Lies and Consequences

By Kaje Harper

Chris Fletcher and Ian McCallum started out as a hook-up: no names, no strings, no future. But fate seemed determined to throw them together and each time was better than the last. Ian couldn't help starting to think about forever.
Chris knew he shouldn't take the chance. His life was a web of lies, from providing his Navy fiancee Jenny with a beard to the details of his fictional childhood. Ian would hate being deceived and a crash was inevitable. But Chris had never felt so deeply about a man before.
When the lies came out, Ian did walk away. But fate wasn't done with them. Because Chris's life was in danger, and only Ian was close enough to help. Now Ian had to decide where the deeper truths lay, and whether what he felt for Chris was still strong enough to risk his safety and his heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kaje Harper
• Release date: Apr 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458187185

Kaje Harper

I get asked about my name a lot. It's not something exotic, though. “Kaje” is pronounced just like “cage” – it’s an old nickname, and my pronouns are she/her/hers.I was born in Montreal but I've lived for 30 years in Minnesota, where the two seasons are Snow-removal and Road-repair, where the mosquito is the state bird, and where winter can be breathtakingly beautiful. Minnesota’s a kind, quiet (if sometimes chilly) place and it’s home.I’ve been writing far longer than I care to admit (*whispers – forty years*), mostly for my own entertainment, usually M/M romance (with added mystery, fantasy, historical, SciFi...) I also have a few Young Adult stories (some released under the pen name Kira Harp.)My husband finally convinced me that after all the years of writing for fun, I really should submit something, somewhere. My first professionally published book, Life Lessons, came out from MLR Press in May 2011. I have a weakness for closeted cops with honest hearts, and teachers who speak their minds, and I had fun writing four novels and three freebie short stories in that series. I was delighted and encouraged by the reception Mac and Tony received.I now have a good-sized backlist in ebooks and print, both free and professionally published, including Amazon bestseller "The Rebuilding Year" and Rainbow Award Best Mystery-Thriller "Tracefinder: Contact." A complete list with links can be found on my website "Books" page at https://kajeharper.wordpress.com/books/.I'm always pleased to have readers find me online at:Website: https://kajeharper.wordpress.com/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KajeHarperGoodreads Author page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4769304.Kaje_Harper

Book preview

Lies and Consequences

by Kaje Harper

Smashwords edition

Copyright 2011 Kaje Harper

Warning: this title contains M/M sex and explicit language.

Lies and Consequences is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Note: Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. Thank you for your support.

Chapter 1

Christopher Fletcher eyed himself in the mirror. He wasn't sure if he liked the hair. This new gel was a little stiffer, and combined with the deep blue color, it edged him a bit closer to punk than he had in mind. Oh, well, at least his clothes weren't punk.

The pants might be black and leather, but they gleamed in the light and the cut hugged his ass sinfully well. The shirt was aqua blue silk, slightly shimmery, and gashed in the right places to flash a little skin. The boots were soft and low, for dancing in.

He fumbled on the edge of the sink for his contact lenses. Shit, don't drop those down the drain. Good prescription contacts in intense colors weren't cheap, and his funds were strictly limited. He fished one out on a fingertip and leaned close to place it in his left eye. A couple of blinks to seat it, and he inspected the result. Right eye muddy hazel grey, left eye bright turquoise to match the shirt. He put in the second lens, and there he was, looking back at Chris in the mirror. Robin, the Club Boy. It had been a while.

He tried out Club Boy's smile, wicked with more than a hint of come-hither. Full lips, and even white teeth in the gold of his tanned face; he touched the tip of his tongue to his lower lip. On second thought, he liked the hair. The upward sweep accentuated his cheekbones, and the dark blue was exotic. Done.

In the bedroom, he puttered, checking for money and condoms, easing his tight pockets over ID and a single pack of lube. He clipped his keys to a belt loop. There was really no point in hurrying. Jenny wasn't even home yet, let alone ready to go back out.

But he'd spent the entire day hunched over his keyboard, writing sentences destined to be revised six times and finally erased. He was well and truly blocked. He needed...he wasn't sure what he needed. But at the very least, to get out of this house and do something new. Or someone new.

He turned at the sound of the garage door going up. Finally! He wandered into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. Jenny hurried in through the back door. Her hair was starting to come down in wisps from her neat bun. Her uniform was less pressed and precise than when she had headed out at oh-dark-hundred that morning. Or so Chris assumed. Not like he'd been up to watch her go.

He sauntered over and kissed her cheek. Welcome home, sweetiecakes.

She glanced at him and then took a second longer look. Pulling out the heavy artillery tonight, are you?

He did a little spin for her. You like?

Very edible, she said. Listen, I'm sorry I'm late. Fifteen minutes for a shower and change, and I'll be ready.

Hey, I'm not the one with an appointment, he said. Take your time and doll up if you want.

You could come up and keep me company while I change.

Jenny asking for company meant she needed a sympathetic ear. Need to vent, do we?

Hah. Yes.

I'm all ears. He followed her upstairs to the master bedroom, and stood at ease in the doorway as she tugged at her buttons. She muttered a curse.

"Don't rip those off, honey. I'll make you sew them back on."

She snorted, but slowed her fingers, working the blouse open.

So spill it. What has Captain God's-gift-to-womankind Markham done this time?

We're missing two cases of MRE's on the inventory, she said. Two freaking cases. We're not talking weapons, here. We're not even talking screwdrivers. These are some of the most unappealing food products known to humankind. The only people in America hungry enough to eat them without being ordered to, are too broke to pay money for them. This is not a black-market scheme. This is a bookkeeping error.

Markham disagrees?

Markham thinks he's on the trail of another master criminal. He had me spend two hours on the computer trying to follow those supplies back to the source, and get a list of all the poor saps who might have had contact with the shipment. Then we'll track them all down and check their teeth for traces of pureed spaghetti or something. Like I don't have a hundred more important things to keep me busy. Bleh.

The man is persistent.

The man has the intelligence of a walnut. Jenny snapped.

Now, now, Lieutenant Wallace. The man is your superior officer.

Don't freaking remind me. Jennifer stepped out of her uniform skirt and started pulling the pins out of her hair.

Chris watched her affectionately. Jenny was slim and strong, taller than Chris was. Although that wasn't hard - Chris's driver's license claimed he was five-nine, but the last two inches were pure fiction. Nonetheless, Jenny was built like a runner, all long lean lines, long dark-brown hair, grace and power. She worked out fiercely and it showed in the tight muscles under her smooth pale skin. Even hurried and frustrated, she exuded competence. Pity Chris wasn't in a position to really appreciate the show.

Want me to pick out your new underwear for tonight? he purred as she headed for the shower.

Jeeze, Chris, tone down the swish, she retorted, disappearing into the bathroom.

Just getting into character, he said more normally.

Don't waste it on me, she called back. The door shut behind her and he heard the shower come on.

Chris wandered across the room and amused himself by eying the civilian clothes in Jenny's closet, trying to decide what she would pick for tonight. He hadn't heard what was on the schedule, which made it a bigger challenge. A movie would call for casual out-with-friends wear. But since he was going clubbing by himself, Jenny might have a romantic evening planned with her lover. Then she might pull out the big guns. Maybe something slinky and black. He looked more closely.

Hey, he commented as he heard her come back into the bedroom. Is that grey dress new?

Yes.

You went shopping without me?

Jenny frowned at him, as she twisted to adjust the straps of her black bra. I'm capable of picking out clothes by myself.

Sometimes. It was Chris's theory that wearing uniforms all day every day atrophied your fashion sense. Although, come to think of it, Chris had been vetting Jenny's clothes since junior high. Well, let's see it.

Not tonight. She reached into the closet and pulled out a soft blue sleeveless turtleneck and black slacks. We're going to have a curl-up-on-the-couch-and-watch-movies night. It doesn't call for dressing up.

He nodded. I like that blue. It picked up the color of her eyes, a blue so dark they sometimes looked black.

You should. You picked it.

I'm the best.

She smiled and scooped up her purse off the dresser. You're incorrigible. Come on, we're late.

No makeup?

You think I need it for an evening in?

No, he said honestly. You look fine. But Becca might appreciate the effort, even if it's just for her. Especially if it's just for her.

Jenny hesitated. You're smarter than you look. Particularly in those clothes. Wait here. She reemerged from the bathroom five minutes later, with mascara, eye shadow and a touch of lip-gloss in place.

Chris nodded. Very nice. Your car or mine?

My car. Yours smells like pizza.

You appreciated it when you ate it.

Not the anchovies. We'll take my car. You have the black car to use later.

Chris's small beat-up compact sat in the garage next to Jenny's pride and joy. He eased himself into her sports car's low seat carefully. These pants were tight, and he didn't want to do himself damage. They pulled out of the driveway, and Jenny toggled the garage door shut. Chris sat back to enjoy the ride. Jenny's car was her baby. No one drove the 'Vette except her. Chris was fine with being chauffeured. He leaned back and sang along to the radio softly.

So, Jenny said, Where are you going tonight?

I thought I'd try the Gold Coast, he mused. It got good reviews online.

You'll be careful?

Oh, please. When you're this good, you don't need to be careful.

She eyed him closely. That better be your alter-ego for the night talking, or I'll hog-tie you in the car while I spend time with Becca.

Chris sighed. Yes, mother, I'll be careful.

Sorry, she said more quietly. It's just, I worry about you. It's been a while since you went out. And you seem restless lately. Sometimes you've been less than smart about men when you've been bored. And I know I get more out of our arrangement than you do.

I'm fine, Chris told her. I like our arrangement, fiancée-mine. You get a beard, and someone who gives you space when you want time with Becca. I get free room and board, and plenty of chances to go out when I want to. You're an easy roommate, and you even do windows. What's not to like?

You'd tell me if you're not happy?

Chris reached over and squeezed Jenny's knee. I'm good. It's the writing that's bugging me. I'm kind of blocked. Nothing to do with you.

Okay. She turned her attention back to the road. A few more blocks, and they were turning into Becca's drive. Jenny reached in her purse for the other remote and opened the garage door. As soon as they pulled into the empty space, she clicked it closed again. They both got out of the car in the gloom of the garage.

The door into the house opened, and Becca came running through. The small Eurasian woman leaped down the single step to the concrete floor and bounced into Jenny's waiting arms. Jenny spun her once and then bent for a kiss. Chris watched, trying to be cynical and feeling only envious. The women only had eyes for each other. The kiss was sweet and hard, and it was a long time before they came up for air. It had been a while since anyone had kissed Chris that way.

Face it. No one has ever kissed you that way. He cleared his throat. So, one-o'clock? Two?

Jenny sighed, her eyes fixed on Becca's face. Better make it midnight. I have to work tomorrow.

But it's Saturday.

Food-stealing master criminals never rest. Neither do those who hunt them down.

Huh? Becca said.

It's a long story, Chris told her. "I'm sure you'll hear all about it. Midnight it is. See you later. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Wow, that leaves the field wide open, Jenny said. Go away. Have fun. Come back later.

Chris got into the third car in the garage. His sleek black beauty. Right, sleek fifteen years ago. It almost qualified as a ghetto cruiser. Except all the doors still worked. He reached up and hit the remote. Before the big door cleared concrete the two women were stepping into the house, arms around each other. Lots of movies going to be watched there. Becca had been out of the country for two weeks on a buying trip. They were clearly going to make up for lost time.

The interior of this car was pimped up with a furry steering wheel, seat covers in black plush and dangling crystals on the rear-view. The sun visors had extra mirrors, and even the overhead liner had been replaced with something silver and black. It had come to Chris that way, and Chris had left it alone. He liked the contrast with his tidy little grey Honda Civic at home. This was his cruising car, his let-off-the-chain and no-one-knows-who-you-are car. He cranked the stereo and headed downtown.

Gold Coast was fairly new, but not trendy enough to have a line-up at the door. Chris paid the cover, and ducked inside. Too dark, too loud, too warm and sparkly; it was perfect. He made his way to the bar, and caught the hunky bartender's attention. Mm, nice chest. He ordered a chocolate martini. Perching on a bar stool, he surveyed the meat market.

It was a pretty middle-of-the-road crowd, with a good sprinkling of women. Not much leather, a few bears, a mix of young and middle-aged guys all posturing, talking too loud, laughing like they wished they meant it. Club Boy would fit right in.

Some of them were pretty hot. A blond guy out on the dance floor moved with the kind of heat and sensual grace that drew eyes. His partner looked possessive though. There was a black man over there, six-foot-four if he was an inch, with fine shoulders and narrow hips. The lights reflected off his bald scalp as he threw his head back to laugh. Tasty. But he seemed pretty well surrounded.

Chris let his eyes scan the scene. He sipped his drink, drawing his tongue over his lips, savoring the taste. Beside him, a deep voice asked, Hey. Are you here alone?

Chris turned to the man. Not too old, not too heavy, nice teeth. Let the games begin. He smiled slowly. I was.

Two hours later his shirt was damp with sweat and he needed a breather. He had danced with a series of hot guys, enjoying the freedom of getting out there and just moving to the beat. The pants were clearly a hit, judging from the number of hands that had found his ass. The hair gel was still holding. I'll have to remember the brand. He looked around for a place to park for a moment.

Over by the bar, one of his dance partners raised a glass at him. Chris pretended he hadn't seen. A hot body was nice, but he needed at least a room-temperature IQ to spend more than one dance with a guy. He turned away, and his attention was caught by a flash of white teeth. At a table up against the wall, a dark-haired guy was smiling at him. It wasn't an appreciative smile. More like an amused look-at-the-fool kind of smile. And wasn't that just the kind of challenge Club Boy would take on?

Chris sauntered over and pulled out the other chair. Mind if I sit? He sat down as he spoke.

The other man raised an eyebrow. What if I said yes?

Mm, nice chocolate voice. It almost made up for the nondescript look. Chris smiled his best pure sin. Then you'd be a fool.

My mama didn't raise no fool, the man acknowledged. There was unwilling heat in his eyes. It made Chris feel better.

I just need a breather, Chris said. I'll be out of your hair in a moment. It's hot on the floor.

It is the way you dance.

Chris flushed with pleasure. For all his studied indifference, the man had been watching him. Only way there is, Chris said. If you're not going to lose yourself in it, what's the point?

You like getting yourself lost?

Chris hesitated. Was that a crack, a come-on, a genuine enquiry? I like dancing, he compromised.

I could see that.

And you don't? It was a shot in the dark. He hadn't noticed the man before, one way or the other. But the lack of sweat on his brow and the lounged-back not-moving-till-I-have-to pose suggested an onlooker.

I have the moves of a rhino, the man said. A drunk rhino. At least on a dance floor. I like beer better.

Bad place for beer, Chris offered. Unless you're into Bud Light. They make a mean chocolate martini though.

The man shook his head. Not my thing. But don't let me stop you.

I've had one. Or two. Chris sighed and leaned back in his chair. The boots were not quite as good a fit as he'd thought when he bought them. One of his ankles was rubbed raw. He looked across at the other man. Lean, wiry, maybe an inch under six feet tall. His hair was straight and dark in the low bar lights, brown or maybe black. His features were nondescript, a narrow face, straight nose, cheeks hidden by a light stubble that looked more like failure to shave than deliberate fashion. His eyes were shadowed by thick straight brows. Chris suddenly wished he could see their color.

So. What's a guy like you doing in a joint like this? Chris asked.

The man laughed. What are we all doing here?

Most of us are drinking, dancing, and trying to get laid, Chris said. You seem to be peeling the label off a single bottle of beer.

The guy glanced down at his hands, and the scatter of tiny colored confetti on the table. When he looked up his expression was wry. I'm here for moral support.

Of?

My friend had a bad break-up. He wanted someone to shove him back into the game so he asked me to come along.

Yeah? Chris surveyed the crowd out on the dance floor. One of those your friend?

The guy in the black T and jeans.

Chris laughed. Oh, yeah, that narrows it down.

The blond, over by the staircase, dancing with the guy in the silver spandex.

Chris scanned the floor, and located the couple in question. They were in a tight clinch, only nominally moving to the music. He seems to be rebounding nicely.

Seems to be.

Which should leave you free to do your own thing.

In here? The guy tossed a quick glance around. This beer bottle is the most interesting thing going.

Ah. Chris bit back a moment of disappointment. Which was stupid, because who cared if this ordinary guy wasn't falling for Club Boy? He was a bad candidate for Chris's dance, get drunk, get laid, and sober up by midnight agenda anyway. Chris stood. I'll leave you to it, then.

The man shot out a quick hand to touch his wrist. No, wait, I'm sorry, he said. That came out wrong. When Chris hesitated, he said, Please, sit.

Slowly, Chris resumed his chair. Club Boy's voice in his head was saying, what the hell are you doing? because this guy was clearly not a quick-fuck-in-a-motel candidate. But Chris was interested. Club Boy could just shut up for a bit.

The man held out his hand. I'm Ian.

I'm...Robin. Chris never used his real name out cruising. The temptation to say it now came as a surprise.

Good to meet you, Ian said. I'm sorry if I've been grouchy. You're right. This place is not where I would spend the evening, given a free choice.

So let's go somewhere else, Chris said recklessly. He had a sudden urge to get away from all the plastic people and spend a few hours with someone real. This guy felt real. Where would you choose to go?

Um. The man looked him up and down. Nowhere you'd enjoy. At least not looking like that.

Now there was a challenge. Chris grinned. Sit here. Give me five minutes. He got up and headed for the door before Ian could open his mouth.

Chris had a plain blue T-shirt in his car. The hair gel and blue hair color washed out with water and a little soap in the bathroom up front. It wasn't his favorite pure herbal shampoo. His hair would probably be like straw tomorrow. But he felt reckless and charged up. He rubbed at his blond curls with paper towels. Okay, slightly green curls. Evidently, washes out with one shampooing was marketing hype. It should look fine in dim light.

Ian was still at the table, sipping slowly from that prop bottle, when Chris walked up. Chris struck a pose. Better?

The man hesitated a moment, then smiled. Chris had to blink at the wattage of that grin. He couldn't help answering it. And fuck, in that one look heat was flashing between them like Chris had never felt before. Suddenly his intention to go out and have fun with this guy added a whole second agenda. One that involved naked and soon.

Ian's face changed too. For a moment he looked really uncertain. But then he just said, Let me go tell my friend I'm taking off.

You may have to pry that other guy off his earlobe.

I'll manage.

Chris watched as Ian made his way across the dance floor and accosted his blond buddy. It was interesting. Ian wasn't big, wasn't heavily muscled, and yet something about the way he moved just lent authority. The guys on the floor moved around him, instead of making him go around them. He got his friend's attention, and there was a brief conversation. At one point the blond looked Chris's way. Chris dropped his eyes and turned away slightly. No point in being too memorable.

Ian made his way back over. All set. He'll catch a cab.

Chris said reluctantly, I have wheels, if you need to leave yours here. For the first time, he was reluctant to let a pick-up ride in his car. Most of the men he met in bars were either amused or heated up by the pimp-mobile. But Chris thought Ian might be...disappointed.

No, Ian said. I don't want him driving anyway. He's had way more than two of those martinis.

Works for me.

Chris followed Ian toward the door and out into the night. The air was soft and warm, with just a lingering touch of summer. The neon bar signs flickered off glass and chrome. Ian's eyes were still a mystery.

I'm three blocks down, Ian said, pointing. Do you mind?

I think I can manage. Chris fell into step beside him, not touching him, trying not to limp in his boots. For once, he had absolutely no clue where the evening was going.

Chapter 2

Ian scanned the curb for his truck, partly to keep his eyes off the man walking beside him. He wondered what the hell he was doing. This whole evening was screwed from the beginning. The Gold Coast was the sort of place he never voluntarily set foot in. If Trent hadn't practically sobbed on his shoulder, he wouldn't have been there tonight.

And this guy next to him. So not his type. Everything about him screamed empty-headed twinkie. The shirt, the hair, the smile, the way he danced out there on the floor. Those painted-on leather pants. Which maybe explained what he was doing, because the guy had a world-class ass inside that leather. And Ian had eyes. He wasn't immune to that body, moving that way.

He tried to think about where they were going. If he were on his own, he'd head for Mac's. A dozen good brews to choose from, low lights, no strobe, no dancing. But Mac's was a pretty rough bar. Even in a regular T-shirt with his hair down, this guy was not going to fit in.

Well, hell. Ian didn't blatantly advertise that he was gay, but he'd never been in the closet either. Maybe it was time Mac's caught up with the rest of the world. He reached his truck, and unlocked the passenger door. Here, he said, buoyed up on a wave of reckless elation. I'm gonna show you a real bar.

He had time to change his mind a few times before they got to Mac's, but he kept changing it back. The drive was silent, almost restful. This Robin guy didn't seem to feel the need to make random chatter. Once at a stoplight he glanced over and met Ian's eyes and said, Blue, in a voice of satisfaction.

Huh?

Your eyes. I just wondered.

Oh. Yeah.

Suddenly Ian felt it again, that flash of heat running through him, pooling in his groin. Robin's steady gaze was like fire across his skin. He almost reached for the guy without thinking. He was saved by the turning of the light. What the hell was that about? Ian was in control. He was always in control. It was how you survived.

The parking lot at Mac's wasn't full for a Friday night. Ian slid out and strode to the door before he could change his mind. Again. Robin caught the swinging door behind him and followed him in. A couple of the regulars nodded to Ian as he made his way to a table. He sat with his back to the wall and surveyed the room as Robin lowered himself into the other chair.

Sitting down was good. It was mainly Robin's leather pants that screamed fag. Well, that and maybe the green hair. Luckily, the type of assholes that would make an issue of it seemed to be absent tonight. Ian might get away with this crazy stunt. He beckoned a waitress over and ordered two home brews.

Robin looked across the table, his head tilted curiously. This is really your kind of place?

Yes, Ian said roughly. The beer and food can't be beat.

And the ambience is so gay-friendly.

Shush, Ian said. That usually doesn't matter.

So you don't come here with your boyfriend?

Ian lowered his voice still more. This guy had no sense of self-preservation. Don't have a boyfriend.

Because you tried to take him to bars where he had to worry about getting his nuts kicked in? Robin grinned.

Ian frowned. Look, if you're uncomfortable, we'll leave.

Nope. I can't wait to taste the best beer in town. He flashed Ian a hot look. I'll have to count on you to protect me.

And Ian realized that his subconscious had been playing games with him. Because he wanted to do that. He was just itching to kick someone's ass, and he'd set things up to get the perfect excuse. Stupid. It was Trent's ex, Jonathon, whom he wanted to beat to a bloody pulp. A random bar fight was just dumb. And anyway, he now was getting a far better idea about what to do with the excess adrenaline. He said. This was a bad idea. I apologize. We'll drink our beers and then I'll take you someplace nicer.

Robin shrugged and took his full mug from the waitress. He handed her a five and waved away the change. Ian did the same. He watched as Robin took his first sip.

The man paid attention. He might be a twink, but he tasted the beer reflectively and then gave Ian a nice smile. You have good taste. He let his eyes sweep the bar. Well, in some things.

Ian took a deep draught of his beer. He wasn't apologizing twice. So what do you do out in the real world, Robin? he asked.

When I'm not picking up strange men in bars?

I thought I picked you up.

Maybe it was mutual.

Loud, laughing voices interrupted them. Ian looked up and then winced. Coming in the doors were just the type of guys he'd been glad not to see here: young, stupid, drunk and belligerent. Three of them swaggered in, shoving each other and laughing. Shit, Ian said.

What? Robin's blue-green eyes were intense.

Surely those were contacts; no one really had eyes that color. And Ian had to get his brain back on track. Just some bozos we don't want to party with. Hopefully they'll drink fast and leave or pass out. At least he'd had the sense to pick a dark corner table for Robin.

But Robin started getting to his feet, saying, Why don't we just go?

It was just the wrong thing to do at the wrong moment. The bozos were still standing, looking around, without drinks in their hands that they might hesitate to spill. Ian reached out to yank Robin back into his chair, but it was too late. A ceiling spot behind Robin shone off those pants and lit his hair to an almost fluorescent lime. Ah, hell.

Lookie here, the tallest bozo said, turning their way and gesturing at Robin. Ain't he pretty? What's a thing like that doing in our bar? This is a no-faggots zone.

Ian aborted his grab for Robin, and slid his chair back. Better to be on his feet if things went sour.

Robin said in a reasonable voice, Look. We're just leaving. So chill, okay?

The heavyset bozo stuck his chin out and scowled. You telling us what to do?

No. Just had a beer and now I'm leaving. Ian had to admire Robin's level voice. The guy couldn't weigh more than one-forty soaking wet. The biggest of

Reviews for Lies and Consequences

[Sweet cupcake · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I can't believe I'm saying this, but this book should be less about sex and guns and more about Chris's identity crisis. If it was focussed on his character development, it might have been much more impactful.

[Kathryn Perez · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

excellent story. it was about the suspense and adventure with just the right amount of romance. beautifully done.

[maybedog · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

DON'T READ THE BLURB IF YOU CAN HELP IT. It gives way too much away.

How is this still free? This is one of the best M/M thrillers I have read. It cemented Harper in my mind as one of my favorite authors, as strong and consistent as Josh Lanyon. The pacing is excellent, the plot is interesting and is as important as the romance. The ation and suspense are exciting and the major incident that really gets the two interested in each other for real is very well handled. For those of you who know me, The book's got all the peril and danger and near-death excitement

I love the characters and they mostly feel real and unique. The two MCs are nice, likeable and believable men and their reasons for why they do what they do makes sense. They're not stereotypes. They're not perfect. There is angst but it's not overwhelming and it doesn't affect the day to day dealings of the characters. And the manifestation of it is original and interesting. One of them is just too prepared and skilled but I was easily able to suspend my disbelief. And the ending was perfect. you know I love.

I want a sequel and I want it right now!

[katybethmckee · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Very interesting combination of elements make this a great story. You have pretending to be someone else, chance meetings, don't ask-don't tell, best friends, strange families, stalkers, the feds, and the mob. All that and a HEA, too. How can you not be on the edge of your seat.

[vampkiss · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

4 stars. This is the second book I've read by Kaje Harper and I have to say I'm becoming quite the fan! Interesting take on telling lies to the people you love (but having their best interests at heart).

Looking forward to reading more by this author!