Seductive Studs ~ Gryffon Hall


Welcome to my blog and another steamy round of Seductive Studs.  This week I’m succumbing to WIP love and sharing from the story that is currently my everything. Still shiny and new, I’m having a lot of fun with this twisted fairy tale, working title Gryffon Hall.

After watching his betrothed-to-be, Lennox Asburry, flirting with someone else, Wryler succumbs to jealousy and too much wine, and accidentally flirts a bit himself with the mysterious visitor, Lord Rouchet of Gryffon Hall.  He’s about to suffer/enjoy the consequences.


Wyler squinted up a velvet sky recently cleared of clouds. It would be a good night for peering through his telescope, if only the stars would stop swarming about so.

“Lovely night after so much rain.”

Wryler snapped his chin down and stood up straight. The voice had come from the shadows toward the stables, along with the sloshing of boots through puddles. With a few more strides Aeric Rouchet emerged from the gloom, that damnable grin on his face.

“Yes. Quite,” Wryler said, “The dining hall got so hot.”

“It did, didn’t it?” Rouchet kept walking and Wryler feared he might plow straight into him. He braced himself for impact but Rouchet stopped a few inches shy of contact. “The fresh air is bracing, but it hasn’t done much to cool the flush in your cheeks.”

“It’s a curse. The blushing,” Wryler said, and damn if his blood didn’t flame even hotter.

“I find it quite becoming.” Rouchet rested his palm against the wall next to Wryler’s head and leaned in. “Is it only the quest for fresh air that keeps you from your cozy bed, Sir Wryler?”

“Yes. What else would it…would I…?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I noticed the young Mr. Arsburry giving you the eye all night.”

“Him?” Wryler snorted. “There’s nothing going on between us, I assure you.”

“Glad to hear it. I thought perhaps you were looking for company.”

“I weren’t. I wasn’t.” Accursed wine!

“But now?” Rouchet placed a finger under Wryler’s chin and lifted it slightly. His looming presence enveloped Wryler in warmth and the musky smell of leather. Rouchet blocked out the sky, the stars replaced by his gleaming eyes. Wryler shrank back against the wall. He wasn’t being held in place, but he might as well have been. He couldn’t move, and didn’t much want to.


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