Title: Changing Tide
Author: DP Denman
Genres: Contemporary Romance, GLBT Romance
Categories: Gay (M/M)
Publisher: North Shore Press
Release Date: 10/4/2013
Word Count/Length: 50,000 words /167 pages
Synopsis:
For Jack Lewis love comes from unexpected places…so does tragedy. When David arrived on Vancouver Island, he was just another tourist looking to charter a boat. A few hours on the water together proves he is more than that. As a world traveler, David is a man of mystery who has been everywhere and seen everything.
Attraction draws them together but an attempt at a meaningless fling fails one touch at a time when Jack feels more than he thought he would. The love affair sparks fear in David and jealousy in Emerson, the man who frequents Jack’s bed in a relationship that is all sex and no soul.
At odds with the men in his life Jack tries to talk David into staying and Emerson into going. The attempt sends things spinning out of control and he struggles with the consequences that could leave him empty handed.
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Author Info:
DP Denman is an M/M (gay) contemporary romance author from the soggy splendor of the Pacific Northwest. She wrote and self-published her first novel at the age of eight and the single copy received rave reviews from a collection of biased friends and family members. From there she branched out to writing variety show skits for her siblings performed to captive audiences of visiting grandparents. Bits and pieces of stories followed in the form of school assignments and ramblings of an active imagination. Those eventually led to short stories, novels and several web series.
DP is an eclectic reader, obsessed writer, and determined LGBT rights activist. She lives with her fur babies and a pair of hyper-caffeinated muses.
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David
was across the table recounting an adventure in a humid jungle and Jack hung on
every word. The mystery man who had spent his life gallivanting across the
planet was just as intriguing as he’d been before. The easy smile and the eyes
lured him in but what was underneath held him captive.
There
was a soft passion in his face when he spoke about the people he’d met and the
things he’d seen. His job was more than a convenient outlet for wanderlust. The
stories he chased meant something to him and that passion made him wish the
night would last awhile longer. It had little to do with the long, lean body or
the hint of accumulated muscle from wandering jungles, trudging through
deserts, and manning a sailboat by himself. It wasn’t the face or the eyes or
the smile. It was the man. He could spend a week listening to his stories, watching
his expression shift and change with the memories, and never lay a hand on him.
He wanted to know every story David had to tell and when he was done, he wanted
to listen to them all over again.
He
wasn’t sure David would ever tell him the one tucked away under the passion and
hidden behind the easy smile, the one he worked so hard to hide. He’d seen the
first flash of it and the pain it carried when they’d talked about his
unbridled wanderlust and the failed attempt to plant his feet. Whatever it was had
struck deep and wasn’t buried very far in the past. He could see it in his eyes
as David spoke about rain forests and humid jungles. His grand existence as a
photographer wasn’t quite what it seemed.
He’d
tried to return to the topic of what he’d left behind once or twice but David
changed the subject every time. He’d taken the hint. He didn’t want to discuss
it and that was ok. He was entitled to his privacy even if he could still see
the things a change of topic couldn’t hide so he sat in the dim light of the
restaurant and listened to the ones he was willing to tell while they ate. He
had his own stories about charters and fishing but none of them were as
dramatic as traveling the world. Still, David listened with equal interest and
laughed here and there, a sound that inspired a warm glow inside.
He
wasn’t a kid. He knew the beginnings of attraction when he felt them he just
wasn’t sure there was any point to it. David didn’t seem interested in any sort
of connection because he guarded personal details like military secrets. He’d
talk about his work. He’d talk about his boat and his travels but he wouldn’t
talk about himself. Anytime they got near the topic, he shied away from it. By
the end of their brief association, they would know all kinds of stories about
each other and very little detail. Maybe it was better that way. It wasn’t as
if they were at the start of a relationship. It was just a passing bit of
nothing important, a chance encounter that wasn’t going anywhere.
He
didn’t pay much attention to the people that wandered by on the other side of
the window. His only interest was the man across the table but now and then
movement caught his eye and he’d glance outside. One such glance stuck when he
saw Emerson staring back at him from several feet away, his expression a
mixture of shock and confusion.
They
weren’t exclusive. What he and Emerson had together barely had a name let alone
a commitment but he had a habit of making more of it than it was. Emerson was
trolling for something he wasn’t going to get, not with him but that didn’t
stop him from pretending they already had it.
Unlike
David, Emerson had no problem talking about himself and his ambitions. By his
own telling, he was the human equivalent of a spoiled girl’s teacup poodle.
He’d been a trophy of sorts to wealthy, powerful men who had left him behind
for various reasons. His ambition was to acquire another one and be a kept man
living the life of luxury in someone’s mansion, flaunting the connection to
anyone who would listen. He wanted to be the object of envy fussed over by
people who lived only to spoil him.
Regardless
of Emerson’s ambitions, their recurring tryst was nothing more than a way to
pass the time, something that had become a recurring mistake a long time ago.
Over the last few months things between them had degrading into a junky and
dealer type of arrangement where he showed up at Emerson’s door when he needed
a fix and then attempted to swear off the habit as he pulled his clothes back
on. To him it was just sex, albeit very good sex but Emerson didn’t see it that
way. He’d always had his own version of reality his life both past and present
draped in illusion and outright lies. Emerson wanted a fairytale. He wasn’t
going to get it.
They stared at each other for a moment through the
glass and he could tell by the look on his face there would be a hissy fit over
that dinner at some point. He tried not to cringe at the thought.
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