Bonaventure and Clyde

By Devyn Morgan

NOW AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK! Handsome cowboy, meet ravishing ballet dancer.
Hunky cowboy Clyde Walker grew up on a horse ranch working side by side with the rough and tough men that ran the place. When Clyde moved east for grad school, he didn't expect to find romance with the type of guy more comfortable in tights and ballet slippers than in jeans and workboots.

Bonaventure “Bonnie” Rinaldi is jaded to pretty boys. However, as a favor to his best friend during an event at a snotty country club, the stunning Bonaventure becomes Clyde’s guide and dinner companion. Bonaventure discovers that chaperoning the smoldering stranger through the event is a nicer duty than most – Clyde is genuine, magnetic, refreshing.

Sparks fly, passions ignite. Except Clyde is Boston bound, and Bonnie’s the premier danseur with the Manhattan Contemporary Ballet Company. Twenty-four amazing hours together and endless weeks of a long-distance relationship can’t form a basis for life-changing decisions. Or can they? To make this work, they'd have to be Bonnie and Clyde...

Bonaventure and Clyde is a gay romance with happy ending, no cliff hangers, and explicit material.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Devyn Morgan
• Release date: Aug 12, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386412465

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

It was the third weekend of June, and the Scarsdale, Connecticut weather couldn’t have been lovelier. The heavy, hot, humid summer hasn’t quite arrived yet and the air was just warm enough to entice the braver and younger club members to jump in the pool.

Bonnie wanted to be one of the younger and braver crowd so bad it hurt.

Not this Saturday, though.

It was only four in the afternoon and he was already stuck wearing a tuxedo. The guests would start arriving in half an hour, the early-birds who always ordered a drink and settled down around one of the round tables in the lounge. Aunts and uncles and old friends of the family, catching up and talking smack about their ungrateful kids and their impossible neighbors. Discussing investments and cosmetic surgeries and home improvement projects, the latter two of which, in Bonnie’s opinion, were pretty much the same thing. That’s how his family always kicked off their annual reunion.

For now, Bonnie was hiding out on one of the rattan and cushion sofas that filled the common room. He gave the tall, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves a cursory glance. The library looked promising from afar, but up-close he saw just old fabric-bound classics, the genealogies of club member families, and the usual assortment of golf  and tennis trophies. They were from minor tournaments, the kind the members didn’t see fit to keep at home, but which still gave them bragging rights and conversation fodder when the talk at the club turned from business to pleasure.

Bonnie had never liked his parents’ country club, and as usual, he was bored stiff. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his family – he did – but he hated the stuffy golf atmosphere with a vengeance. Staying at Stonybrook usually meant getting a cold shoulder by anyone who was richer, had a better job, or had issues with gay guys.

He’d rather be at the studio, rehearsing for his new dance concert.

Oh, here you are, dear! His mother rushed through the door. As soon as she saw him, she slowed down to a more stately progress with that theatrical awareness of her physical space. He probably inherited that same quality from her. I just checked on the caterers. They were supposed to serve scallops, but got shrimp instead.

Bonnie suppressed a groan. Mother was in her management, list-making mode. She’d keep saying every single thing out loud.

And the ballroom, Bonnie. The florists? They decorated this morning. Did you go see?

No, Mom. Bonnie spanned the three steps between them, hugged her bare shoulders, and pulled her in. Don’t worry. It will be great! He kissed her temple.

Bonnie, I want you to go in and give me your opinion on those flower arrangements, she said, giving him a gentle push. You’re a sweetheart, but really, I need you over there right now.

Where’s Dad?

His mother rolled her eyes. Your father is waiting in the lobby. The limo with the Florida crowd is just minutes away. And those people from Chicago are on their way, too.

Those people from Chicago were the reason behind his mother’s nerves. Mr. and Mrs. Horwood, the parents of Alex Horwood, would meet the family for the first time. Alex was his sister Julia’s fiance.

I just wish we could do an ordinary barbecue, Mom. Beer, burgers, beach volleyball? Doesn’t that sound so much better?

Maybe next year, she said distractedly. We could use Grandma’s place at the Hamptons. But now we are here, and those flowers...

Okay, I’m going.

Thank you, dear, she said. Oh, wait, she called out, and Bonnie stopped and looked over his shoulder. Before I forget, Alex is bringing a friend. It’s very last-minute, very irregular, but he’ll be his best man. She fixed him with a stern glare. I’m counting on you to be a proper guest and entertain him. He won’t know anyone.

He sighed and turned. Entertaining single guests of either sex often fell to Bonnie, because he had never brought a date of his own. This didn’t mean he appreciated the extra responsibility at events that were not, strictly speaking, his own.

Mother. He barely managed not to roll his eyes. They were a full room apart, but for a conversation as well-worn as this one, there was no need to be close to each other. Are you trying to set me up again, Mom?

No! An appalled expression crossed her face. Not this time, I promise. He’s a perfect stranger, and we don’t have a female companion for him. You’ll have to do. She gave him a reassuring smile. Don’t worry, he’s perfectly straight. You won’t have any issues.

How do you know, Mom?

I’ve heard he’s a cowboy, she explained patiently. Cowboys aren’t gay. It’s not part of their culture.

BONNIE peeked into the main ballroom. The space depicted everything the name implied. Tall ceilings with relief decorations, painted frescoes in little medallions, and a wall of tall windows framed in elaborate, old-fashioned drapes. Sunshine spilled in through the sheer curtains that sheltered the interior from prying eyes, but the gauzy fabric did little to soften its afternoon glare.

Once Bonnie made sure he was alone, he stepped inside. Rays of golden sunshine refracted in the tall crystal glasses, they bounced off the gilded trim of the china settings, off the silver-plated cutlery. Rainbow reflections played off the tall, lighting up the thin mirrors that were mounted on one of the walls. They were framed in ornate, gilded chunks of antique wood and plaster, and clustered around a small parquet dance floor.

The dance floor was, naturally, Bonnie’s favorite part, as it took up almost a quarter of the otherwise carpeted room. It’s old-world shine reflected in the mirrors. Over the years, he’d spent hours rehearsing here with the doors shut while his parents played bridge or had meetings, and while he was supposed to play tennis with kids who had no clue.

Just him and his iPod.

The ballroom looked