A Fortunate Blizzard

by L. C. Chase

  A heavy sigh pushed past his lips as he shoved the phone back in his pocket, grabbed his bag, and made his way into the lounge.

  The place was quickly approaching standing room only, and Trevor had to shoulder his way up to the bar, where he ordered a tea with lemon—because the Irish coffee he really wanted wasn’t worth the damage it would do to his kidneys—and a plain buffalo burger with a small side salad. The bartender slid a steaming cup in his direction and the first sip made Trevor’s eyes water, sending a rush of heat cascading outward from his stomach. He closed his eyes, and he might have moaned but couldn’t be sure over the chatter of voices surrounding him.

  “Perfection,” he said under his breath.

  The barkeep smiled and shook his head. “Be ’bout fifteen minutes for your burger.”

  “Thanks.”

  Trevor dug a pill pack out of his bag, popped the two binders he was to take before every meal, and then turned his sleep-weary eyes on the lounge at large, scanning for an empty table. Through the crowd, he caught sight of a vacant seat at a table in the far corner. He leaned to the side for a better look and froze when his gaze locked with one of the most attractive men he’d seen in a long time. He had classic good looks: strong jawline, dark hair trimmed neatly, eyes that somehow seem brighter than they should in such dim lighting, no matter their color.

  The back of Trevor’s neck and his face began to heat as the man held his stare. Whether it was from the tea or the intensity of those eyes boring into him, he couldn’t say. And he couldn’t look away. The handsome stranger managed to hold him captive without word or touch. That kind of instant attraction was rare for him, and of course it had to happen now, when he had nothing left to give anyone.

  Though . . . a little temporary comfort was still allowed, wasn’t it?

  Someone moving through the packed lounge jostled Trevor, spilling his drink and breaking his heated connection with the man across the room. He turned away, skin sizzling from head to toe and hand burning from the hot tea.

  “Order’s up, buddy.” The bartender slid Trevor’s dinner across the bar top.

  Trevor jerked his head up. “Already?”

  The barkeep just did that smiling and shaking his head thing again as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around a handful of ice cubes. He set the faux ice pack beside the burger.

  Trevor had to shake his head, too—mentally anyway. Had he and Mr. Handsome really been locked in a staring contest for fifteen minutes?

  “Thank you.”

  The barkeep nodded and went back to mixing drinks. Trevor rubbed the soothing ice pack over his burned skin until the sting eased, and then turned around, his gaze instantly reconnecting with Mr. Handsome across the room.

  Without breaking eye contact, Handsome reached over and angled the empty chair away from the table in silent invitation.

  You’d be a fool to ignore that, Trev.

  He shouldered his bag, picked up his plate and what was left of his tea, and made his way across the lounge. “Mind if I join you?”

  A sensual smile stretched Mr. Handsome’s lips, his forest-green eyes sparkling. “Please.”

  His deep voice sent a shiver of excitement up Trevor’s spine, and he cleared his throat. “Thank you.” He tucked his bag under the table and pulled up the chair. “This is a lot more comfortable than trying to eat at the bar.”

  “More elbow room,” the man said. He motioned toward Trevor’s bag. “Were you heading for the airport?”

  Trevor nodded and reached for his drink to wash down the bite of food he’d just swallowed. “I was on my way to Connecticut to spend the holidays with family.”

  “I can’t believe they actually shut down the airport.” The man paused to take a sip of his drink. “When was the last time that happened?”

  Trevor’s gaze lowered to the mouth of the sexy stranger sitting across from him, following the way his full lips curved over the rim of the glass, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. A sudden image of those lips around something else rose in his mind, sucking, swallowing, and . . .

  Shit, get a grip.

  Trevor shifted in his seat and dropped his focus to stare pointedly at his food. “I’m not sure it ever has,” he said, a rough edge to his voice. “Bad timing too, with the holidays and all.”

  “Will you be able to get another flight?” the man asked, seemingly unaware of Trevor’s quick trip to a mental porn set.

  He shook his head. “Looks like now I get to spend it alone in Nederland.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” There was something in the man’s voice that made Trevor think he could relate. Then dark eyebrows rose and a flirty smile, intentional or not, sent a little thrill dancing in the back of Trevor’s mind. Damn, but this man was attractive.

  “You live in Ned?” Mr. Handsome’s tone was playful. “You’ll be lucky to get back up there before March.”

  Trevor laughed. Yes, living at eighty-two hundred feet did have its drawbacks, but he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. There was an intangible energy in the mountains that soothed his soul and fed his creative muse. He hadn’t achieved critical success as an artist until he’d moved here, even though his mom always said he was so talented he’d have reached that level anyway, regardless of geography. Nederland wasn’t all that out there in the boonies, either—just a thirty-minute drive down into Boulder . . . when the roads weren’t covered in snow. Chances were high the canyon road would end up closed from the blizzard too, if it hadn’t been already.

  “It suits me.” Trevor shrugged. “How about you?”

  “I was on my way home from work in Denver. Got stuck on the turnpike. Home is Boulder.”

  “Wow. We’re practically neighbors.” Trevor took a bite of his burger, and his tablemate’s gaze focused on his mouth, staring long enough for heat to infuse Trevor’s cheeks before he lifted his eyes to meet Trevor’s. The air between them simmered and buzzed over the surface of his skin.

  Damn. And he’d thought he was getting tired? Suddenly he was feeling fresh as a new day.

  He put his burger down and struggled to swallow. Jeez, when was the last time he’d been so enticed by someone he’d just met? And when was the last time his body had shown even a spark of interest since he’d been diagnosed? Sure, he’d experienced instant attraction before, but he could count on one hand the number of times his breath had caught and his heart had stuttered. Which would be exactly one time. Now.

  He reached out across the table. “Trevor.”

  The hand that engulfed his was warm, smooth, and confident. “Marc.”

  They shook twice, but Marc held on to Trevor’s hand instead of letting go right away—or maybe it was the other way around. Regardless, he didn’t care. The feel of Marc’s skin against his pinged every nerve ending with teasing jolts of pleasure, nudging at desires long ignored, and he fought the urge to lick his lips.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Marc,” he said, his voice husky from the low hum of arousal coursing through his veins.

  “Pleasure’s all mine.” Marc’s green eyes gleamed, and a hint of a grin tipped up the corners of his mouth.

  A long beat or two later, Marc released Trevor’s hand slowly enough for his fingertips to slide along Trevor’s palm. Imagined on his part or forward on Marc’s, the effect was the same. Trevor’s previously dormant libido was waking up, and right then and there, he wanted Marc.

  “Can I get you two another drink?” A frazzled-looking waitress interrupted their heated stare. Trevor leaned back, not having realized that he’d bent forward in the first place, pulled into Marc’s intense eyes by some unseen force.

  “Not for me, thank you,” he said.

  “I’ll have another hot brandy, please,” Marc ordered. With a nod of her head, the woman turned on her heel, and then they were alone again. Well, as alone as they could be in a packed lounge.

  Marc shifted in his seat. “So what do you do, Trevor?”

  “I’m an artist. And you?
”

  “Lawyer.”

  “Oh no!” Trevor exaggerated a wince, and Marc laughed. “There has to be a joke somewhere about that. An artist and a lawyer walk into a bar . . .”

  Marc chuckled. “With the number of ‘walk into a bar’ jokes out there, I wouldn’t be surprised if there is one.”

  “I’m going to have to google that now,” Trevor teased.

  Charged silence settled between them for a long moment, and their eyes locked again. Trevor knew he wasn’t imagining it, seeing his own desire reflected back at him in captivating shades of green. He had zero intention of starting anything with anyone, but there was no denying the way this man was tripping all his wires. They were two grown men stranded in a blizzard, though. What could it hurt to enjoy each other’s company for one night? Assuming Marc had been able to get a room, of course.

  “So . . .” Marc began. He looked down at his drink briefly, as though he were carefully choosing his words or about to admit some deep, dark secret. Trevor caught the slight dip of Marc’s mouth as he pursed his lips, making a dimple in his cheek peek out. Uncertainty flickered in those eyes like a passing shadow, and gave Trevor the impression there was a story behind Marc’s outward confidence. A story he suddenly found himself wanting to hear. Or better yet, paint.

  “Tell me what life as an artist is like.” Marc absently slid a long, manicured index finger around the rim of his glass.

  Trevor followed the movement, hypnotized. A flush spread over his skin, seeped beneath the surface, and hopped a ride on the fast-moving current of blood in his veins to pool in his groin like an oasis at the bottom of a waterfall. Christ, all he could think about was getting Marc alone.

  He cleared his throat and lifted his eyes. A faint grin tipped one side of Marc’s mouth, and Trevor fought the urge to lean across the table and capture those lips with his. Marc lifted an eyebrow, expectant. He was waiting for . . .?

  Oh right, an answer. And the question was . . . not what he’d expected. He really had thought he was going to hear some sort of confession, and now the simple question about his work threw him off.

  Floundering, he cleared his throat and blurted, “I paint.”

  Marc’s grin stretched into a full-on smile and transformed him from merely attractive to heart-stoppingly gorgeous. “I’ve heard a lot of artists do that.” He winked.

  Trevor laughed, a self-conscious weak-sounding thing, and ran a hand through his hair, tongue-tied. When did that ever happen?

  “Well, no two days are quite the same, which suits me fine.” Aside from his dialysis treatments, which were as regular as clockwork. “I spend a lot of time observing the world around me, drawing and painting how I see it, how it makes me feel, what I hope my interpretation gives to others. Nothing makes me happier than being able to create something that moves or inspires someone in a positive way.”

  “That sounds like a beautiful life,” Marc said, a wistful note in his voice.

  Almost. He knew he had a lot to be grateful for, knew he was fortunate to be able to make a living doing what he loved most in the world. There was just that little ticking clock that dulled everything around the edges.

  Trevor shrugged. “I can’t complain.” He smiled and received a matching one from Marc. The slow spread of it, the softness and promise in it wrapped around Trevor like a security blanket.

  Amid the hustle and bustle of the bar, an easy stillness settled between them. Voices, laughter, and music teased Trevor’s hearing, and people dancing and making the most of their snowbound evening blurred in his peripheral vision. A bubble seemed to have formed around the small table in the back corner where they sat, protecting them from the world mere feet beyond them.

  “How about you, Mr. Lawyer?” The low, husky tone didn’t surprise him, unintentional as it was, but the fire that flared in Marc’s eyes in response had Trevor sitting up a little taller. “Are you some high-powered shark defending criminals like the ones I see on TV?”

  “God, no.” Marc shook his head. “I like to think I’m one of the good guys. I’m a civil rights attorney.”

  Trevor raised his eyebrows, his thoughts immediately turning to a sexy Matthew McConaughey, who once played a lawyer defending a black man in the deep South. But now his mind’s movie reel replaced Matthew with Marc. “Tell me more.”

  “It’s not nearly as exciting as it looks on TV.” Marc grinned, and his eyes sparkled. “Mostly it’s just a lot of paperwork and research, preparing arguments and such.”

  “What about in the courtroom?”

  Marc shrugged. “There can be some drama, but the high-profile cases don’t really come around all that often.”

  “So what kind of cases do you handle, then?” Trevor leaned forward, drawn in by Marc’s soothing, seductive voice. Didn’t seem to matter what he was saying as long as he was simply speaking.

  “Let’s say, for instance—” Marc paused, and Trevor got the feeling it was cut for effect “—that you’re gay.”

  The effect worked, and Trevor grinned. “Go on.”

  Marc tipped his head slightly and complied. “The state of Colorado has laws in place that protect employees in the private sector, as well as at state- and local-government levels, from discrimination based on sexual orientation, and gender identity and expression. Let’s say again, that a video of your boyfriend proposing to you . . .”

  Trevor’s smile stretched wider, and he shook his head. Twice. Slowly. “Single.”

  Marc nodded, the light in his eyes brighter. “The video goes viral, your boss sees it, and after fifteen years of being a model employee, fires you for no reason other than that you’re gay. I’m the guy you want at your back to settle those situations.”

  “I’ll have to remember that,” Trevor said, deliberately dropping his voice an octave. “And . . . I think I would like having you at my back.”

  The man was flirting, and the images that rushed into Marc’s mind of him at Trevor’s back had him acutely aware of his cock shifting in his pants. A strong naked back, Trevor moaning and writhing in his arms as he plunged deep . . .

  He might actually have to thank Kate for kicking him out of the office.

  Marc certainly wasn’t looking for any kind of relationship, but enjoying another’s company for one night wouldn’t interfere with his climb to partner. And if he was reading Trevor right—and he was certain he was—maybe they could make the most of being snowed in. Trevor hadn’t been able to get a room, after all . . . and Marc had one ready and waiting.

  For now though, sitting here talking with Trevor was like being on vacation, as though he had nowhere to go and nothing to do but simply sit and enjoy the day and the company. He liked the way Trevor’s long-fingered, graceful hands moved as he talked, the way his smile shone through his eyes, and Marc found he wanted to know more about him.

  “Tell me about your art,” he nudged. “What is your favorite medium and style? What inspires you?”

  Trevor chuckled, his sky-colored eyes ablaze, as though the sun shone in their depths. “Are you sure you really want to get me going?”

  “I am.” Because in another life I’d never have become a lawyer. “I’ve always admired artists.”

  “So . . . you have a thing for us creative types?” Trevor teased. A pink blush colored his cheekbones, but he didn’t shy away from Marc’s gaze.

  “Something like that.” Marc smiled. He couldn’t deny he was feeling something for this particular one right now, but he was interested for more reasons than that. Interacting with people like Trevor gave him a chance to brush against something he’d given up years ago—to live vicariously, if only for a moment. “Was art something you always knew you wanted to do?”

  “I’ve been drawing and painting for as long as I can remember,” Trevor said, the focus of his eyes going distant as though reliving a fond memory. “My parents encouraged me to explore and develop my interests and talents. One of my earliest memories is of my mom coloring with me.”

>   A pang of envy and loss struck Marc with surprising force. Hadn’t that been what he’d wanted once upon a time? How different would his life have been if . . . No. He mentally shook those thoughts from his mind. He wouldn’t be the highly successful lawyer he was today if the course of his life had been any different.

  “You’re lucky to have had that kind of support,” Marc said, fighting to keep his voice casual.

  Trevor nodded, lifting a hand briefly, his finger pointing—or more like flicking—in Marc’s general direction. “Believe me, I know how much I lucked out when my parents chose me.”

  The comment struck Marc a little odd—maybe he was adopted?—but he didn’t press. He sipped his brandy and let Trevor’s voice drift over him.

  Their conversation moved seamlessly from topic to topic, though time seemed to stand still. Which made the yawn that threatened to crack Marc’s jaw a shock. Caught off guard as he was, he couldn’t cover it fast enough.

  But Trevor didn’t seem offended, going by the amused glint in his eyes and his playful smile. “I agree. It’s been a long day.”

  “Indeed.” Marc glanced at his watch, surprised to see they’d been sitting there for the better part of three hours sharing their life stories. He hadn’t noticed the crowd had thinned out, either. It was still busy, but no longer standing room only. Those who hadn’t found rooms were either pulling all-nighters or curling up in corners with extra hotel blankets and pillows. “Well, I suppose we should call it a night, then.”

  Trevor’s face seemed to fall ever so slightly. His lips parted as if to speak, but the follow-through never came.

  “Did you manage to get a room for the night? I think they filled up pretty fast.” Marc already knew the answer, but he asked anyway. Didn’t want Trevor to know he’d been watching him ever since he stepped through the front doors.