TRISTAN (PAPERBACK)

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TWILIGHT FALLS
Alex
Carter
Hunter
Wyatt
Drake
Tristan
Miles

Fuck.

James Lang glared at the engine compartment of his Jaguar.

What he knew about cars could be written on the back of a stamp. Which was terribly unfortunate considering he was currently stuck on the side of a deserted mountain road and the sun was starting to set. He took his cell phone out, scowled when he saw the engine oil stain on his three-hundred-dollar Armani pants, and checked for a signal.

For the tenth time, the device returned—

“Nothing,” James muttered under his breath in disgust. “Not a single fucking bar.” His knuckles whitened on his cell. “I’m gonna kill Roman.”

Roman Campbell was his best friend and the lead singer of Crazyknot, the world famous rock band James managed. Eighteen months after coming out of rehab and twelve months since Crazyknot made one of the most shockingly successful comebacks the music industry had ever witnessed, Roman had stunned James and the other members of their band by buying a dilapidated property in Twilight Falls.

Nestled in a forested valley in the San Bernardino Mountains, the picturesque town was a popular haven for tourists in summer and winter alike, its location ideal for outdoor sports enthusiasts as well as those interested in the gentler pace of life it offered.

James first visited the place two months ago, on Carter Wilson’s wedding day. The A-list Hollywood star was a good friend of his from L.A. and a native of Twilight Falls. It was there that Carter had met and fallen head over heels in love with Elijah Davis, a Michelin star pastry chef who’d relocated from Paris to open a local bakery and eatery.

Carter and Elijah’s wedding had been an elegant yet simple affair, the venue they’d chosen a wonderful backdrop to the heartfelt ceremony where they’d pledged their vows to one another.

Roman had also been a guest at the wedding. Unbeknown to James, the rockstar had spotted a ‘For Sale’ sign for a property on his way to the venue.

He’d showed up on James’s doorstep with a rental RV that morning, put James’s car on a trailer next to his Ducati, and driven them all the way to Twilight Falls to show him his new pride and joy.

Though James had told Roman he was crazy when he’d seen the run down home his best friend had purchased, he couldn’t deny the attraction of the place. Originally built by an eccentric millionaire in the roaring 1940s, the rambling Colonial mansion stood on a rise at the end of a winding, graveled road, in the midst of ten acres of private woodland. With its ivy and wisteria covered facade and pretty leaded windows, the main residence had an undeniable charm that was visible even through the decades of grime that covered it. It even boasted its own swimming pool, tennis court, and guest house.

James had stayed with Roman throughout his meeting with his architect that morning, not because he didn’t trust Roman to manage his own affairs, but because the rockstar had insisted on getting his opinion on the renovation plans. Though James hadn’t shown it, he’d been impressed with the blueprints he’d seen and the 3d renderings Roman’s architect had shown them on her computer.

Roman had made him lunch after she’d left.

“Your cooking skills have improved,” James had told Roman tartly after taking a bite of the sandwich the rockstar had prepared for him.

Roman had sighed. “It’s a pastrami sandwich, James. Even I can’t fuck that up.”

James had raised an eyebrow. “You seem to forget that I’ve known you since you were sixteen. Surely, you haven’t forgotten M&G Day?”

Roman had rolled his eyes so hard they’d almost disappeared into the back of his pretty head. M&G Day, AKA mustard and gherkin day, was the infamous day the kids at their orphanage had been tasked with making lunch for the staff. It had been a comically epic disaster, the icing on the cake that had caused all the staff to groan at the awful sandwiches Roman had made. They had consisted of mustard and gherkins on soggy bread, and little else.

“You’ll make a good wife yet,” James had grunted at Roman after they’d finished the meal.

Roman had thrown a dishtowel at him.

It was late afternoon when they’d taken James’s car off the trailer so he could make the drive back to L.A. He’d hugged Roman and dropped a kiss on his forehead as he’d gotten ready to leave.

“Call me if you need anything.”

Roman’s face had softened, the light in his eyes turning melancholic. “I’m okay, James. I’m much stronger than I was two years ago. And I have you and the other guys to thank for that.” He’d squeezed his arms tightly around James. “I won’t break again, I promise.”

James had swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He’d almost lost Roman once. And not just him. All of Crazyknot had. The other band members were from the same orphanage Roman and James had ended up in during their teens and the bonds between them had only gotten stronger with time. There was little they wouldn’t do for one another.

He’d bidden Roman goodbye and left. That had been an hour ago.

And now, here I am, with a broken down car in the middle of nowhere. Guess there won’t be a knight in shining armor coming to save me.

A self-disparaging chuckle left James then.

He wasn’t exactly a damsel in distress. And no knight in shining armor would ever rescue him, physically or metaphorically. He’d come to terms with that a long time ago. After all, he was the Ice Princess of the music industry.

A wave of bitterness washed over James. He’d discovered he was attracted to guys a long time ago. He’d never had trouble sleeping with men until that awful night, seven years ago. He’d tried toys, sex clubs, and even watched porn, but to no avail. His few attempts at a one-night stand had all ended in disaster and he’d walked out of the hotel embarrassed and frustrated.

I should see a therapist.

An all too familiar, crushing sense of shame weighed him down at that thought. Seeing a therapist would mean confessing what had happened that night and the sordid circumstances that had led to it. He still wasn’t ready for that. And he may never be. James ran a hand through his hair and grimaced.

Christ, the reporters in L.A. would have a field day if they discovered THE James Lang was frigid.

He was aware of his disagreeable reputation in the music industry. After all, it was one he’d carefully cultivated over the years, to protect himself and Crazyknot from the sharks that were bound to circle them as they shot to fame. It was all too easy for a young band to become tainted by the dark undercurrents of their industry. By deals done behind closed doors and unscrupulous people who would take advantage of them.

James had fought tooth and nail over the years to make sure Roman and the other members of Crazyknot never became the targets of such dire intrigues. And there had been plenty of them, most of which his friends had been unaware of.

He studied the darkening sky and was debating leaving his car and walking down the mountain until he got better signal on his phone, when the sound of an engine reached his ears.

Thank God!

Relief made him weak. He hadn’t realized how nervous he’d been.

The noise grew to the roar of a powerful motorbike. A headlight lit up the trees on the embankment to his right.

A black and silver Harley rounded the corner a moment later.

It was being ridden by a mountain of a man in a vintage brown leather jacket, dark gray jeans and boots, and a helmet with an opaque visor.

All of James’s instincts went on high alert.

The guy shot past the car, slowed to a crawl, and did a U-turn before coming back up the slope.

James’s palms grew sweaty when the stranger stopped his motorbike a short distance away. Even though it had started to grow dark, he could see the tattoos running up the side of the man’s neck. He told himself he was being an asshole for making assumptions about the guy based on his appearance and stood his ground as the latter climbed off his Harley.

Then the stranger took his helmet off and all of James’s instincts told him he’d been right.

This man was trouble with a capital T.

But not for the reasons James had presumed he would be.

Though he looked to be about the same height as James, the stranger was built like a brick house, with muscles to spare. He had short-cropped black hair, rich brown eyes, and dark stubble that framed an angular jawline, adding to his overpowering masculine presence.

James suspected that the tattoos on his neck extended over a considerable area of his impressive body. The guy also looked oddly…familiar.

“You’re having engine trouble?” the stranger said.

James blinked. His voice was like warm honey poured over whiskey.

It went straight to James’s cock and brought his shriveled libido to life with a jolt.