Solitary photojournalist Philip Conyers is out of money and out of time.
One year after pausing his work chasing stories across the globe to buy and fix up his dream house, a series of events has him flat broke, creatively clogged, and out of options. Philip must sell—and then is stuck as months pass without any offers.
Enter tech millionaire Zak Springer. He needs space and quiet away from New York City to think up the next big idea, and Philip’s upstate place is the perfect retreat. He wants to rent it for six months, price is no object, and oh yeah, Philip is welcome to stay. What can Philip do but agree?
Living with easygoing Zak proves interesting for Philip, a dedicated loner. Despite their different circumstances, Zak understands him in a way no one ever has, and the attraction that simmers between them is undeniable. With their days together numbered, Philip decides it’s safe to indulge in a fling—until he realizes he never wants this life in his dream house with his dream man to end. Can Philip open his heart as well as his home, or is he doomed to lose them both?
A giant of a man loomed in the driveway , and it was something for Philip to think of anyone as giant, given he’d had Tom as comparison for so long. Tall, wide, fair-haired with clear gray eyes, in unscuffed work boots and worn jeans and a flannel over a straining blue T-shirt. But looming wasn’t accurate. More, taking up a lot of space and cheerfully unaware of the effect or not self-conscious that he did.
Philip glanced around and took in the large but not tank-sized truck, the giant’s relaxed demeanor and friendly nod, and the sun that had decided to appear from the clouds seemingly to shine just on this guy.
READ MOREHe closed the door behind him and walked slowly down the wide flagstone stairs that led to it, but stayed on the last one. Philip was six feet and with his whipcord strength and dark eyes could menace or seem taller, and had been glad of that during more than one tight spot. This guy met him eye-to-eye standing on the ground. Had to be about six-five, then, and casual clothes didn’t hide rippling biceps and shoulders and linebacker breadth.
“Afternoon,” the guy said with a crooked smile and an effortless stride to be suddenly standing next to him. He stuck out a hand and Philip felt all too keenly the heat from it.
Deep awareness rippled through Philip and he didn’t dismiss or mind it, but he didn’t need that, either. He kept his hands in his pockets and waited.
The guy finally withdrew his hand with a no-worries shrug. “Got it. So, if I have it correct, this house is still for sale? Your house?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Nice, great. Okay, that’s great. Well, I came by to talk about you needing to sell it.”
Philip shook his head. “Ah, I see. I have a realtor but thank you all the same.” He turned and made for the front door. He’d had more than one would-be hustle guy contact him about their winning ways to move the house, but none had gone so far as to make the pitch in person.
“I want to help you keep it.”
That got Philip to turn back around.
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