Ghost of a Chance Read online

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  Phaze

  www.phaze.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Jade Falconer

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Ghost of a Chance

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  About the Author

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  Published by Phaze Books

  Also by Jade Falconer

  Morningstar

  Cold Hands, Warm...

  Girls on Film

  Tangled Web

  Escape

  "Devotion” from

  Phaze Fantasies, Vol. III

  Savior

  Morningstar: Death and Life (print)

  Sanctuary

  Wicked Game

  The Perfect Gift

  Back to the Past

  Survival

  Making Magic

  Unexpected Connections (print collection)

  The Best Laid Plans

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  This is an explicit and erotic novel

  intended for the enjoyment

  of adult readers. Please keep

  out of the hands of children.

  www.Phaze.com

  Ghost of a Chance

  a novel of homoerotic romance by

  JADE FALCONER

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Ghost of a Chance copyright 2008 by Jade Falconer

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  A Phaze Production

  Phaze Books

  6470A Glenway Avenue, #109

  Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222

  Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.

  To order additional copies of this book, contact:

  [email protected]

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  Cover art © 2008 Sparrowhawk

  Edited by Kathryn Lively

  eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-59426-656-0

  First Edition -October, 2008

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter One

  Ryan hadn't ridden a train in years. Even though it was a modern one, it still gave him that ‘old world charm’ feeling. It was a long trip. Six hours. The buffet trolley came through the car a second time. He asked for a cup of tea and fumbled with the strangely shaped foreign coins.

  The estate solicitor had arranged for his ticket. First class. Not that first class was that much different from coach, but it was a little more comfortable. It wasn't something he would have splurged on himself. Each table had a little lamp with a tiny little lampshade with the rail line's logo on it. His tea was served in a china cup with the same logo. It was all adorably inefficient.

  He gazed out the window at the passing scenery. Although a lot of it looked like any old fields or pastures he might see back home, the details made it different. The occasional crumbling stone tower, the wrought iron gates that looked to be straight out of All Creatures Great and Small or The Vicar of Dibley, the road signs and station signs in bold graphics so purely British. It was a jarring mixture of the familiar and the strange. As the train sped north, even the cows looked foreign—great caramel-colored beasts with big horns and long hair hanging over their eyes.

  Scotland. It wasn't somewhere he'd ever think to visit. He knew nothing about it beyond the typical jokes, mostly courtesy of Mike Myers. Kilts. Vague suggestions of bestiality with sheep. Bagpipes, even though public television had taught him that the instrument had originated in China. But now that he was here, now that he could see it, something about the rugged, increasingly hilly and vast landscape called to him.

  Maybe it was just the spectacular news that he was the sole surviving heir to a real title and a castle of his own. He imagined that would mess with anyone's perceptions. When he'd gotten the letter he'd thought it was a joke, but a quick phone call to his mother confirmed it.

  As he sat on the train, he read over the letter again.

  Dear Mr. Legato,

  I am writing to you on behalf of your cousin, the Earl of Elgin. It is my sad duty to inform you that the Earl has recently passed away. He was in a fatal car crash with his only child. He survived for two days after the crash that killed his son, and it is my belief that he was able to hold on so that he could attempt to put his affairs in order. His dying wish was that his family's old and distinguished title not revert to the Crown. In short, he asked me to find you. You are the last surviving relative of the Earl, and as such, the uncontested heir to the Earldom and Castle Elgin.

  I realize this will come as something of a shock. The Earl expressed to me in his last hours that there was a rift in your family, and you may very well be unaware of your British relations.

  He looked up from the letter, lost in thought. That was when he'd called his mother. As far as he knew, up to that point, his entire family was Italian. His grandmother on his mother's side was definitely Italian. His grandfather on his father's side had come to the United States from Sicily with his wife, who didn't speak a word of English. Of course, he hadn't seen either of them since he was three years old, when his father had passed away. They'd moved and he'd learned that they'd both passed a few years later, but he was still a child at the time.

  However, according to his mother, it was his paternal great-grandmother who was British. But that was all she knew about it. He looked back at the letter.

  The Earl has always regretted not reaching out to find you sooner. In his final hours he asked the Almighty for forgiveness, and entreated me to locate you and see that you fulfilled your birthright...

  His birthright. It was such a weird idea. There was a phone number and more pleas for him to get in touch with the very proper-sounding solicitor's office. He called, and over the next few weeks arrangements were made. Photos of the property, of relatives, of the town where his castle was were sent. And then plane tickets and train tickets and now he was here, on a train to Elginshire.

  He didn't bring much with him, just one suitcase. He didn't know what the weather would be like, and he thought it might be cool to buy clothes there. He was an Earl now, after all. He could splurge a little. There was supposed to be a car waiting for him, but it was nowhere to be seen. It was raining fairly steadily by that point, and the station agent's booth was closed. Night was falling. The only bui
lding that showed any activity whatsoever was a pub down the road from the station.

  He rolled his suitcase across the loose gravel drive, then slipped inside the dark oak-paneled warmth. It was only then that he realized it had been fairly chilly outside. He parked his case by the coat rack and wandered further inside. Everyone in the place turned to stare. He realized that he might get that kind of reaction. Clearly this wasn't L.A, and he'd worked long and hard on his Hollywood facade. He took a breath and girded himself for whatever was coming, and walked up to the bar. The bartender was busily pouring some sort of ale from a long-handled tap and hadn't looked up yet, so he waited to get his attention. Actually, he was kind of cute.

  The bartender set the pint on the bar in front of a wizened old man and collected a two-pound coin from him with a smile. Then he turned, noticing Ryan out of the corner of his eye, and moved down the bar toward him. “Hello,��� he said as he approached. “What can I get you?” He was tall and slender, reddish brown hair falling into hazel eyes, his lips full and smiling.

  Ryan blinked. That sounded like a northern California accent to him. Changed a little, perhaps by living here a while, but definitely not native. “Oh. You're American!” he said with a smile. “Small world. Um, actually someone was supposed to pick me up at the station and they're not there. I was wondering if there was a phone somewhere that I could use.” He felt like he was staring, but he couldn't help himself. There was something so engaging about the soft hazel eyes looking back at him. He dragged his attention away long enough to fumble in his bag for the tiny address book that had the estate agent's phone number in it.

  The bartender glanced around the small pub, and leaned close. “Well, I'm really not meant to, but you can use the phone. Just ... it won't reach. You'll have to come round here.” He indicated the narrow area behind the bar, and smiled apologetically.

  Ryan gave him a sweet smile. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” He found the narrow entrance at the end of the bar and wriggled in behind it. “I meant to get an international cell, but I totally spaced out before I left. Anyway, hi. I'm Ryan,” he said, extending his hand to the other man. He could almost feel the gazes of the patrons raking over him, but he wasn't worried. Even in L.A. he got looks like that sometimes. He wore his thick dark hair long, and never left the house without at least a bit of makeup, eyeliner at least.

  "I'm James,” the bartender replied, shaking Ryan's hand, and pointed to the phone on the wall. “Help yourself.” He had to squeeze past Ryan to fill another drink order, their bodies just touching as he did so.

  Ryan picked up the receiver and held it between his ear and his shoulder. He held one slender finger poised above the dial as he frowned at the number in his book. All the codes he had written down were to call from the United States. He transferred the phone to his hand again and glanced over his shoulder at James. “Um, I hate to ask, but...” He moved to stand next to him, holding up the little book open so he could see. “Where does the phone number actually start? Right after the 4-4?” He nibbled on his lip, his shoulder just brushing James’ shoulder.

  James leaned close, peering at the numbers in the dim light. “Oh, right. Within the country, you have to add a naught. A zero. Drop the 4-4 and the 1, just dial the zero then the number."

  "A naught?” Ryan said with a grin. “Sorry. Thanks.” He stepped away and returned to the phone, standing as close to the wall as possible to give James room. He dialed the number of the solicitor's office.

  "Is this Nigel Winthrop? Yes, this is Ryan Legato. Yes. Well, I'm here. No, it was today. Oh. Well, your office made all the arrangements, but, yes. I'm at the pub right now. Oh. Um, okay.” He put his hand over the bottom of the phone and looked at James over his shoulder. “Is there any kind of taxi or car service around here that could take me to the castle?” he asked softly.

  "The castle?” James said with a raised eyebrow. “At this hour?” He looked at the clock. “Actually, I doubt you could get anyone at all this late.” He hesitated. “But, if you could wait about half an hour, I could give you a lift when I get off."

  Ryan felt a little surge of excitement over that. His new, very attractive, American neighbor giving him a ride? “That'd be rad. Thanks,” he said and turned back to the phone. “Yes, I can get a ride. Oh. Yes, okay. You mean, well, is there heat on at least? Oh, okay, then. I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks.” He hung up the phone and shimmied back out to the other side of the bar and took a seat at the end. “I don't suppose you have tea or something, do you?” he asked when the bartender was down at his end.

  James snorted. “Of course we have tea. I'm so sick of tea. Just try to get a real cup of coffee, there's the trick.” He caught himself, smiling sheepishly. “You sure you don't want a pint or something?” He was already gathering up glasses to wash them.

  "Oh, no thanks. I don't drink alcohol. Some tea would be great. I've only been here eight hours, so I'm not sick of it yet,” Ryan said with a grin. Since he had a little wait, he slid the black fuzzy jacket off his shoulders, revealing full sleeve tattoos beneath his black t-shirt. He pulled his hair back with both hands, smoothing it out before letting it tumble down his back again.

  The pub was rapidly clearing out, most of the regulars walking back to their homes. James put the kettle on in the back, and when he came out with a mug of tea, his eyes widened as he looked at Ryan's arms. He set the chipped white mug on the bar in front of him and said, “Nice ink."

  Ryan took the mug and held it between his hands, savoring the warmth. He glanced down. “Oh, thanks.” He looked into James’ eyes. “I keep forgetting it's there. No one in L.A. comments on it, usually. They're all too busy looking to see if they've been noticed to notice anyone else.” He smirked a little and took a sip of his tea. “Mmm, it's so nasty out. Is it always like this?"

  James laughed, leaning his elbows on the bar. “This is nice weather for Scotland,” he explained. “Summer weather."

  Ryan wrinkled his nose. “I'm definitely gonna have to do some shopping. I can't spend all my time in sweatpants.” He took another sip of tea, enjoying it immensely. “You make a mean cup of tea, James. So how did you end up here? I mean, you can tell me to mind my own business at any time. Just so you know."

  "It's kind of a long story,” James replied. “And probably pretty boring to someone like you.” He smiled at Ryan. “Not that I don't want to tell you. I'm just warning you.” He wiped down the bar with a Guinness towel.

  "Someone like me? I'm not as exciting as I look,” he said, laughing a little. “Just your garden variety Hollywood gay boy.” He looked down into his tea, wondering if he should have waited until after James gave him a ride before revealing that piece of information. But James seemed to take it okay. “You know, only my eyebrow waxer knows the real story,” he said softly, venturing a shy glance up at James. Well, either he'd back off or continue to be friendly. Then he'd know what sort of reception he could expect in Scotland.

  James blushed just a little, but looked steadily back at Ryan. “Well, you're certainly going to liven up this sleepy little town,” he said smiling. “I'm sorry, but I've got to do last call right now. Don't run off."

  He watched him close out tabs and fill a last minute order or two. As James moved behind the bar Ryan could see that he had a really nice ass. But he was probably straight. Anyway, Ryan wasn't in Scotland to find someone to hook up with. He was there to fulfill his birthright, whatever that meant.

  When James finally came back over to him, he finished off his tea and put the cup down. “Hey, I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable. Things tend to tumble out of my mouth before I really mean them to."

  James shrugged. “I'm not uncomfortable. And people here are generally pretty accepting. Not like small towns in the U.S., luckily.” He pulled off his apron, smiling at Ryan. “It's pretty cold out now. Don't you have a heavier jacket?” He grabbed his keys and wallet from behind the bar.

  Ryan pulled his jacket back on. “This is pretty war
m.” He held the black fuzzy coat open. “It's vinyl inside.” He zipped it up and slid the strap of his bag over his head, pulling his hair free of it. The other patrons filed out, and had thankfully lost interest in him. “I really appreciate you driving me. I'd be sleeping at the train station otherwise."

  James turned off the lights and locked the doors. “It's no problem,” he assured Ryan, leading him to a ridiculously cute little blue car. It wasn't the smallest car around by any means, but by American standards it was tiny. He unlocked the passenger side for Ryan, then went to unlock his own door.

  Ryan realized belatedly that he had to get in on the left side and he climbed in. He buckled his seat belt. “Nice car.” Ryan wasn't really a car guy, but he could appreciate them nonetheless. “I'm assuming you know where the castle is, ‘cause I totally don't. Other than over there somewhere,” he said, pointing through the gloom at the stone turret in the distance.

  "Oh, everyone knows where the castle is,” James smiled, pulling out of the car park. He looked curiously over at Ryan. “If you don't mind my asking, why are you going there? There's been no one there since the Earl and his son died."

  "Yeah. He was like my cousin or something. I got a letter after he passed away. So...” He was a little embarrassed about the title thing, and inheriting a huge amount of money. It was all very weird. He glanced at James, wondering what his reaction would be.

  "Wow, I had no idea the Earl had any other family,” James said. “He was nice enough, came into the pub once or twice.” He looked at Ryan. “I see absolutely no resemblance, thank God,” he added with a small laugh. “Wait, I heard there was no other family. Does that mean the castle is yours?"

  "Um, yeah. And the title. The solicitor was supposed to meet me, but he got the date wrong. Is it nice?” he asked. “I've never even been in a castle before.” He couldn't help being a little excited. It looked imposing as they got closer, but he had all sorts of romantic notions about it.