Sculptor’s Desire by Kerry
Adrienne releases August 27! To celebrate the release, Artist’s Touch (book one in the series) will be on sale for
99 cents from August 25-31.
Rocco Lazzaro is on a mission to find the perfect male body to sculpt. His inability to find “the one” has affected his creativity and he’s frustrated by his failure. With a Guild charity auction coming up, he’s expected to provide high quality sculptures, but the pieces he creates feel soulless.
When Devin, a yoga instructor, approaches him and offers to help, Rocco can’t quit thinking about the red-hot ginger. Devin’s New Age beliefs push Rocco away—he can’t deal with reality, much less mysticism. No auras and rainbows for Rocco—just stone and chisel and hammer.
But Devin is persistent. He knows he’s supposed to help Rocco find his muse—and he’ll stop at nothing to show him that the line between art and skin is very thin and a true muse can provide inspiration in many ways.
This story contains hot, sexy artistic scenes of M/M interaction as our sculptor goes hands on in more ways than one.
A Romantica® gay erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
I'd love for you to add it to your TBR pile on Goodreads
By reading any farther, you are
stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18,
please exit this site.
An Excerpt From: SCULPTOR’S DESIRE
Copyright © KERRY
ADRIENNE, 2014
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave
Publishing, Inc.
Strawberry Fields was a prime
tourist spot. Too bad today’s mob held few specimens worthy of a glance, much
less a stare. I’d think the simple math odds would warrant at least a couple
prospects. Add in summer shorts, and there should be at least a good bulge or
two…
Rocco glanced at the stack of
fliers—about fifty of them left. He’d put up as many papers as he could around
the park over the last hour. Who was he kidding? After years of searching, he
might as well give up on finding the ideal male. He set the fan on the bench
and shoved the stack of fliers into the front pocket of his backpack and zipped
it up.
He’d held several open calls with
no luck. Something inside him pushed him to keep looking, keep trying, no
matter how many times he failed. The same something kept him awake at night and
tore apart his thoughts during the day. He’d find what he was looking for and
he wouldn’t stop until he did, no matter what it took. It didn’t matter if it
cost him his friends, his guildmates, his sanity. That was art, wasn’t it?
.jpg)
“May I sit here?”
The soft, lilting voice wove
through Rocco’s thoughts and he paused. He looked up and his breath caught in
his throat when he saw where the voice originated. Broad shoulders and a flat
abdomen encased in a perfectly tight white T-shirt. Tall, but not overly so.
Blue jean shorts, snug. Red cropped hair that glistened gold at the tips and
fell over in a lock of bangs. Rocco gazed from top to bottom and licked his dry
lips.
Red, white, blue, and all
American.
“May I?” the man repeated.
“Sure.” Rocco fumbled with his
pack and slid over to make room on the wooden park bench, pushing his folded
fan behind him and out of the way so the stranger could sit down.
“Thanks,” the man said, dropping
onto the bench.
No, thank you. But not so close.
The vibrations of the man sitting raced through the wood of the bench into wood
between Rocco’s legs. He swallowed hard, pushing back the anxiety. “No
problem,” he said, half-whispering. He peeked then gazed down again. Finally,
someone worth looking at. Only the man was so freaking near, Rocco felt as if
he could feel the heat emanating from the man’s hotness.
Too close. No comfort.
The man scooted back on the bench
and stretched out his legs. “Long day. I’m exhausted. Didn’t expect there to
still be such a crowd here this time of day.” He blew out a long breath and
closed his eyes.
Despite the heat, a shiver raced
through Rocco and he eyed the fluid line of the man’s form. If he’d had a
sketchpad, he’d do a quick gesture drawing of the long stroke of torso and
limbs.
Not knowing what to say, Rocco
turned away. A group of noisy teens descended on the mosaic like a swarm of
bees, laughing and shouting and taking photos of themselves in stupid poses.
Rocco blinked away the distraction and looked back to the man sitting beside
him.
Not bad. “Yeah.” Hell, not bad at
all. “It’s crowded.” He squeezed his thighs together to control his body’s
reaction. Why couldn’t the man have chosen to sit on the other side of the path
where Rocco could observe without having to talk?
“Such a loud crowd, at that.” The
man opened his eyes and peered at the teen spectacle then shook his head. “They
need to relax. Chill. You’d think they’d never been outside before.”
Rocco nodded and followed his
gaze. A teen had picked up one of the flowers from the medallion and was
tossing it into the air and catching it. “Tourists. New York can’t live with
them, or without them.”
“Tourist?” The man asked. “Aren’t
you? I can’t place that accent, so I assumed you were. Where are you from?”
“Italy.” Rocco sat up straight,
trying to not be obvious in staring at the man’s muscular legs. He must be some
kind of athlete. Was this man a candidate or had the hour of staring at subpar
specimens clouded Rocco’s judgment? “Well, born in Italy, but I’ve lived in the
city for several years. Many, actually. I consider myself a New Yorker now.”
“Ah, so Italian with some city
dialect. Not a tourist. What’s your name?”
Rocco flipped his sunglasses up
onto his head. “Rocco Lazzaro. Not a tourist.” He forced a smile. Meeting new
people in person wasn’t something he was used to doing.
“But very Italian, I see. Nice to
meet you, Rocco.” The man held his hand out. “I’m Devin Johansson. Also not a
tourist. I live on the East Side.”
Rocco took Devin’s hand in his
own and shook it firmly, aware that his own hand was clammy with anxiety. “Good
to meet you too, Devin.”
Devin clamped down on Rocco’s
fingers and held on. “Oh. You have working hands,” he whispered. He pulled
Rocco’s hand closer and rubbed Rocco’s palm with long, soft fingers. “And your
aura shows great creativity.” He looked up. “What is it you do?”
The teens moved on down the park
path, giggling and talking loudly as they went. Rocco glanced over at them,
trying to still the shudder that played along his arm as Devin rubbed his hand.
A calm, warm feeling flowed up through his arm and into his chest. Even in the
summer heat, the warmth felt good. Too good. Wait, what did he say? What the
hell?
“My what? My aura?” Rocco yanked
his hand away, immediately aware of the loss of warmth. Great. The first
good-looking guy he’d met this week was a fruit loop New-Ager.
Sign up for my no-spam newsletter by the end of August to be entered to
win a $50 Amazon gift card: Blog/newsletter form
About
the Author:
Kerry
writes about love in its many forms, and enjoys exploring the dynamics of
relationships and the quandaries people get themselves into. She lives in
suburbia, but is making plans to escape to the ocean and NYC, as both places
hold a piece of her heart.
You
can purchase Sculptor’s Desire here:
.jpg)
.jpg)
