Hotter Than Hell

by Berengaria Brown

  Evernight Publishing ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2014 Berengaria Brown

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-966-0

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: JS Cook

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  HOTTER THAN HELL

  Spicy Love, 1

  Berengaria Brown

  Copyright © 2014

  Chapter One

  “Have you seen this news report? Girls as young as ten being married to men old enough to be their grandfathers?” said Enre, his blood boiling as he thought of frightened little children being sent away from their families to live with strangers.

  “What?” Delwynne snatched Enre’s cell phone from his hand and scrolled down the link. “Oh, that’s in India. I thought you meant here. That’s a different culture, a different religion over there. They just do things differently,” she said giving him back his phone and shrugging her shoulders.

  “But ten years old. They’re just little kids. They should be in school. Playing with Barbie dolls. Not getting married.”

  “You’re always going off like a firecracker about something, Enre. Calm down. Live and let live.” Delwynne walked away from him.

  “But it’s wrong. They’re people too, just like American children.”

  “So write a letter to your Congressman, if you feel that strongly about it,” Delwynne flung over her shoulder as she shut the door, leaving Enre all alone in Greenhouse Four.

  “I will. It’s not right. Kids should be free to be kids, not married off to old men,” he muttered, pulling out a bag of potting mix to replant some seedlings. So many things in the world seemed unfair. Why didn’t anyone care except him? Why couldn’t girls everywhere go to school, choose their own partner, or not marry if they didn’t want to?

  Why did little boys have to work in rug factories, or quarries, to help feed their families? They should be in school too. Hell, why didn’t countries ensure everyone had clean drinking water? Far too many babies died from having to drink dirty water, and what was so hard about drilling a few decent wells here and there? And don’t get me started about child soldiers. Making children fight and kill has to be the cruelest evil in the known world. Am I the only person in America who cares about other people in faraway lands?

  Enre’s pulse was racing, his heart pounding and his hands too sweaty and unsteady to work properly. He looked down at the concrete floor of the greenhouse and forced himself to drag in big, slow breaths. His blood pressure would be off the charts again, and his doctor would frown and shake her head severely at him, but Enre couldn’t help it. So many things in the world just weren’t right, they weren’t fair. Someone had to do something about them. And since no one else seemed to worry about them, it had to be him.

  He ran his hands through his short, fiery red hair. People made jokes about his hair color having burned up his brain cells. But nothing had changed. He could still remember his mother pulling him aside on his very first day in kindergarten, and trying to explain to him that he had to stay out of other people’s arguments. “But it wasn’t fair, Mommy. The big boy took that girl’s place in line. She’d been waiting in line for her turn, and he pushed in!”

  No, nothing has changed at all. It’s almost thirty years later and you’re still getting upset about everyone else’s problems, he sighed. “But it’s not fair,” he said aloud, making himself laugh. No, it wasn’t fair. He’d finally learned that life never had been fair. But he wanted everyone to be treated right. And nothing could change his nature about that. Well, he’d send off some emails to the usual places about these child brides when he got home tonight. Maybe he’d do some good. “Maybe it won’t help either. But I have to try. I have to do something!”

  And that was the whole point. His nature was that he had to be involved. He had to try. He had to do something to help. No matter how many people called him a hothead, or an interfering idiot, somehow he couldn’t stay away. Where there was injustice, his body, mind, and spirit automatically rebelled, and he spoke first then thought second.

  The only person who seemed to have even the tiniest bit of understanding of the driving power inside him for equality and justice was Kalman. Dear, sweet Kalman, in every way his opposite. Kalman had quiet, unobtrusive brown hair, and speaking chocolate eyes. When Kalman held his gaze, Enre’s dick hardened and his ass clenched with need. Kalman’s voice was soft and measured. He never yelled, or even raised his voice, yet when he spoke everyone listened and paid attention.

  Some days it seemed to Enre that when he spoke it was the signal for everyone to stop listening.

  Yet Kalman did care about other people. They’d had several long lunchtime conversations about issues that had been burning through Enre’s mind, and Kalman’s advice had always been intelligent, sensible and yet non-inflammatory. Where Enre tended to rush in demanding change, Kalman stopped and thought and planned, then offered clever ways of attacking the problems that other people immediately agreed with.

  Enre wanted to get to know Kalman, better—a lot better—but up until now he’d been wary of getting too close to the man, as history had shown him that was usually the end of any friendship he’d made.

  “You’re too intense.” “Loosen up.” “Take a chill pill.” The words had changed over the years, but the message remained the same. His attitude frightened people away from him. They didn’t want to be friends with someone who was always trying to save the world.

  And what Enre truly wanted was not really to save the whole world, but just to have someone special, someone of his own, who he could talk to and relax with and who cared about others the way he did. In some ways Enre thought Kalman might be that man, his very own Mr. Right. But fear of spoiling their casual, workplace friendship, fear of scaring Kalman away from him, kept Enre silent.

  ****

  Kalman loved everything about his job at the botanical gardens. He loved digging his fingers deep in the dirt, helping plants to grow and develop. He loved the silence of the garden beds as he dug and weeded and pruned, and he loved the happy laughter of children and adults exploring the gardens, finding exciting new floral treasures around each corner.

  He was also very attracted to Enre. Enre, with his fiery red hair and his even more fiery nature. Enre, who couldn’t open his mouth without demanding everyone rise to right whatever latest wrong he’d discovered. Enre, whose heart was as big as the entire world, but who overwhelmed everyone with his passion and enthusiasm instead of letting his listeners move at their own pace, and make their own discoveries.

  Enre was exactly like paprika, Kalman had decided one night while making goulash for his supper. A sprinkle of paprika in the pan and the meal was much more delicious. Tastier, spicier, no longer bland or boring. Life with Enre around would never be bland or boring, that was for sure.

  However, too much paprika spoiled the meal. It was much too spicy, overdone, destroying the subtle flavors of the other ingredients. They no longer had space to display their own unique properties, but were engulfed by the all-encompassing flavor of paprika. In exactly the same way Enre’s extreme passion drowned out the thoughts and feelings of his listeners.

  But if the chef heated the paprika with oil, very gently, the flavor became even more enticing. That was what he needed to d
o with Enre. Guide him gently but firmly into avenues where he could embrace his many causes, right the world’s wrongs, but without scaring everyone off or swamping them with his intense personality, and passionate speech.

  And me? he thought. What about me? I’m chives. Resting quietly and inconspicuously in the rockery, on the border of the garden. I have flavor, but nothing like the strength and power of paprika. My ability to season people’s lives is very mild. My flavor is the least of the onion family, so slight as to be almost non-existent. But I do believe I could work with Enre here. He’s such a wonderful man, with so many intelligent ideas, and boundless energy to carry them out. Just as chives protect the plants in the garden, keeping them free from pests, my task could be to protect Enre, to help him channel his energy and harness his passions instead of frightening people away.

  But do I dare? Have I the courage to step out of my rock border and make myself known? What if he refuses my help, sends me away? The small friendship we have already would be gone and I may never see him again. Am I brave enough to take such a risk?

  Kalman was almost forty, about five years older than Enre. He’d had a number of relationships over the years, but had been alone for two years. He missed the sex, he missed holding a warm lover in his arms, cooking a meal for someone to come home to share, sitting cuddled on the sofa watching a movie with a man who understood his thoughts and enjoyed the same sort of shows as he did. And although he enjoyed the peace and quiet of his little apartment in the evenings, he also missed Enre whenever they were apart. Which was strange in a way, as they were not in a relationship and never had been. Oh they’d had a few meals together, had talked at length a few times, but there had never been anything more. Never anything that could be termed a date. So to feel the lack of Enre’s presence each evening, to feel an actual pain of loneliness, was enough to spur Kalman on to approach Enre, to begin to build a genuine relationship.

  But how would he go about it? Suggest they go out for a meal? Or a movie? Offer to write letters denouncing child marriages? No, that wasn’t his way. His way was to sit quietly on the sidelines, maybe offer some advice if Enre asked. So that was what he’d do. But if there was an opportunity to work in the same greenhouse or on the same garden beds together, he’d take it. Remaining true to himself was fine. Missing opportunities though stubbornness was not.

  Chapter Two

  Enre was drawn to Kalman. The more he saw of the older man the more he appreciated Kalman’s quiet good sense and calm, restful nature. When they spoke, Kalman seemed to be just as interested in what was happening in the world as Enre was.

  He was just more—relaxed?—about it. Not accepting, he was as hurt and annoyed by injustice as Enre. But he didn’t rant and rave. He quietly thought of ways to make his feelings known in a socially acceptable way.

  Socially acceptable, that’s it. I annoy people, Kalman encourages them to think for themselves and make their own decisions, but their decisions are almost always the same as Kalman feels. How does he do that? Why don’t people act like that around me?

  Because I rush in too fast and hard.

  I know, but I can’t seem to change myself no matter how much I try.

  Well, I’ll make sure I’m on work teams with Kalman as often as possible, and watch him and learn from him.

  The opportunity came the very next day. The Head of Horticulture, James Jewel, wanted two people to volunteer to work on laying out a new garden bed at the far end of the gardens.

  “Unfortunately we can’t spare an electric cart for you to keep with you all day. We need them to load plants for a convention. But you’ll be taken there and brought back at lunchtime, then taken down again for the afternoon. I’m sorry. I know that means you’ll be a long way from everyone else for most of the day, but you’ll have your phones of course if you need anything,” James said, half embarrassed.

  Enre looked at Kalman right away. He guessed Kalman would volunteer. The man didn’t seem to mind being alone. But then he didn’t seem to object to being in a crowd either. He really was a very peaceable, restful sort of person.

  Sure enough, Kalman said, “I’ll go, I don’t mind.”

  Quickly Enre said, “Me too. What equipment do we need to take?”

  It took them almost half an hour to collect everything they thought they’d need for the job, then they both decided to take their lunches with them to save someone having to come and get them then bring them back at mid-day. That in turn meant collecting some sodas and bottled water to drink during the day as well. The sun was out, and it’d be hot, heavy work. “But it’ll give us a clear go. We should be able to get the entire bed laid out today,” said Enre.

  “That’s what I was thinking too,” said Kalman.

  Inigo drove them, and helped them unload all their equipment. “Give me a phone call about twenty minutes before you’re ready to be picked up this afternoon, and I’ll be back to help you load up again,” he said, waving as he left.

  “Thanks. Appreciate it,” called Kalman.

  And then they were alone, way down the back of the gardens, a long way from where anyone else would be working, or visitors would be looking at plants. A whole day with just him and Kalman. Well, if he couldn’t move their friendship to the next level today, it was never going to happen, thought Enre.

  For the first few hours they worked very hard, measuring, planning, laying out exactly where the bed would go, then roughing it out, checking their lines were perfectly regular and digging. Kalman took his shirt off and tied a bandana across his brow. Enre loved the glistening sheen of sweat on the older man’s olive skin, the rippling of his muscles as he bent and dug.

  Enre wished he was willing to remove his own sweaty shirt, but, as with so many people with his hair color, his skin was pale and sunburned easily. Besides, his body wasn’t as toned and good to look at as Kalman’s. The man was beautifully built. A treat for the eyes indeed.

  Finally the bed was fully outlined, and they both sank onto the soft green grass to rest, grabbing bottles of water and taking long gulps of the still relatively cool liquid.

  “We’ve done well, to get this much done before lunch,” said Kalman, rubbing his bandana over his face.

  “Especially since we decided to go with a curved bed, instead of a rectangular one. But I reckon that makes the central tree much more attractive. I dunno, it’s just not a rectangular-looking tree, somehow,” Enre replied, wondering if that sounded stupid. He couldn’t explain himself any better though.

  “Exactly. The whole tree is one of curves. Look at its leaves. They’re not at all rectangular, they have flowing lines, just like the trunk.”

  Enre did see it once Kalman had explained it. That was what he’d felt, but it was Kalman who’d put it into words.

  And my, didn’t Kalman’s body look delicious as he sat there wiping the sweat from his face, naked to the waist, a trail of dark hair following his breastbone and arrowing down south to heaven. Heaven being currently hidden behind the zipper of his jeans.

  They chatted a little longer, then returned to work, but now Enre’s gaze kept returning to Kalman’s body. Enre had never realized before how broad Kalman’s shoulders were, how solidly muscular his back was, how toned his arms were. Even his ass was taut inside the jeans as he swung his hoe or pushed down on his spade.

  Enre’s dick was harder than a spike and he’d gone from wanting to talk to Kalman to wanting to do a whole lot more, and the sooner the better. Yeah, sure, he’d always been attracted to Kalman. Who wouldn’t be? The man was tall, dark and handsome, with a gentle nature that really appealed to Enre. But now he desperately wanted to hold Kalman, to peel those tight jeans right off Kalman’s long, slim legs with their muscular thighs, and suck Kalman’s cock, a heavy ridge behind the zipper, into his mouth.

  Oh, God, this was pure torture. Enre had to have Kalman. Had to have him right now. Or he’d die trying.

  “Um, Kalman?”

  “Yes?” Kalman turned and
leaned on his hoe, smiling at Enre.

  Enre’s dick nearly forced its way out of his pants. Kalman looked so good. Sweaty, his body glistening in the sunlight, just like a Greek god or something. “I want you. I’ve liked you forever, but today, I wanted to be with you, alone with you, and now…” Enre stopped, miserably aware he’d likely done what he did so often. Come on much too passionately and frightened everyone away. And the one thing he really, really, didn’t want to do was have Kalman retreat from him.

  But Kalman kept smiling. “I want you too, Enre. You’re a good man. I’ve been thinking about holding you in my arms for weeks.

  “You have?”

  “Yep.”

  Enre took a couple quick steps forward and suddenly they were wrapped in each other’s arms, hugging tightly, grinding their hips together. Enre lifted his head the few inches necessary to look directly into Kalman’s gaze. The heat and lust he saw there almost made his dick burst on the spot. Everything he hoped for, wanted, was reflected back at him in those melting chocolate pools.

  Then their lips were locked together. It was not a gentle kiss, but a harsh meshing of teeth, and noses, tongues diving into each other’s mouths.

  Until Enre realized Kalman was deliberately slowing them down, savoring the taste of him, encouraging him to take a breath and sample, test, explore. Enre gentled his touch, unclenching his hands on Kalman’s shoulders, slowing his frantic tongue thrusts and relishing the scents and experience that was Kalman.

  Oh, that was good. The salty tang from the sweat of hard work, the earthy scent from the dirt they’d been digging, the clean, fresh outdoor smell of the botanic garden itself.

  Gently now Enre explored Kalman, sliding his tongue over the roof of Kalman’s mouth, along the insides of his cheeks, behind his teeth, noting the different textures that were all part of this man. A man he was intensely attracted to. A man he wanted to take right now, but who he was prepared to wait for—even if it killed him!