What happens when temporary becomes forever?
Oz Gallagher does not do relationships well. Bored and jobless after another disastrous hook up, he decides to leave London for a temporary job in the wilds of Cornwall. Surely managing a stately home on a country estate will be easier than navigating the detritus of his relationships at home. Six months there will alleviate a bit of his wanderlust and then he can come back to London as footloose and fancy free as the day he left it.
However, when he gets there he finds a house in danger of crumbling to the ground and a man who is completely unlike anyone he’s ever met. An earl belonging to a family whose roots go back hundreds of years, Silas is the living embodiment of duty and sacrifice. Two things that Oz has never wanted. He’s also warm and funny and he draws Oz to him like a magnet.
Oz banks on the fact that they’re from two very different worlds to stop himself falling for Silas. But what will he do when he realises that these differences are actually part of the pull to one another? Will falling in love be enough to make him stop moving at last and realise that he’s finally home?
From bestselling author, Lily Morton, comes a romantic comedy about two very different men and one very dilapidated house.
This is the first book in the Finding Home series but it can be read as a standalone.
“Oh my God, Oz. Shit. Baby, it’s not you, it’s me.”
I stare at my boyfriend of six weeks who is currently dick deep in a strange man’s arse on our bed. The sight of the white and grey striped sheets that I’d painstakingly picked out last week makes me incredibly want to laugh.
“I sort of guessed that,” I say faintly. “Seeing as my penis is safely at home in my jeans while yours is roaming free.” I cast him an acerbic look. “Like a very small wildebeest.” I hold up my fingers and narrow the gap between them. “Tiny, really. Minute.”
“Wait. Are you saying I’ve got a small cock?”
I shake my head. “Out of everything to do with our current situation, that is what you’re focusing on, James.”
I turn away from the bed and make my way over to the huge walk-in dressing room. Time to move on again. I cast a look around at the room that smells of sandalwood with its light oak shelves and the neat rows of clothes. I think I might miss this more than him.
There’s a disturbance on the bed behind me and I wince as I hear the squelching noise as my boyfriend evacuates the arse he’s found a home in today. I don’t need to hear the muttered complaint from the other man to know that he’s dismounted as gracelessly as he usually climbs on. My arse clenches in sympathy. Been there, done that.
Footsteps thud behind me and I turn to face my now ex-boyfriend. That’s current to ex in forty minutes, which was how long it took me to realise that I’d left my wallet in my jacket and come home unexpectedly. Things move quickly in Oz Land.
“Was he waiting in the cupboard?” I ask. I shake my head as he opens his mouth to interrupt me as normal. “I mean, that was quick work. Me first thing, quick shower, and then where did you find this one?” I look at the small blond man climbing back into his clothes quickly.
“He’s my new assistant,” James mutters, pushing his hand through his hair.
I laugh. “Really?” He glares at me as my laughter continues. I pause and clutch my ribs. “How bloody clichéd and yet how utterly you.” I shake my head. “Still, it’s a relief. The speed you moved this one into our bed, I’d imagined you clubbing him on the head in the lobby.”
He folds his arms over his chest, attempting to look dignified, but it must be difficult with half a cockstand and a wrinkled condom clinging to it. “Well, I didn’t have to do that with you, did I? You fell into my bed quickly enough. One look at the Belgravia postcode and you had your legs open quicker than I could get my cock out.”
Oh, great. I sense we’re moving into the insult Oz stage of the proceedings. I straighten up to my full height which unfortunately is only five feet six, but believe me, I work those feet and inches.
“Well, of course it would have to have been the postcode because really, James, this location does bloody wonders for your personality.” I tap my teeth with my nail. “Makes you almost interesting. Almost,” I throw over my shoulder as I grab my suitcase and battered rucksack from the floor behind one of the cupboards.
I should have seen the writing on the wall when he asked me to move in with him and then proceeded to try and act as if he was living with the invisible man. All my belongings stuffed out of sight. The only place he was okay with me spreading out was in his bed. Even then, everything was his. I’d known it was a mistake, but at the time I thought I liked him. I’d paid attention to the way he held me at night and ignored the way he’d dropped my hand as soon as we stepped out of the flat.
“What are you doing?” he demands as I rifle through the clothes in my bag.
“Just checking I’ve got everything,” I mutter. I click my fingers and move over to the wash basket. Upending the clothes all over the floor and enjoying his wince of discomfort, I sort through the laundry and, grabbing my stuff, I throw it into a carrier bag. Classy to the end.
I stride over to the marble bathroom and start to grab my toiletries. He moves towards me and I wave my hand at his now flaccid cock. “James, take that fucking condom off. You look like a complete twat.” He stares down at his cock as if forgetting he was wearing it. I shake my head. “So tight with your cash. You were probably hoping to get a second chance at using it. Or maybe it’s the one you used with me and you wrung it out and went for it again.”
The flare in his eyes tells me I’m not that wrong, and inwardly I want to beat myself round the head. Why did I move in with him? Why did I even move past the first night hook-up with him? It had been hot but there’d been nothing else there. I sigh. I think I was bored and he was good at sex at first. That had deteriorated pretty fast though once he’d had me. I’d been flattered when he moved me in after three weeks but I needn’t have bothered, because all I’d done was saddle myself with an educated idiot with poor impulse control. And no sense of humour, I remind myself.
I straighten my shoulders. Not again. I’m not doing this again. There won’t be any more attempts at relationships. I’ve obviously got the picking ability of Britney Spears. From now on I’m hook-up central and nothing more.