Gasp! Read online

  Gasp!

  Z. A. Maxfield

  To my pals here in the OC, Lex Valentine and Tara Lain, who encouraged; to Kris Jacen, my go-to for everything army; to Heidi Cullinan for helping inflate my figurative life raft; and to Treva Harte, who has been there from the first word.

  To my daughter because she is.

  All my gratitude, always.

  Contents

  Light A Candle

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Oh noes, it’s over!

  Also by Z. A. Maxfield

  About the Author

  Light A Candle

  Light a Candle

  Music and lyrics by Nigel Gasp

  It’s December.

  A bitter wind chills to the bone.

  I can see your face

  in the window from the darkness

  where I’m standing,

  outside the circle of your light.

  Where it’s cold. Where it’s lonely.

  Where it’s night.

  I remember,

  the warmth of summer in your arms.

  I gave everything

  in sweet surrender to the sunshine,

  but I’m standing

  outside the circle of your light.

  Where I’m whole. Where I’m loved.

  Where I’ll be all right.

  Light a candle.

  Help me find a way back home.

  Light a candle.

  I’m so tired of being alone.

  Just a single candle’s light

  is all I need from you tonight.

  It’s only ever been you

  who could see me through.

  Light a candle…

  A single spark

  banishes darkness.

  Every breath you take

  fans the flames.

  A single spark

  can ignite a conflagration

  so we’ll never feel the cold again.

  Light a candle.

  Help me find a way back home.

  Light a candle.

  I’m so tired of being alone.

  Just a single candle’s light

  is all I need from you tonight.

  It’s only ever been you

  who could see me through.

  Light a candle…

  Prologue

  “Nigel.”

  Bloody hell. Deidre had on her angry eyes.

  “Uh-oh.” Nigel Gasp put his tea on the desk and folded his arms. “What did I do this time?”

  “Exactly. What did you do this time? I just got off the phone with a kid from Toronto who shot a video of you in drag, blowing a line of guys in an alley.”

  “What’s your point?” He performed an insouciant lift of his brows.

  Deidre entered his private studio holding both hands protectively over her baby bump. She was the only person on earth who could claim the privilege of entering his workplace without his express permission.

  “I am not amused.”

  The way she eyed him lately, as if she was looking for a fissure in a dam—as if she was waiting for any small trickle of water so she could prepare for a catastrophic structural failure—seemed ominous. He didn’t want to be the one to tell her, but that failure had already occurred. Forty. He was turning forty at the end of the year, and he couldn’t bear it.

  She took a deep, patient breath. “Because I enjoy saying the words so much, I’m happy to repeat the salient points. Drag. Blowing. Multiple partners. In the alley behind Club Shockra to be exact, where I know you planned to go the night you taped George Stromboulopolis.”

  Nigel tried to remember the night she was talking about. Toronto was a bit of a blur. “I’m fairly certain I made them all wear condoms. Kind of the price of admission, as it were.”

  She continued. “You left late, without Amil or your security. I know you snuck out of the hotel because they called to tell me they couldn’t find you. Based on what I saw in the video, I guess you walked out the front door wearing one of your many divine disguises.”

  “I assume you’re talking about blackmail. How much does he want?”

  “The video? It’s already all over the Web. He’s not blackmailing you. He just wanted to let you know he’s available next time you’re in town. Apparently he missed being the caboose on your little choo-choo train because the cops showed up.”

  “If it’s all over the Web, why didn’t you come in here with plastic sheeting, duct tape, and a gun?”

  “You can’t see much on the video. Your face is oddly contorted”—she opened her mouth wide to demonstrate—“because your lips were stretched out, if you see what I’m saying. It’s impossible to tell it’s really you, so we’re putting out the word that it was some androgynous working girl, pretending to be you for a date.”

  Nigel sighed. “So. No harm done, eh?”

  “Quite the contrary. The fallout from this has been embarrassing to say the least. The American label is going ape shit. The press is already salivating for a reaction from you. I need to stash you somewhere you can cause no trouble until the backlash dies down, and I’ve thought of the perfect solution.”

  “Let me guess. I’m going to hate this?” He couldn’t tell whether she found this particular thing funny. Usually she laughed at his antics right along with him, but with all those hormones on board, Deidre had frankly begun to scare him.

  “God yes, I hope you hate this, because I’m ready-to-fucking-pop pregnant, and I don’t need your diva shit.”

  “Perhaps if you had a cup of tea?” He spun his chair around, got his cup, and held it out to her. The look in her eyes caused his hands to tremble. The cup and saucer rattled, so he gripped them with both hands.

  “I do not want your cast-off tea.”

  She very definitely wasn’t happy with him. “Maybe if you had one of Katje’s muffins to go with it?” At one time the very mention of Katje’s name went a long way to soothing Dee’s nerves. Although anything was a gamble while she was with child.

  “I know why you do that, but it won’t work this time. Please leave my wife’s muffins out of this.”

  “I only suggest because—”

  She held both hands up in a placating gesture. “Nigel, I understand. You’ve needed to blow off steam lately, but give it a rest, okay? The party line is, it wasn’t you. It was someone who looked an awful lot like you.”

  “All right.”

  “And for God’s sake, at least until I have a chance to get back on my feet—until this whole birth thing is behind us—I need you to lie low.”

  “Lie low?”

  Deidre nodded. She pulled up a chair next to his and sat on its edge. “Now, let’s make certain that we both define ‘lie low’ in the same way, because—”

  Nigel rolled his eyes and sighed. Yes, Mum. “I know what you mean by ‘lie low.’”

  “You can’t blame me for making sure because the word lie has two or three very different meanings and—”

  “Deidre.”

  “Will you please, please promise you won’t cause me any more grief?”

  Nigel swallowed hard. Deidre was his best friend. He understood perfect
ly just how much grief he was going to cause her. He placed both his hands on her belly, feeling around for the busy little person inside.

  When she tried to back away, he shot her a withering glare. Yes, sunshine. Unlimited access to Nigel Gasp calls for a little quid pro quo.

  The baby gave him a nudge. At least that would never get old.

  Dee smiled warmly, and he grinned back. He loved it when she went all soft and mothery. Hormones again, melting away her rough edges from the inside—whether she liked it or not.

  “He’s cool, isn’t he?” She sighed. “He’s kicking my insides like a Brazilian soccer star today.”

  “It looks good on you.” Nigel admired Deidre. She was nearing forty as well, and things were only beginning for her and her wife, Katje, who was several years older. “You’re going to be a great mother.”

  “Of course I am, what with all the practice I’ve had being yours.”

  Nigel’s own mum was a blur, but he had been trying to conjure images of her lately. She’d been his age, still young and pretty, when she’d died. “I’ve been missing my actual mum lately.”

  “I know you have.” She placed her hands over his.

  “She did her best, considering. She’d have loved you. If she was still with us, she’d give you her best broom to beat me with.”

  “I wish I’d been your mom. I want my little guy to be just like you.”

  There was a damned good chance she’d get exactly that, considering she’d used his semen to get pregnant. “Careful what you wish for.”

  “You’ll like Jeff.”

  Nigel glanced up at her. There was no segue there at all. That was another thing he’d noticed since she’d gotten pregnant—he had trouble following her logic. “Jeff?”

  “Jeff. My brother, Jeff. He’ll be going with you to make sure you understand the exact nature of lying low.”

  “Wait. Your brother will be staying with me? I thought he was in Afghanistan?”

  “He’s been back in the States for a few months now. He’s left the army for good. I know I told you that.”

  “You must have but—”

  “He’s tough enough to handle any confrontations with the media or fans, but also fun to talk to. You’ll like him, I swear. He’s promised to help out while I’m on maternity leave. Will you do as I ask? Lie low for a bit?”

  “Where?”

  “I’ve found a place close by called Bluebird Mountain Resort.”

  “That sounds like a nut farm. Is this some kind of intervention? Because you of all people know I don’t need—”

  “It’s not a nut farm. It’s a luxury resort, but since it’s off-season, it won’t be too crowded. It’s on a lake, all woodsy and scenic. You’ll have the entire top floor. Complete privacy.”

  “Because no one wants to go there?”

  “Because it’s the off-season. Jeff will see to your every need. It will be a chance for you to enjoy nature, to rest and refuel. It’s an opportunity for reflection and freedom from the grind for a while.”

  Reflection. Not a bad idea. He needed time away from Deidre and Katje and the rest of the tribe. And freedom to do as he pleased? How would she react if she knew what he planned?

  “I know you don’t want to go, but don’t give me grief about this. I don’t have much choice here.”

  Solitude? Reflection? Freedom?

  Perfect. He made a zipping motion over his lips. “I shall be silent as the grave.”

  Chapter One

  Oh, my God. Jeff Paxton clenched his fists. Nigel Gasp was suicidal, certifiably insane, or both.

  “This is awesome.” The hyperactive rock star called from high above Jeff, who watched his indoor climb. When Nigel kept on past the halfway point of the highest, most treacherous wall, Jeff frowned.

  “Look at me, Jeff,” Gasp commanded. “Your sister would kill me if she saw this.”

  She sure as hell would. She’d kill both of them. It was hard enough keeping up with Nigel’s endless demands. But his restless energy? His desperate need to take everything to the limit? No way. Jeff had come up with the climbing idea hoping physical exertion would help Nigel find his happy place. So far, the idea was without merit.

  Far from solving the problem, the trip to the climbing wall had created all kinds of new problems for the staff and the trainers. Nigel pushed higher and higher, and it was bound to go badly unless he’d had a ton of experience. Jeff just didn’t know if he did.

  “Have you ever climbed before?” he called out.

  “Once or twice.” Nigel’s instantly recognizable voice and the hand gesture that went with it was irritating, but then he’d smile and laugh and Jeff would feel the pull again, like a whisper of fingers over his skin, and he had to tamp down his absurd attraction.

  It had been a long time since he was a kid, alone in his room, holding a picture of Nigel Gasp in one hand and his cock in the other. He was a grown fucking man, and Nigel…he was on the cusp of forty. Unfortunately Nigel had lost none of his appeal. If anything, up close and personal, he was hotter than ever. He’d hardly aged, and there was something indefinable, something charismatic and compelling about the mature Nigel Gasp that drew Jeff in like it drew in the entire world. Just watching his muscles flex under tight climbing shorts and a faded Rolling Stones T-shirt made Jeff’s mouth go dry.

  The way he moved from handhold to handhold, fingers flexing, toes gripping. His smile and the bark of arrogant laughter that accompanied a tough maneuver made Jeff’s knees weak.

  Nigel had a trainer on the wall with him and a belayer on the ground. Jeff knew no one would let him fall, but he wasn’t sure Nigel was experienced enough to take the more advanced wall without getting banged up.

  “How many times have you done this, Nigel?” Jesus, Nigel is really up there. Dee hadn’t said anything about him being a climber.

  “Never.” Nigel’s laughter was as musical as everything else about him, but Jeff ignored the surge of pleasure the sound produced in his gut. He’d never understood the words love/hate relationship until he’d taken this job. He was gone, gone, gone in lust with a man whose personality made him want to scream.

  “Gasp!” barked the trainer. “Focus.” Nigel’s belayer checked his lines and braced himself.

  “Right. All focused.” Nigel looked down and waved wildly.

  “Focus on the wall, Gasp.”

  “Got it.”

  “Watch what you’re doing.”

  Nigel’s light laughter floated over the ambient noise. “You watch what I’m doing. That’s what you’re paid for.”

  “Gasp.” The trainer barked again.

  “Fuck this.” Nigel kicked away from the wall, hurling his body into midair as if he were an actor in a wire-fu movie.

  “Fucking fuck, fuck.” The gym’s owner, who stood on the other end of Nigel’s safety gear, had to scramble to keep from getting yanked all to hell by Nigel’s weight. “Watch yourself, you moron!”

  The little monster got what he deserved after that, flipping upside down and smashing headfirst against the climbing wall. If he hadn’t been wearing a helmet, he’d probably have a concussion. As it was, Jeff fought a surge of nausea at the thought of what his sister would do to him if the incorrigible nitwit broke his neck on Jeff’s watch.

  Never mind, Dee. I’ll kill myself if Nigel gets hurt on my watch.

  “That’s it, Gasp. Get off my fucking wall and out of my gym. Change and leave.” The belayer’s face had turned an alarming shade of red.

  Nigel and his trainer hissed at each other as they descended—or rather, Nigel hissed and his trainer heatedly told him that if he came there to climb again, he’d be shot on sight.

  Nigel passed Jeff on the way back to the locker room with a smirk on his face but wouldn’t look him in the eye. The trainer, a rough-hewn, rock block of a man, shook his head briefly and said, “I don’t know about you, but I’d keep Mr. Gasp away from heights. That man wants to die.”

  “I’m sorry.” J
eff watched Nigel stomp away and slam the door like a child.

  “He’s the one that should be sorry. He was messing around up there as if he couldn't care less what happens to him. If he keeps that shit up, he’ll take someone out with him.”

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t want it to be you, brother. Do you copy? Find him a safer hobby.”

  “Got it.”

  Jeff let Nigel clean himself up and change in peace. There was no talking to him when he was like that, half-penitent, half-delighted to have caused chaos.

  Jeff waited for him to come out and then followed him to the car. He didn’t expect an apology, but it might have been nice to hear one. Nigel said nothing as he got into the backseat. Jeff got in the front passenger seat as Nigel’s driver, Amil, put down the magazine he was reading and started the Range Rover’s engine. They drove back to Bluebird Mountain Resort in the same tense silence that had become their norm.

  It wasn’t fair.

  Jeff couldn’t complain to Deidre without sounding like an idiot, but it simply wasn’t fair. He’d reached rock bottom in Afghanistan on his third deployment. He’d been lonely, isolated, and depressed. He’d gotten into some trouble. Then he’d found out his mother’d had a mild heart attack and surgery to have a stent put in without bothering to let him know, and he’d decided enough was enough. He’d come home as soon as his TOS was up, longing for family, eagerly awaiting the birth of his nephew. He missed the army. He missed knowing he had an important job to do. Leaving was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but another tour of Afghanistan and he would have killed himself from sheer goddamn loneliness.