by K. C. Wells
Heath rolled his eyes. “All of fifty feet away.” It was Dave’s standing joke.
Dave peered around the interior of the shop. “Book reading today?”
Heath shook his head. “Nope, book signing. I was able to talk Merrick Smithson into coming and doing one for the store. He might be willing to read something for us, which would be great. There were fifteen people who preordered a copy of Burn the Daffodils to have him sign, so I think we’ll….” Heath noticed Dave’s blank stare and indulgent smile. “And you have no idea who I’m talking about, do you?”
Dave gave him a sheepish glance. “Not really. But it’s good to see you excited.” He gestured to the coffeepots. “You’ve come a long way since your barista days.” His eyes twinkled as he poured a cup, took a sip, and winced. “Pity you’ve forgotten how to make a decent cuppa, though.”
“Bastard.”
Dave smiled. “But you love me. After all, who kept you in tips while you were a bean slinger?”
“Bean slinger?” It had been Daria’s insult of choice. Heath stared at him. “Oh my God, tell me you haven’t been in to see Daria again. You know she’s not a fan of yours.” That was putting it mildly. She hated Dave’s guts. Even on her best days, which were not all that frequent, Daria was not really a people person. She’d adopted a surly goth-punk hybrid persona, and lived it daily. The first time Dave had seen her, Heath could have sworn there were little hearts floating in Dave’s eyes. Unfortunately for him, Daria wasn’t—
“She’s going out with me.”
Heath blinked. “You’re kidding.” Daria had never given Dave the time of day. When Heath and Daria worked together at Roasted Beans, she’d always treated Dave like crap. “I thought she hated you?”
“What!” Dave frowned. “I’ll have you know that was all a front. Secretly she loves me.” His cheeks pinked. “Plus, I might have tickets to a concert she wants to see.”
Oh, of course. That explained a lot. “Dave, you shouldn’t—”
“It’s fine.” Dave shrugged. “I know she doesn’t love me. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s not even into me all that much. But I figure if nothing else, I can show her I can be her friend. Everyone needs more of those, don’t they?”
The note of hope in Dave’s voice made Heath’s throat tighten. “They do. And I truly wish you the best of luck with her.”
They chatted as Heath prepped the common area with mugs, teaspoons, and the tray of pastries. He’d put two pain au raisin aside, as Mr. Smithson’s biography had noted a fondness for them. Getting Merrick Smithson to agree to a book signing was a coup for Wordsmith’s. He was a bestselling author of a dozen books in the last six years. He’d been on every list from Amazon to the New York Times. His previous book, Frosted Memories, had gotten him on dozens of talk shows across the UK and the US. He’d even appeared on The Graham Norton Show, where he’d read aloud from one of the more ribald chapters of the book.
And now he was coming to Heath’s shop. Heath had pulled out all the stops to make this an event. He’d taken out adverts in the local paper, plus a mention in the Times. That had cost him a pretty penny, and he hoped it paid dividends.
“All right, Mr. Snow, I’m headed back out into hell. I hope your reading goes well.”
Crap. He’d been so wrapped up, he’d forgotten Dave was still in the shop. Heath put the last pastry on a plate, then turned in time to see Dave crossing the floor, headed for the door. Heath called out his name.
He turned and gave a cheeky grin. “Yes, Mr. Snow?”
“Why do you call me that? You always called me Heath at the coffee shop.”
Dave straightened. “Because we’re expected to maintain a bit of formality with our customers. My boss insists on it.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t. I miss hearing you call me by name.”
Dave’s smile was warm. “Okay…. Heath. Listen, I really do have to go. I’ve got six more deliveries, and then I’m helping out behind the counter this morning.” He bit his lip. “I’ve already spent way too long in here.” He waved. “Hope this works out like you want it to.” And then he was gone.
God, Heath hoped so too.
It wasn’t long before the first customers of the day strode in, clutching their copies of Burn the Daffodils, their obvious nervous excitement at the thought of meeting Merrick Smithson adding an electric charge to the air.
Heath couldn’t wait for the fun to start.
WHAT A bloody freaking disaster!
On TV, Merrick Smithson had seemed so affable, laughing at Graham Norton’s jokes and interacting with the audience. But from the moment he’d walked into Wordsmith’s, with his nose in the air, sniffing like something was rotten, Smithson had been nothing but a condescending dickhead diva.
First, he objected to the layout of the group room. The chairs were too close to his signing area. He wanted at least ten feet between him and the masses. Then the room, which was seventy degrees, was too cold. The pain au raisin were stale with no flavor, the coffee was bitter, and why weren’t there more people? Someone of his caliber should have had a crowd ten times the size.
The list of complaints went on and on. Despite the fact that another thirty people had shown up and bought his damn book, he never warmed to the group. Heath had heard more than a few complaints about Smithson’s attitude, and worried that it would reflect badly on the shop. The whole thing had been a farce. He was grateful when Smithson said his time was up, even though their contract stated there was another hour to go.
Once the shop had closed for the day, Heath stomped through it, cleaning up the mess and trying to calm down. Okay, he’d taken in a good amount of money, especially when people bought a few of Smithson’s other books, but had it been worth the hassle?
He sighed. Of course it had. Regardless of what an arse Smithson had been, it was still good press for Heath. Would he do it again? He blew out a sharp breath. In a heartbeat. God, is this what it’s like to be a business owner? To have these headaches hanging over your head all the time? Then he recalled the good moments. He’d always gotten on great with his regulars, and their word of mouth had brought in more people. Wordsmith’s had become progressively more popular.
I guess it’s just a matter of taking the rough with the smooth.
He glanced up at the clock. Nearly nine. What a day. All he could think of was the siren call of Master Byerley’s world. A little reading and then some much-needed sleep. He set up the urn for the morning so he’d only have to hit the Start button, then trudged up the stairs. It was only after he’d settled into his chair, book in hand, that he caught sight of the paper Xavier had written on the previous night.
The party. Damn it.
By that point, Heath was too tired to get up again, and he had a lot of work to do in the morning. Besides, he was certain Xavier had just been nice when he’d invited Heath.
He probably won’t even notice that I’m not there.
XAVIER CHECKED his phone again. Still no messages. He kept looking toward the door, wondering when Heath would arrive. By the time ten o’clock arrived, Xav knew Heath wasn’t coming. He felt oddly disappointed but couldn’t put a finger on why. There were a ton of sinfully gorgeous men at Secrets, parading around in various attire, from business suits to birthday suits. Why be bothered by the nonappearance of a five-foot-ten, green-eyed, brown-haired, neatly bearded man?
Kyle came up from behind him and smacked Xavier on the back. “Your body may be here, mate, but your head is definitely elsewhere.”
He did his best to smile. “It’s a great party. Thanks for inviting me.”
“And yet you’ve not paid attention to it at all tonight.” Kyle took a seat at the table beside Xavier. “You keep looking at your phone, then staring at the door. Either you’re eager to leave or—”
“No, it’s not that,” Xavier hastened to assure him.
“Then what is it? I know for a fact that at least four of the house subs have tried to get your attention
and walked away dejected. Your presence has been sorely missed, my friend.”
Once he’d walked into the club, inhaled the scent of leather, heard the sounds of the party, and noticed several friends he hadn’t kept in contact with, Xav had chastised himself for letting this slip away from him. He’d loved coming to the club—back when it was Whispers—to play. He’d heard new owners had bought it and restored the place to its former glory. The rumors were only half right. Secrets was amazing, and Xavier was determined to visit more often.
Xav sighed. “I kind of invited someone to be here tonight. It’s taken me this long to realize he’s not going to show.”
Kyle leaned forward, his chin resting on his hand. “Oh, do tell. I didn’t think you had time for people anymore.”
The comment stung, but not because it was untrue. In an effort to make a name for himself, Xavier had cut most of his social contacts and driven himself hard to be the best at his job.
“His name is Heath, and he owns the shop where I got your gift.”
“It’s an amazing book. I’m going to guess this Heath was the one who picked it out, right?”
Xav abandoned his focus on the door and gave Kyle his full attention. “You should have seen him. He asked what you liked, and when I told him, he went straight to the shelves and grabbed the book. I swear, when he opened it and showed me the pictures, it was like he knew exactly who you were.”
“Wow. I don’t think I have ever seen you like this.”
Xav frowned. “Like what?”
Kyle held up his hands and fanned them around his face. “You light up when you talk about Heath. Your eyes? They actually sparkle. No wonder you haven’t been paying attention to the boys here tonight. Seems you have another on your mind already.” He grinned. “I can’t wait to meet him.” Then he frowned. “Wait a minute. When did you buy this book? Last night?” Xav nodded, and Kyle rolled his eyes. “Well, what the hell did you expect? You invite a guy you’ve just met to a party with complete strangers—with you not much more than a stranger yourself—and you expect him to turn up?”
Xav had had the same thought all that evening. “I guess it was a little unreasonable.”
“Then why did you invite him?”
Xav had thought about that too. “Because for the first time in a long, long while, I was actually interested in someone.”
Kyle’s eyes gleamed. “Maybe a second visit is in the cards. Now there’s a question. Is he interesting enough for a second visit?”
Xav already knew the answer to that one.
Kyle snickered. “This has turned out to be a really intriguing evening. My advice to you? Go home. Get some sleep. Then work out when you can next pay a visit to a certain bookshop owner. And Xav?” His eyes lit up. “I want to meet this guy.” His brow furrowed. “How do you know he’d like this place? You’ve barely met the man.”
Xav’s thoughts went back to the well-worn paperback on the counter.
He grinned. “I trust my instincts.”
Chapter Four
ONE WEEK to go!
The leadup to Pride had been one of the best weeks ever for the shop, and business had been brisk all day Saturday. Heath flicked off most of the lights, except for the one on the desk, then ran his reports. The figures were encouraging. Despite Merrick Smithson being a colossal arse, having him in the shop seemed to have brought people in to check it out. Plus, with his colorful Pride window display and the books he’d ordered on the progress of gay rights in the UK, he’d had more than a few people stop in to purchase those.
Thank God for Sunday. Heath was looking forward to a day off. His checklist for Monday was complete, and at last his time was his own. One last look around the shop brought his attention to the book under the counter, and he grabbed it. He was close to the end, his favorite part. It didn’t matter that he’d read it countless times already—it still felt like new. Byerley was finally going to say the words Heath had been hoping to hear for the last three books. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Byerley loved Malcolm and wanted him to be with him instead of living above the stables. Of course, the hotter-than-sin sex certainly didn’t hurt the readability of the book either.
Heath intended on getting just as hot as the two fictitious men.
The knock at the front door tore a groan from him. He wanted to shout they were closed, to stomp upstairs to finish his book, but…. The last time it had been Xavier, and that had worked out quite well.
Damn it. The book would have to wait.
“One minute!”
He put the book down, then went to the door. From the man’s outline and build, he knew it was Xavier. Oh my. Heath’s hands trembled as he tried to get the door to unlock. Eventually the door complied, and Xavier stood there, smiling at him.
“Good evening, Heath. I missed you last night.”
“Last night?” For a moment Heath was lost. Then he remembered. “Oh! The party.” He froze on the threshold. “Wait—you were serious about that? I thought you were, you know, just being nice.”
Xavier coughed. “I’ve been called many things over the years, but nice isn’t usually on that list.” His eyes sparkled. “And yes, I was serious. I spent the first half of the night watching the door, waiting for you to show up. Then, when I realized you weren’t coming, I spent the remainder talking to my friend Kyle about you.”
Heath’s heartbeat sped up. He’d heard some pretty bad pickup lines from guys in the past, but this was a first. He missed me? With some effort, he forced himself to be calm. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t think you were serious. And as it was, yesterday was a busy day. We had a reading with Merrick Smithson and—never mind, it’s not important.”
“I saw you drew quite a crowd for the event.”
Heath blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“It was in the paper this morning that Smithson had been here. The picture showed a line waiting to get his autograph.”
Holy crap. “You saw it?”
Xavier grinned. “I went looking for it. I figured if you didn’t show, it had to be something important. Merrick Smithson is a pretty good excuse for missing a party. I saw him on Graham Norton, and he’s wicked.”
Heath rolled his eyes heavenward. “Oh, please. He’s a pretentious prat and—” He put a brake on his mouth. “Shit. Sorry. Okay, so he wasn’t the nicest guy. I still shouldn’t say things like that.”
Xavier’s chuckle was warm and familiar, and Heath ached to hear it again.
“I’m sorry. Too many famous people have a sense of entitlement. It’s a shame to hear he’s one of them.”
Heath stepped back. “I seem to have forgotten my manners. Did you want to come in?”
“If you don’t mind. I’d like to ask you something, if you have time.”
“Sure. What’s on your mind?”
Xavier stepped inside, and Heath closed the door. When he turned, Xavier was much closer than Heath had expected. He could feel the heat from Xavier’s body, his citrusy cologne infiltrated Heath’s nostrils, and as for those brown eyes with flecks of gold…. Now I know what writers mean when they talk about eyes you could get lost in. Heath tore his gaze away before he did just that.
Being that close to Xavier was doing all kinds of things to Heath’s insides.
Xavier showed no sign of moving. “I know you’re probably headed upstairs for the night, but did you have any specific plans for your evening?”
“Not really. I was going to put something in the microwave, have a cup of tea, then go to bed. Why?” Heath’s heartbeat sped up again. Why are you here, Xavier?
“Well, my friend convinced me I shouldn’t have invited you to the party. Instead, I should have done the classy thing and asked you out. So, here’s me, wondering if you’d like to go have dinner.”
“Now?” The word slipped out at a higher pitch than Heath would have liked.
“Unless you’ve got something else to do. I’m flexible.”
Dinner with Xavier? Heath’s
glance slid toward the counter where his book lay.
Sorry, my lord, you’re going to have to do without me tonight. It’s been ages since I’ve gone out, and since I didn’t take him seriously last night, I want to make up for it now.
Heath took a deep breath. “I’d love to go to dinner.”
Xavier’s smile was radiant. “Great. You pick the place. We can go anywhere you want.”
Heath thought a moment. He liked to spend his money in the area, to help keep the shops running. Too many had closed in the last year, and the area had seen a downturn in sales across the board.
“There’s a pub, McKenzie’s, right around the corner. They’ve got a great selection of food and fifty-six beers to choose from. Would that be okay?” As soon as he’d mentioned it, Heath had second thoughts. A pub?
“That sounds perfect.”
Warmth flooded Heath. He didn’t know much about Xavier, but the man seemed open and affable, with a way of talking that made Heath feel like he was a friend. Apart from that, there was something about him that stirred Heath’s senses.
I want to know more about you.
Xavier cleared his throat, and Heath got practical. “I need to get changed. Do you mind waiting down here for a few minutes?”
“No, you go ahead. Is it okay if I browse?”
Heath nodded. “Oh, absolutely. We just got some new books in, on the table over there in the corner.”
“I’ll take a look.” Xavier smiled again, and Heath’s insides went gooey. “See you in a bit.”
“Okay.” Heath rushed up the stairs, determined to have the fastest wash-up known to man. It had been almost a year since he’d gone out with anyone, and he couldn’t wait to sit down for a meal with Xavier.
All he had to do was get his excitement under control.
XAVIER SMILED to himself. He wondered if Heath had any idea how adorable he was, with his glasses perched on that pert little nose, his hair askew, and that quirk of a smile that made him look mischievous and innocent at the same time. Kyle had been right. Xav had gone about it all wrong. He needed to show Kyle he was interested in getting to know him as a person before they discussed any potential likes in BDSM.
