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Stick to the Script – Ace’s Wild

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Lane Hayes

Book Information:

Jamie is a wedding photographer in need of a break, and a sexy freelance assignment on the East Coast sounds like an intriguing getaway. He makes his flight to Vintage Ridge just before an epic storm wreaks havoc on holiday travel. But when his friend is delayed, Jamie finds himself alone at the bed-and-breakfast for the night with the owners’ son…a hunky contractor with a wicked smile and a commanding presence. Not a problem. Jamie can handle light conversation with a ruggedly handsome man for a few hours. Maybe. If all else fails, he can read the script.

Wyatt loves remodeling old homes like his parents’ B and B. Spending an evening entertaining their guest while he finishes up his project doesn’t seem like a big deal, but Wyatt can tell there’s something special about the nervous younger man. He suggests reading the racy script that accompanies Jamie’s assignment to get his mind off the weather, but neither is prepared for what happens next. Their explosive attraction encourages them to bend the rules and stick to their own script…together.

* * *

PLEASE NOTE: For the first 90 days of this title’s publication, all sales and page reads will be donated to PFLAG.

Stick to the Script is part of a multi-author series of books that take place in the same fictional town. Each story can be read in any order. The connecting element in the Ace’s Wild series is an adult store owned by Ace and Wilder. The main characters from each book will make at least one visit to Ace’s Wild, where they’ll buy a toy to use in their story! The only characters who crossover to each book are Ace and Wilder. And with various heat levels, there’s sure to be something for everyone!

Books by Author:

Lane Hayes Books



“I can resist anything except temptation.”—Oscar Wilde, Lady Windermere’s Fan

The two-storied white-shingled house stood out like a beacon in a storm. Angry-looking gray clouds moved quickly across the sky as the wind whistled in warning through the bare trees. The streetlights flickered, casting an eerie glow on the empty residential street. It was spooky as hell but kind of exciting too. And nothing like home.

I paid the taxi driver, thanking the older man when he pulled my suitcase from the trunk of his Oldsmobile.

“Sure thing. You’d best get inside before it starts raining. They say we’re in for some nasty weather.”

“I’m from LA. We rarely get big storms, so this could be fun.” I flashed a wide grin when a gust of wind blew my jacket open and sent a shiver down my spine.

“Real fun as long as your generator holds,” he huffed sarcastically. “Just be glad you’re not driving or flying in this nonsense.”

“Unfortunately, my friends are. They’re supposed to fly in from Chicago later tonight.”

“That ain’t gonna happen. They’ll be grounding flights for the next few days. This isn’t a little system. It’s hitting the entire East Coast and Midwest,” he proclaimed as a fat drop of rain splatted on my forehead. “Hope you have a good book to keep ya company. If not, don’t worry. The Pearsons are a friendly bunch. And I betcha they have a nice fire goin’ in the parlor now. Hunker down and enjoy your stay, young man.”

I hiked the strap of my equipment bag over my shoulder, then wheeled my suitcase toward the hedge-lined steps leading to the generous porch. I knocked on the front door, absently admiring the tasteful holiday wreath adorned with a thick red ribbon before turning to watch the skies unleash a powerful deluge.

Talk about perfect timing. Or maybe it was crappy timing. If the taxi driver was right, I could end up drinking tea by the gallon with someone’s grandparents while I waited for Clay and his team to show up. Hey, at least it would give me a chance to read the script. Clay said it was racier than his other stuff. “More editorial.” I had no idea what that meant, but Clay probably didn’t either. He was famous for throwing out random adjectives to explain his ideas. “It’s wow, it’s fresh, it’s amazeballs!” Clay was so fucking LA, and this place was so…not.

I was confused when he’d insisted on meeting at a bed-and-breakfast in a small town in North Carolina until I realized it was convenient for him. He’d made plans to visit family before the holidays and probably figured he’d kill two birds with one stone. But a homoerotic photo shoot at a B and B run by a retired couple? This could be seriously uncomfortable, I mused, pasting a smile on my face when the door opened behind me.

I turned to greet my hosts with a friendly “meet the grandfolks” kind of smile…and immediately froze.

Holy shit.

This guy was nobody’s grandpa, but he was definitely daddy material. He was probably six foot four with broad shoulders and an athletic build. His snug-fitted emerald V-neck sweater looked like it was covering some major biceps. The color complemented his green eyes, and the touches of gray threading his dark hair and his close-shaven beard. I wasn’t great at guessing anyone’s age, but I’d bet he was in his late thirties. Maybe. I couldn’t actually remember how old I was at the moment. Or what I was doing here. If he asked any hard questions like “What’s your name?” I was screwed.

“Hey, there. C’mon in. You’re just in time,” he drawled.

The deep timbre of his voice, the sexy lopsided grin, and the spark of humor in his eyes tipped him into another realm of hotness. I gulped and tried to formulate a coherent sentence. When nothing came to me, I pointed toward the street.

“It’s raining.”

He chuckled as he swung the door open. “It is indeed. Come on in. Unless you want to stay outside.”

“No, sir. I mean…no. Thanks.” Sir? Where the hell did that come from? I had to pull it together fast. If I was going to be spending any time with this guy before Clay got here, I’d prefer to not act like an idiot. I tried again, clearing my throat as I offered my right hand. “I’m James Calhoun.”

His easy smile morphed into a wide grin as he shook my hand. “Pleased to meet you, James. I’m Wyatt. But you can call me ‘sir’ if you want.”

I let out a half laugh. “Uh, right.”

“Come on in.”

I followed Wyatt into the warm entry, setting my bags down. “I’m not too wet. I made it to your porch before the rain started falling.”

“Perfect timing. It’s pouring now. Hang your coat on that hook, and come warm yourself by the fire. Want anything to drink? Coffee, tea, a shot of whiskey? There’s wine too, I think.”

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