In a Gilded Cage
Publication date: October 21st 2016
Genres: LGBTQ+, New Adult, Romance
Lucci Grimley is indeed alluring—crowned with a mane of long blond hair, and blessed with an enchanting musical talent that draws a brave rescuer to a high tower hidden in the forest.
However, this modern-day Rapunzel is a young man, sold as a child to the wealthy and childless Damien Gotham for the price of a fast car and a pile of cash. And Lucci’s heroic prince is William “Prin” Prinzing, a handsome college student and star soccer player, hired to care for the grounds of the lavish Tower Estate. Prin climbs an extension ladder rather than a long golden braid to gain access to Lucci’s second floor bedroom window, ultimately penetrating the secrecy surrounding the cloistered young man.
Friendship, and soon romance, blooms. The tower captive eagerly gives his loving innocence to his brave rescuer, which sends the strict and reclusive Gotham into a frenzy of jealous rage. With Prin, Lucci gets a taste of real life, and he wants more. Together, the young men must face Gotham’s ruthlessness and pay the price of liberating Lucci.
Mia Kerick is the mother of four exceptional children—all named after saints—and five nonpedigreed cats—all named after the next best thing to saints, Boston Red Sox players. Her husband of twenty years has been told by many that he has the patience of Job, but don’t ask Mia about that, as it is a sensitive subject.
Mia focuses her stories on the emotional growth of troubled young men and their relationships, and she believes that sex has a place in a love story, but not until it is firmly established as a love story. As a teen, Mia filled spiral-bound notebooks with romantic tales of tortured heroes (most of whom happened to strongly resemble lead vocalists of 1980s big-hair bands) and stuffed them under her mattress for safekeeping. She is thankful to Dreamspinner Press for providing her with an a
lternate place to stash her stories.EXCERPT
Mia is proud of her involvement with the Human Rights Campaign and cheers for each and every victory made in the name of marital equality. Her only major regret: never having taken typing or computer class in school, destining her to a life consumed with two-fingered pecking and constant prayer to the Gods of Technology.
I’m startled by a man’s voice, harsh and accusatory.
“Lucas” turns abruptly from the window, so I can’t make out what he says.
“You will catch your death standing there, half-naked before an open window! And you are wasting valuable time daydreaming again, are you not? I thought I trained you better than that!”
I could be wrong, but I think it’s Mr. Gotham’s voice. In a worst-case scenario, he’s a stern man, but when I’m mowing the grass in front of his office building, I’ve never before heard him use this tone with his employees. He’s acting bossy ... dominant, even.
Again there’s a pause when I assume Lucas is responding. In this blank space of time, I again notice how smooth and white the skin on his back is. And again, I wonder why these details stand out to me. Why another guy’s chest has so entirely captured my attention, I’m not sure I want to admit.
“I will now hear your progress on the Debussy piece. I expect to be satisfied.” Two large hands appear on Lucas’s shoulders and they push him away from the open window, forcibly enough so that he stumbles. Mr. Gotham’s broad back fills the empty spot in the window. “You have already lost the privilege to consume carbohydrates until Thursday morning, have you not? It would pain me greatly to remove your dietary fats, as well.”
After recovering from my “what the fuck!” moment, something tells me to run—to hide behind the maple tree a few yards behind me. I scramble to my hiding spot as fast as I can, but in my hurry I leave the hedge clippers lying on the grass.
From my spot behind the tree, I can still see clearly into the room. Mr. Gotham spins around and stares out the window at the grounds. Then he lifts his arms and grasps the window, but before shutting it his gaze seems to linger on a certain spot in the yard. I find myself hoping that he hasn’t spied the clippers. Maybe I’m worried that he’d interpret my presence here this late in the evening as an intrusion. Maybe I feel like a peeping tom—I’m so caught up in this dramatic scene I’m practically drooling. In any case, he slams down the window and steps out of my view.
The music resumes, but it’s muted now, but still spellbinding. When it stops, I swear hear a young man’s voice plead, “Please, sir— not that again! I will do better, I promise!” And then there’s silence. I wait behind the tree until the light goes out in what I assume is
Lucas’s bedroom. Then I rush to pick up my tool, and race back to the truck.
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