Kimber Kahn
MM Romance and Erotica Author
Current Works In Progress (WIPs)
The place for future mm romance erotica books
(penned by author with the occasional cohort)
Lis_WIP
Chapter One
Grant Holliday fumed. He’d counted to ten, smoked a stale cigarette from an ancient pack lodged in the back of his desk, and counted to ten AGAIN. Nothing had worked. His level of agitation had reached new heights.
The plans for the latest Roberts venture landed on his desk at ten o’clock. It was ten thirty, and he rode the elevator to the twenty-six floor of another building he’d helped back. The plans for the newest construction nestled securely inside the tube Grant thumped against his leg.
The doors barely parted before Grant forced his six foot two frame through the opening. “Good day, Mr. Holliday.” The bubbly blonde at the receptionist desk smiled sunnily.
Grant grunted, not slowing his pace. Without knocking, he opened the last door in the hallway. His irritation increased as he stepped into the outer sanctum of Jared Roberts’ domain. He couldn’t believe the man had signed off on these plans.
“Mr. Holliday-” Micah Lane, administrative assistant to Jared Roberts, jumped to his feet.
“Don’t, Lane.” Grant pinned his adoptive brother’s young assistant with a hard glare. “I’m really not in the mood to play nice with you right now.” He turned his back on the fuzzy-faced youngster, crossing the room to the drafting table as he opened the print tube. “I want to see the architect who drew up these plans.”
He shook his head as he laid them on the table. It was unimaginable. They had been putting up buildings for close to twenty years, Jared’s ideas and his money. Architecture was Jared’s love, not his. He went in a different direction in college.
Business administration had paid off. He was worth seven figures on his own. He didn’t count the money he would inherit when Jared’s parents passed away. Their death wasn’t something he liked to think about under any circumstances.
Their money would go back into the company as far as he was concerned. He didn’t need it, and unless something drastic happened, he would have no children. He wouldn’t be fathering any, that was for sure.
"This is NOT what I envisioned when I agreed to tie up seventeen million dollars in this...little investment." The disgust fairly oozed into the room with the rumbled words.
"I know there have been a few changes, Mr. Holliday-"
"A few?" Grant Holliday repeated the phrase as if it was a new flavor, and so far, he didn't like the taste. "Mr. Lane, a few would be if it needed another window, or a wall." He glanced at the blueprints, touching his fingertips to the paper. "Although, I'm not sure you could fit another window in here," he muttered.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stalked away from the table. "Look, I want to have a chance to talk to the lead architect." Grant stopped in front of the windows. Glass wall more accurately. No damn wonder there were seventy billion windows on the prints.
He shook his head, turning his attention to the view offered by the openness the wall provided. The city gleamed in the afternoon sun. The oranges and pinks combined to flash like fire across the glass and concrete jungle twenty-six stories below him.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Holliday, but Will is out at the moment."
"Out?" Grant jingled his keys, the only outward sign of his agitation. "How long will he be 'out'?" The word hung in the air between them.
"He was needed on site at another project he’s lead on." Jared Roberts leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb of his office. "I understand your concerns here, Grant, but I've never met a man with a better vision than Wilson Sayer."
Grant turned his back on the city, facing the man he had known more than half his life. He and Jared met in junior high school. Jared was the reason his money was backing this project. He knew Jared had the vision to pull this type of job off, and his architects were top notch. But this? This came so far out of left field Grant was thinking he might need to cut his losses on it.
"Jared-"
"Sorry I'm late, Lane." The door opened, admitting a dark brown haired man of about twenty-five. "I got your text, but couldn't break free from Mrs. Robins grasp to reply. Now, where's the latest problem?" He glanced up from the phone in his hand, coming to a stop just inside the door. "Oh, shit." His eyes widened as he took in the tableau in front of him.
Grant eyed the young man. Short, dark brown hair stuck up as much as it could from the top of his head. The man's jaw was darkened by the growth of stubble as if he hadn't been concerned enough to shave. Grants gaze traveled down the man's body taking in the rumbled t shirt under a loose fitting blazer, and jeans. He stopped at the man's crotch. The man's cock twitched. Wasn't his fault he stared. Team player. Go team go.
And Baby Makes...
Chapter 1
The phone rang once, twice. Ryan pulled it from the belt clip before the third ring. “Vaughn,” he answered. He caught himself smiling, enjoying the way Stu’s name sounded rolling off his tongue. It had been three years since they married. Well…almost. Their anniversary was less than a month away, and he had stopped counting days since their first anniversary had come and gone.
“Ryan Vaughn?” a soft voice asked.
“Yes,” he replied, unlocking the truck door. Ryan felt his smile kick up a notch. Almost three years and he still experienced the newness of being married to the man he loved.
“…a baby.”
He paused in the act of starting the truck. “I’m sorry. Who is this again?” Ryan asked.
“This is Mary Ellen. Mr. Hoyt’s secretary,” the woman repeated.
“Mr. Hoyt?” His mind was playing catch up. Something that usually only happened when Stuart was involved.
“Yes sir,” Mary Ellen said. “I know it has been almost a year, but you do remember, don’t you?” Silence answered her question “Oh dear,” she said. “I hope you and Mr. Vaughn haven’t changed your minds about adopting.”
Adopting! Right. Adoption attorney. “No, no we haven’t changed our minds,” Ryan answered. “We’re still interested.”
Periodically, during the first two years of their marriage, they discussed the possibility of a family, of children. More than the three dogs, two horses, pig, and newly acquired kittens they referred to as their kids.
Ryan called the attorney’s office once a month when they first decided to adopt, verifying they would be notified as soon as there was a child to adopt. After six months, he realized someone would call them if there was a child in need of a home, of the love they could provide.
“We have a child, Mr. Vaughn,” Mary Ellen began.
“Wonderful,” he answered. Ryan had to call Stu. How long would it take to finalize? Were they ready? Did you call it finalizing? They weren’t buying a house.
What the hell did they know about kids? No, no they wanted a kid. Stuart said things came to us when we were ready. Look at them. He hadn’t come home looking for a relationship, but Fate had interceded. Now, four years later, they were going to adopt.
“What do we need to do?” Ryan asked.
“Mr. Hoyt wanted to make certain you were still interested. He also wants to speak with you. If you’ll hold a moment please,” she informed him.
Tapping his wedding band on the steering wheel, he waited to be connected with the attorney.
“Ryan?” a nasally voice inquired.
“Yes sir,” he said.
Mr. Hoyt said, “I wanted to confirm you and your husband’s interest in adopting.”
“Yes sir,” Ryan replied. “We do.”
“Good, good. Now, I would like to broach something with you, if I may,” Mr. Hoyt said.
Ryan went stock still. Something was wrong. Palms sweating, he said, “Ask.”
“Your paperwork indicates you and your husband are interested in an older child.” The sound of paper rustling drifted over the line.
“That’s right. We were thinking a ten year old boy,” Ryan said, “Somebody to teach to play football, baseball.” Apprehension set in. “Is there a problem? Do we need to change our choice? I’ll have to talk to-”
“Slow down, Ryan,” Mr. Hoyt chuckled. “There isn’t a problem. You don’t need to change anything. We have a child needing placement.”
“Great,” Ryan interrupted.
“Well, yes and no,” Mr. Hoyt said.
“Ominous much,” Ryan muttered. Louder, he asked, “What does that mean? Why wouldn’t it be a good thing?”
“The child is of mixed race, Mr. Vaughn,” he said. “They tend to be more difficult to place because people do not step outside their comfort zones easily.”
Mixed race? Ryan’s head spun. The questions chased one another in maddening circles. “Whoa! What exactly do you mean by ‘mixed race’?”
“The child appears to be of Filipino and Caucasian descent. The skin tone resembles a tan, bronze perhaps. I have a photo if you would like to see,” Mr. Hoyt offered.
“Please,” Ryan said. With a picture, he could calm some of his questions.
“Give me a few moments, and I will send it,” he replied. “Your phone will accept picture texts?”
“Yes sir,” Ryan replied.
“Very good, very good,” he said, sounding slightly distracted. “You should be receiving it momentarily. If you will call me back after you’ve had a chance to look at the picture and speak with Mr. Vaughn?”
“Of course,” Ryan said. “Thanks for calling.” He disconnected from the call and checked his messages. The new message light blinked green. Ryan inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, attempting to slow his racing heart. This is it. He opened the text from the attorney. And froze. Fuck! There had to be some mistake.
01
02