Make Me
Table of Contents
Look for these titles from Alyssa Turner
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~ Acclaim for Alyssa Turner ~
For
Polished
“Alyssa Turner masterfully wove emotion and red-hot m/m/f ménage together in
Polished
! The book kept me turning pages and thinking about it once I'd finished. I loved Rory, Spencer, and Jack.
Polished
is steamy, sexy, and highly recommended!”
—Shoshanna Evers, New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author
“Ms. Turner once again delivers an explosive, sexy, passionate page turner. She is one of the best in the business at delivering scorching hot sex, a lot of emotion and mixing it all around a beautiful love story”
—Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews
For
By Surprise
“Ms. Turner enchants her audience with an easy flowing and energetic writing style…
By Surprise
is a short sizzler capable of enveloping you in the warmth and wonderment of love. …[A] short, provocative, tantalizing narrative…”
—Night Owl Reviews
“I just could not put it down. It was a sweet loving story. ... I could relate to them. If someone would have told me that this story happened in real life, I would not have been surprised... most probably jealous but not surprised.”
—Mary’s Ménage Whispers
For
Double Take
“Turner’s two heroes are hot. They are each a force to be reckoned with… If you love dystopian reads, seeing the hero/es struggle between their mission and their woman, then pick this book up. It has heat, it has steam, and it has substance.”
—Bitten by Books, Recommended October 2012
Look for these titles from Alyssa Turner
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Drawing Diego
By Surprise
Double Take
“Thrills and Chills” Halloween Heat V
Polished
Make Me
Available in Print
By Surprise
(Part of the
Surprised by Seduction
Collection)
“Thrills and Chills” Halloween Heat V Ménage
Polished
Double Take
Make Me
Make Me
Alyssa Turner
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http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/
).
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Published By
Etopia Press
1643 Warwick Ave., #124
Warwick, RI 02889
Make Me
Copyright © 2014 by Alyssa Turner
ISBN: 978-1-940223-98-8
Edited by Julian Smith
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Etopia Press electronic publication: May 2014
~ Dedication ~
For my honey. You make me better.
Make me want you.
Make me a believer.
Make me face my fears.
Make me forget my nightmares.
Make me wonder how I could ever live without you.
Prologue
“Your father and I are leaving for the governor’s fundraiser in fifteen minutes. I can’t imagine what was so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”
Kyle stood up straight, but his parents’ bedroom looked a bit slanted. He could still taste the tequila on his tongue. A little liquid courage never hurt, and this was going to be harder than flying into open fire over Fallujah. But he had to do it. He owed Manny something more than chicken-shit excuses.
“Mom…Dad, I’ve got something to tell you.” Kyle watched as his mother stopped applying her lipstick and his father looked up from his book.
“Well you’d better make it quick. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not fashionable for the guest of honor to be late. It’s just rude.” Olivia caught sight of him in the mirror. “Good grief, Kyle. You look like hell,” she said, the lipstick frozen in her long fingers. “What have you been up to this evening?”
Kyle raked his hand through his hair and scratched his two-day stubble. Yeah, he probably did look like a dump truck had spat him onto the curb. Multiple sorrows needed multiple shots of tequila. Though newfound drinking buddies never stuck around past happy hour, and easy propositions were a piss-poor consolation prize when his heart was with someone else. So it seemed for Kyle an empty bed was the perfect chaser for an empty heart. But not an empty glass. Never that. Not lately.
He swallowed and watched his parents’ expressions become more impatient. This had all gone a lot easier in his imagination.
“I’m gay.” There, he’d said it.
Olivia gasped with disbelief and let loose a harsh chuckle. “Gay? Since when?” Then with a measure of generosity, she made a halfhearted attempt to soften her response. “I mean, this is quite a surprise. There were so many girlfriends before you shipped out.”
Kyle figured the halfhearted sentiment fit. After all, he was only telling them half the story himself. “There was no one special. I just thought you should know.”
“Hmm. I suppose New York isn’t a bad place for a senator with a gay son.” Olivia smiled, and Kyle took it as her own way of saying she accepted the news. He’d learned well over the years how to decipher her slicing wit. She sighed, then with a frustrated flip of her hand, she continued. “But what about the article we secured for you? New York’s most eligible bachelor can’t be gay. It’s ludicrous.”
Kyle shook his head. Typical Olivia. He shrugged, looking past her to the twinkling lights of the Chrysler Building some twenty blocks downtown. “Well, he is…I am. So sorry to burst anyone’s bubble. That whole PR stunt was your idea anyway, not mine.”
Olivia resumed putting on her lipstick. She caught his gaze in the mirror once again with the corner of her eye. “Just promise to be discreet. You’re not seeing anyone right now, are you?”
Kyle shook his head and felt the knot in his stomach tighten within the sea of alcohol. “Not at the moment,” he said.
But maybe he had a chance of correcting that now. He had to try to make things right. First, come out to his parents, then if Manny took him back, he’d figure out a way to tell them the rest. It had to work, because being without him just wasn’t something he planned on doing anymore.
“Gavin, what do you have to say about all of this?” Olivia asked his father.
Gavin closed his book with a loud pop. “As usual, Olivia, you’ve said it all.”
Chapter One
Rebecca Sinclair wondered if anything was more aggravating than ruining a pair of gorgeous designer shoes in the rain. Maybe the fact that said shoes would have been just fine if somebody’s audacious red Camaro hadn’t occupied the assigned parking space in her Manhattan apartment’s underground garage? The space was clearly marked: Reserved. Who does that?
She’d turned her ten-year-old Jetta around with a harsh tug on the steering wheel, its nearly bald tires wheezing out a screeching echo in the cavernous lot. She’d cursed, and cursed again. Finding a space to park would be murder. Murder on her new-to-her Louboutins. So what if they’d been an unbelievable secondhand score? She loved them to pieces—not so much
in
pieces. Some shoes are made for walking; some are not.
She could have called the building’s management company, but they would take an hour at least to get the parking situation sorted out. Rebecca had one thing on her mind for that evening, and it wasn’t waiting around on a tow truck to come and vacate the intruder from her space. After more than a month away on site at the Library of Congress, supervising the acquisition of the largest private collection of original Broadway scripts she’d ever seen, the only thing left on her agenda was to veg out on her new suede sofa.
Trudging through the grimy puddles of the Upper West Side, she gritted her teeth and tried not to look at the way her powder-pink, gladiator-style platform heels were quickly turning the color of soot. A driving tropical wind whipped down the avenue. It was insanely hot and muggy for mid-September. Her umbrella snapped suddenly out of her control and tangled in her strawberry-blond curls for a few mocking seconds before she wrangled it back into place.