When your dreams come to life, do you fall in love — or send them back to Neverland?
Never
(The Pennymaker Tales, #4)
By Tara Lain
Blurb:
Wendell “Wen” Darling lives in a world of shoulds and musts. Left to care for his brother and sister by his dull drudge of a father and wacko irresponsible mother, he suppresses his creativity, slaving in an ad agency seventy hours a week, letting his no-talent supervisor take the credit.
Then his bosses blow the campaign for their biggest client and Wen gets a chance to shine—but only if he can find the artist who painted a wild, glorious wall of graffiti in the subway. Hiding behind a pillar at 2:00 a.m., Wen comes face-to-face with the scarlet-haired, elven-faced embodiment of his divergent opposite—Peter Panachek, the flighty, live-for-today painter, singer, and leader of the rock group the Lost Boys. Everything Wen takes seriously, Peter laughs off, but opposites attract, even if their kisses always lead to battles. Peter’s devil-may-care persona hides a world of secrets, self-protection, and hidden fears, until the day a drug dealer, Vadon Hooker, threatens everything Wen holds dear. Guided by the mysterious Mr. Pennymaker, Peter has to choose between facing responsibility or burrowing even deeper into Neverland.
Release Date:
November 3, 2017
Available for Pre-Order at
Also available in paperback!
Excerpts
Descending the stairs like a
flaming Baryshnikov came a guy as big as a sumo wrestler, wearing tight black
jeans and a T-shirt that strained over the vast expanse of his chest and belly.
Amazing, yes, but who could see him, because above his head, in a position like
some flying ballerina, he held —a guy. What a guy. The boy—he looked to be in
his teens, but then so did Wen, so who knew?—stretched out in the air with his
legs raised and arms in Superman position. He wore black jeans, just as tight
as Sumo Guy’s, and a brilliant green T-shirt that made Wen look at his shock of
hair, so red it could have been painted, and his startling, captivating face.
This had to be a leprechaun or an elf come to life. His wide eyes turned up at
the corners like a cat laughing eternally, and they were so heavily lashed they
looked enhanced with guyliner. His nose turned up, his cheekbones stuck out,
there might be a cleft in his chin, and his mouth curved in a bow. Nothing on
that face should go together—but it came out a frigging masterpiece.
Trouping down behind this
Flying Wallenda act came three more guys, all dressed in black and managing to
represent the ethnic mix of the entire world in their small group. One guy’s
skin was black, and he was so handsome he barely looked real. One of them
appeared to be a mix of African and Asian and something Middle-Eastern
mysterious. One shorter dude must be a variety of Hispanic. Plus Parasol Girl
seemed to be a member of the club.
Sumo Guy carried the elf in a
wide circle as the boy flapped his arms. Then Sumo gave him a little toss,
which made Wen catch his breath. The elf flew up and landed gracefully in Sumo
Guy’s massive arms. He threw back his head, scarlet hair flying, and yelled,
“Ta-da!”
Back on his feet, the elf
proved to be maybe five foot eight or nine of compact perfection—wide shoulders
for his small size, slim hips, and long legs. He bowed low to the applause of
his band of merry weirdos and turned in a circle. Wen sucked a small breath. Look at that butt. High, round, and
hard—definitely supernatural.
He got up off the couch, padded in the dark down the
narrow hall to John’s room, opened the door softly, and listened. Just soft
snuffling snores. Good. He closed the
door again, listened at Michaela’s as he walked past but heard no sounds of
anguish or illness. Maybe just a siren
or a truck woke him. Of course, they were all so used to the traffic sounds of
Brooklyn that seemed unlikely. Collapsing on the couch again with a sigh, he
closed his eyes. Need some sleep.
Wait.
Do I hear someone breathing?
He listened harder. So soft, but still breathing.
What the hell
should I do? Someone might be behind the curtains with a gun. No, his
curtains wouldn’t hide a three-year-old. God knew, John had tried.
The breath kind of stuttered, like a little laugh. What the hell? It came from behind his
head, closer to the front door. Damn, I
wish I had a weapon. Without moving his head, he turned his eyes toward the
coffee table. A lazy Susan that Michaela used to help serve sat in the middle.
It was made of some kind of heavy ceramic. That would have to do.
With a huge sweep of his covers, Wen sat up, sprang to
his feet, grabbed the lazy Susan in two hands and leaped forward—
—to see Peter’s eyes widen as he flattened himself
against the wall with his hands lifted to fend off his attacker.
Wen stared at his elf face and hissed, “What the hell are
you doing here?” No, wait, wrong
question. “How the hell did you get in here?”
Peter pointed at the slightly open window.
Uh, wait. Wen
walked over and looked out at the four-story drop—and the old rusty fire escape
that ran beside the window. What the
hell? He stalked back to Peter, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to the
couch. “Sit.”
Peter sat.
Wen turned on a small lamp, went into the kitchenette,
grabbed their filter pitcher of water and poured two glasses, then carried them
back to the couch. He handed one to Peter. “I figure you need it after your
adventures. How the hell did you get up that fire escape without falling or
ripping the thing off the wall? Fly?”
He grinned. “I’m a good climber.”
Wen wanted to scream, and only biting his tongue kept it
at bay. “Why did you do it? I’ve asked you to help me. You’ve said no. We have
nothing else to talk about. You put yourself at risk, and you broke into my
house where my kids sleep!”
“Kids?” His cat eyes widened. “You have children?”
“Yes, they’re my younger brother and sister. I’m
responsible for them. I have to leave them alone sometimes, and now I find out
that any criminal can waltz up that fire escape and threaten them.”
“Well, not any criminal.” He gave a half grin.
“It’s not funny.”
“No. I get that. But honestly, most people would rip that
thing off the wall. I really am a good climber and it’s very high. I think you
and your kids are safe.”
Wen planted a hand on his hip. “From everyone but you.”
“Yeah.” He giggled, which despite being shocked and
furious, kind of made Wen want to smile.
The Pennymaker Tales Series
Sinders and Ash
(The Pennymaker Tales Series, #1)
by Tara Lain
STOP
Driven Snow
(The Pennymaker Tales, #2)
by Tara Lain
Available for purchase at
Beauty, Inc.
(The Pennymaker Tales #3)
Available for purchase at
Want to get these lovelies in paperback?
Sinders and Ash and Beauty, Inc. (Pennymaker Tales)
About the Author
Tara Lain writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in LGBT erotic romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her first novel was published in January of 2011 and she’s now somewhere around book 32. Her best-selling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Paranormal Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance, Best Gay Characters, and Tara has been named Best Writer of the Year in the LRC Awards. In her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm. She often does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft. She lives with her soul-mate husband and her soul-mate dog near the sea in California where she sets a lot of her books. Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says on her tombstone it will say “Yes”!
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