at the canvas with both fists while it sagged like bread dough under his assault. When Tyler flung him one last smile and softly whispered, “Good night,” the wall of his prison sprang back, shoving him away. Max ran his fingers over it again, but there was no more give, no sticky spots like there had been before. Its customary glasslike surface had returned.
(c) KC Burn 2011
Trompe L'oeil - Book Information
