PRECIOUS ACHE …Micah began to knead Dave’s shoulders, his thumbs digging into the sore spot in the middle of Dave’s nape. “God, that feels good.” Dave groaned, then snapped his lips shut, horrified that he’d failed to censor his thoughts and had actually verbalized them. He tensed, waiting for Micah to say something. “It’s supposed to feel good. Sit and relax. I’ll have those tight muscles loosened up in no time.” Dave swallowed the moan building in his throat and tried to stay as still as possible—not an easy feat when his cock was hardening by the second and pressing against his zipper for liberation. He would have been humiliated had Micah realized what effect his massage was having on Dave’s libido, but the other man seemed oblivious. As it stood, a firestorm of need was building in Dave’s groin, aided by the magic of Micah’s nimble fingers working his neck and shoulders, rubbing away the soreness and replacing it with a precious ache Dave had never felt before. He’d experienced lust, knew it well, but the sensation building in his groin was deeper, more intense than what he was used to. It scared the piss out of him. Dave leaned back his head, staring up at Micah, and felt the breath hitch in his chest. Micah loomed over him, his full lower lip caught between his teeth, his brows furrowed in a look of utter concentration. Dave’s lungs burned with the need to exhale, but all he could concentrate on was Micah’s face so very close to his own. Micah’s eyes were even more stunning, the limpid blue pools almost mesmerizing in their intensity. Micah’s head tilted to one side as his teeth released the death grip they had on his lip and he soothed it with his tongue. Dave’s rapt gaze followed the progress of Micah’s tongue across his mouth and gulped… PRECIOUS ACHE BY AMANDA YOUNG AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com PRECIOUS ACHE AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2008 by Amanda Young ISBN 978-1-60272-359-7 Cover Art © 2008 Trace Edward Zaber Layout and Formatting provided by: Elemental Alchemy PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA For my rock, John. Thank you for your unending belief in me, even when I don’t deserve it. PRECIOUS ACHE CHAPTER 1 Dave Blanchard winced as he heard a shrill, feminine squeal. He turned to see a pink blur running in the opposite direction from where he stood on the corner of 6th and Vine as he tried to hail a taxi. A little girl with bright blonde pigtails rushed into her mother’s waiting arms and pointed to him, crying. The mother scowled at Dave and shook her head, as if he’d gone out of his way to scare the child. Now it’s my fault children think I’m a giant from the fairytales their parents read them. Scowling, he held out his arm toward the next yellow cab that approached. With gas prices at an all-time high, it was cheaper to take a taxi to and from the city than drive his old 1 PRECIOUS ACHE clunker of a truck. But he hated having to rely on someone else to get him where he needed to be. It gnawed at his finely tuned sense of independence. Luckily, this cab’s light was on, and it pulled up to the curb in front of him and stopped. The engine rumbled noisily, exhaust fumes billowing behind the bumper as he climbed in the backseat and grumbled his address to the turbaned man in the front. Dark eyes glared at him from the rearview mirror for an instant before the car jetted out into busy midday traffic. Leaning back against the squeaky vinyl upholstery, Dave closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing heart. It had been a trying afternoon and he was ready to be home, safely ensconced in his townhouse, away from the stares and whispers that inevitably followed him everywhere he went. After a lifetime of being treated like a freak of nature, he should have been able to let the snide comments and ogling roll off his back. But he’d never mastered the art of ignoring the way people reacted to his appearance. It wasn’t as if he were grossly disfigured or had a hump on his back, but being seven- feet, six-inches tall was different enough to attract attention. The time he spent working out his frustrations in his home gym didn’t help make him look less threatening, just muscular and well-toned. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have a violent bone in his body. People saw him and jumped to conclusions. He’d grown used to it, learned to adapt to always being on the outside looking in. But that didn’t prevent him from feeling the sting of rejection again and again. 2 PRECIOUS ACHE The only reason he’d come out of his hidey-hole today was for one of the infrequent business meetings he had that couldn’t be conducted online or over the phone. Although he primarily worked from home, designing and maintaining websites, there was the occasional client who wanted to meet him in person to discuss their projects. He was grateful those were few and far between, or he’d probably starve. While online, he could charm potential clients with little to no effort. It was face-to-face meetings that turned him into a raging incompetent who couldn’t string together two words. He’d bumbled today’s meeting, tripping over his words like he had a stuttering problem. The last straw had been when he’d knocked over a large potted plant on his way out and spilled dirt all over the office floor. He wouldn’t bet on hearing from Wagon Trails Construction any time soon. The hour-long drive from Roanoke to Blacksburg passed quickly as Dave replayed the torturous afternoon in his mind. Before he realized where he was, the taxi pulled into Dave’s driveway and stopped. He paid the cabbie and got out, the sun warm on his face and neck. He entered his townhouse and dropped his house keys into a bowl on the table by the door. A cool breeze wafted over his feverish skin, making him shiver as goose bumps exploded up and down his arms beneath the white, long-sleeved dress shirt he wore. Petey, a shaggy-haired, black-and-white cocker spaniel, barreled down the stairs just inside the door and danced around Dave’s feet for attention. Dave bent, scooped Petey off 3 PRECIOUS ACHE the floor and cuddled the wiggling bundle of energy against his chest. “I missed you, too, boy. I bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?” Petey yipped and squirmed, trying to lick at Dave’s mouth. “Ah, ah, ah,” Dave said, setting down Petey. “No kissing me on the lips. Haven’t we already had a talk about that?” He bypassed the living room on his right and entered the small, sterile white kitchen. After feeding and watering Petey, he grabbed a tall bottle of water from the fridge and turned it up, allowing the icy liquid to splash over his tongue and down his parched throat. With an “ah” of satisfaction, he kicked off his shoes and ran the back of the chilled bottle against his forehead, trying to cool down. For a spring day, it was exceedingly hot outside, close to eighty degrees. He was burning up. Dave set down the bottle on the counter by the sink and stripped out of his shirt and dress pants, laying them over one of the four straight-backed kitchen chairs so he would remember to drop them by the dry cleaner the next time he went out. Most of his laundry was done at home, but operating an iron was beyond his ability. His efforts had produced a large brown scorch on the front of the last shirt he’d attempted to de-wrinkle. Clad in blue boxers, with the half-empty water bottle clasped in one hand and his dress shoes dangling from the fingertips of the other, he padded into the living room. He dropped his shoes by the couch and flopped down on the tan sectional, glad to be home. Petey catapulted himself onto the 4