When I woke up at Phil’s on Sunday morning, the sun was streaming through the thin curtains he had at the windows of his attic flat, giving me a whole new appreciation of the phrase “heat rises”. And not in a good way. I was sweating like I’d just got back from a five-mile run, and I hadn’t even moved yet. My dick was all keen to get up close and personal with the six-foot hunk of lean muscle lying next to me, but the rest of me was saying no sodding way.
“Bloody hell,” I grumbled, flinging an arm up over my eyes. That sun was vicious. “Too hot for sex. That’s just sad. And, Christ, it’s first thing in the morning. What’s it going to be like at noon?”
Phil huffed. “Pretty similar to this, I’d say. It’s ten to twelve, Sleeping Beauty.”
It’s been six months since plumber Tom Paretski was hit with a shocking revelation about his family. His lover, P.I. Phil Morrison, is pushing this as an ideal opportunity for Tom to try to develop his psychic talent for finding things. Tom would prefer to avoid the subject altogether, but just as he decides to bite the bullet, worse problems come crawling out of the woodwork.
Marianne, a young barmaid at the Devil’s Dyke pub, has an ex who won’t accept things are over between them. Grant Carey is ruthless in dealing with anyone who gets between him and Marianne, including an old friend of Tom and Phil. Their eagerness to step in and help only makes them targets of Grant’s wrath themselves.
With Tom’s uncertainty about Phil’s motives, Tom’s family doing their best to drive a wedge between them, and the revelation of an ugly incident in Phil’s past, suddenly Tom’s not sure whom he can trust.
The body in the Dyke’s cellar isn’t the only thing that stinks.
Warning: Contains British slang, a very un-British heat wave, and a plumber with a psychic gift who may not be as British as he thinks he is.