Craven and his friend Anthony discover they’re in over their heads the night they’re caught spying on Beresford Hall. But when Craven meets the dark, mysterious Dominic Beresford, he wonders if fate really does step in and take you by surprise when you least expect.
Excerpt from Magnolia Heat by Keta Diablo:
Aware of the ache in his loins, Craven shifted, narrowed his eyes, and watched yet another transport halt near the front door. It wasn’t the first time he and Anthony had engaged in spying on Beresford Hall, and with any luck, it wouldn’t be the last. Craven couldn’t seem to squelch his innate curiosity when it came to Dominic Beresford and the rumors enveloping both the old manor and the man.
Craven knew a thing or two about architecture; had spent hours poring through books on ancient edifices. Perhaps one day, the knowledge would serve him well, lead him to an occupation of carpentry or woodwork.
His gaze roamed Beresford Hall top to bottom. The gray limestone exterior boasted three stories. The mass of the building was characterized by alternating bands of rough and smooth finished stone, enhanced by porticos, piazzas and numerous bay windows. Multiple leaded window panels framed the massive façade, rendering a bold statement of luxurious wealth. Even from here, the lemony fragrance of the magnolias clinging to the trellis and arbors drifted on the wind and spiraled up his nostrils.
Craven left his thoughts and watched Anthony pluck a blade of grass from the ground and insert it into his mouth. “I saw Dominic Beresford last year when the University re-opened,” his friend said.
“Lucky devil. Paint me a picture. ”
“Mesmerizing, stunning,” Anthony’s eyes shimmered with adulation. “A large fellow, every muscle finely honed with a tousled mass of black hair about his shoulders. Good Lord, when I saw him, the man looked is if he’d tumbled from bed but a minute ago.” A lengthy pause ensued while they watched a trio of men exit their coach. Whispered conversation passed between the merry arrivals as they walked up the steps and disappeared like smoke behind the ornate, massive door. “His eyes are unforgettable,” Anthony added. “Bluer than the turquoise lagoons of Bermuda.”
Craven laughed. “You’ve never been to Bermuda, have you?”
“Of course not, but I’ve seen the picture books.”
“From where did Dominic Beresford obtain such wealth?”
The old geezers of Chapel Hill claim his great-grandfather sailed the seas under crossbones and skull. Some say his cellar houses over a thousand casks of Spanish bullion, booty his predecessor pilfered along the Carolina coast.”
“Do you think it true?”
“If he looks anything like his ancestors, I do.”
“The man is fierce looking?”
“Dark would be more like it. He possesses a mysterious, primitive appeal—reminds me of a Cooper’s hawk on the prowl for his evening meal.” Anthony laughed. “Without the sword and eye-patch.”
“The magnolias suit the manor well in that case.”
“How so?”
“Did you sleep through botany class last year?”
“Most likely. I detest the study of plants.”
“Magnolias are a very primitive plant. If not the first on earth, one of the first.” A humorless chuckle left Craven’s lips. “So perhaps the hall should have been christened Magnolia Manor for alliteration.”
“Magnolia Heat, you mean?”
Magnolia Heat. A shivering warmth flooded Craven. He must be afflicted with an unnamed disease to court the licentious cravings his young body hungered for, insane to encourage his mind to invite such erotic thoughts about another man.
He couldn’t remember when he first discovered a woman’s touch failed to arouse him. He longed to have a man’s large, rough hands caress his naked flesh. He sensed Anthony’s tastes ran along the same lines or they wouldn’t have risked such clandestine behavior every Friday eve for the last month.
Anthony’s words broke his reverie. “Martin claims the depraved lot is given to whips, restraints and a rigorous initiation that employs the use of martial discipline, including the horse.”
Dutifully attentive and thoroughly entranced, Craven asked, “Tell me true, has Martin been inside the hall?”
Eyes the color of chocolate met his. “If you ever tell him I said so, I’ll swear an oath I didn’t.”
“Tell me, everything.” He crossed his heart. “My holy word I won’t speak of it to anyone.”
“Martin belongs to their society; a select group of men who love men. Literally.”
“Society?”
The snap of a twig from behind brought their heads around.
A man with a black hood loomed above them, the pistol in his hand centered on Craven’s chest.
