Matt cradled
the whisky glass in his hand for a few seconds. His heartbeat sped up as
anticipation flooded him. The handsome man who’d sat alone and ate little
fascinated him. Matt knew the guy stared without seeing for a while, and then
the eye contact when he saw Matt, was electrifying. No one had ever looked at
Matt that way. The sheer sexual hunger and loneliness in those pale eyes forced
a shock of attraction to spark along his stomach muscles. There was no mistake.
This handsome man was gay. Matt swished his drink around and the ice cubes
clinked in the glass. Will he join me?
Let him take the chance. It’s time I had someone in my life.
Matt forced
himself to lean casually on the bar. He put down the glass. His hand shook. Fucking calm down. He might not come. He
probably won’t. It was a bad idea to send a note. Who do I think I am, some
movie character? Matt felt rather than saw his quarry approach. His mouth
went dry. He suddenly wanted the beautiful Italian tiled floor to open up and
let him fall into the hole where failed attempts at finding love littered the
black chasm.
“I got your
note. Thank you … for sending it … I asked for my coffee to be sent in. Would
you like a cup of coffee … or another drink?”
Matt’s
entire body reacted to the low, halting tones of the man’s voice. Relief and
fear flooded him. He sent a silent request into the ether, which generally fed
him premonitions. Don’t let me mess this
up. He straightened and faced the man taking in every facet—pale green
eyes, like the shallow water lapping at a tropical beach, the sort of handsome
face that usually carried guys into a modeling career, and wavy dark hair that
Matt itched to run his fingers through. His stomach clenched and a strange
melting feeling gathered between his legs. Fucking
hell, he’s amazing.
Matt tried a
smile hoping it didn’t manifest as a grimace.
“Hi. Matt
Loewe. Thanks for showing up.” What? Thanks for showing up, hell.
“Angel Starc,
pleased to meet you.” The gorgeous man held out his hand.
Surprised by
the Starc name, and how stupid he probably sounded, Matt hesitated to take the
handshake, and then he grasped the cool strong hand. A moment of extreme
connection made him widen his eyes at Angel. Matt’s ‘mysteriousness’ ignited
and he felt as if he knew this man, or, ridiculous as it seemed to his common
sense right then, that they belonged together.
Angel’s gaze
locked with his and Matt saw the dark pupils expand over the sea-green eyes.
Emotions ranged there, too, and Matt responded to the apparent attraction and
kindness, trying to sound more in control.
“I mean, I
hoped you’d meet me. Let me get you something to go with the coffee—cognac maybe?”
He forced the tremor from his voice.
Angel took a
deep breath. “Tell you what. I’ll order whisky and coffee for us both and you
grab that table in the corner.”
Matt cast a
glance toward the corner of the room. He turned his face to Angel Starc.
“Sure.” He
left his glass on the bar, and attempted a saunter to the table for two, set up
next to twin Kentia palms in huge terracotta pots. Still completely shaken by
this turn of events, where not only had he encountered a guy he was intensely
attracted to, the guy’s eyes reflected the emotion, Matt sat and loosened his
tie. He’s Angel Starc, though. In this
town, he has to be a relative of Rory Starc. Take it easy. He watched Angel
talking with the bartender. His heart did a weird thump as Angel walked toward
the table, gave him a smile like sunshine on a winter’s day, and sat opposite
him.
A server
strode to the table and placed glasses of whisky before them both.
“I asked for
ice. It looked as if you’d taken ice in your other drink—odd shaped chips of it
diluted the dregs. When I saw you in the restaurant I thought you were
familiar, but we haven’t met before.”
Matt
considered his words, trying to choose the right ones. “No, but I wonder if you
saw me visit the house where Rory Starc lived, perhaps…”
Angel raised
his hand. “Of course … you laid flowers at the gates. I, er, I did notice you.
I was across the street in my car.” He gave a laugh, though there wasn’t much
mirth in the sound, more like self-deprecation. “I sat there summoning the
courage to go into my brother’s home.”
Consumed by
a wish to comfort Angel, Matt rushed in. “I’m so sorry to hear about Rory. I
honestly don’t know much about his family. I can’t remember reading about a
brother. You must be devastated.”
Angel gazed
into his eyes. “We were estranged, but yes, it’s hard. Thank you for the
flowers. I, I…”
Instinctively,
Matt reached out and placed his hand over Angel’s as it rested on the table.
“There’s
nothing as good as talking to a stranger. You can let everything out knowing
you probably will never meet again.” Hell,
there I go again. When I want nothing other than to get to know him, I’m
encouraging him to leave.
Angel looked
down at Matt’s hand on his. He raised his eyes and his voice was practically a
whisper. “I hoped by the end of the night that you wouldn’t be a stranger and
that we certainly would meet again.”
Matt
couldn’t breathe for a few seconds. Angel’s words drenched him in relief and
hope.
“Yes … so do
I. I’m sorry. I’m hopeless at this.” He smiled, genuinely grateful for Angel’s
candor.
Angel
grinned at him. “I’m not great at flirting. Let’s just tell the truth. I saw
you. I think you’re hot as hell. I haven’t had a relationship of any kind for
almost a year. I’m out of practice and feel guilty because I’m talking to a
gorgeous guy and happiness is trickling through me when I’m here because my
brother died, but I need this, to, to feel real. Does that make sense?”
The coffee
order arrived and the server arranged the cups on the table.
Matt waited
until they were alone again before he leaned forward.
“I
understand. There’s just a chance we were meant to meet—not, not that your
brother had to die for it to happen.” Hell,
what’s wrong with me? “I came here to work with him—with Rory. I’m an
artist, and he invited me to work on an installation with him. I flew in from
Paris. I had no idea until I arrived that he’d died.” He tried to salvage the
romance that was in what Angel had said to him. “I’m attracted to you, too.”
Matt felt like an idiot.
Angel stared
at him for a few seconds. “Wow, I was in the airport about to board a plane to
Paris when I heard about Rory’s death on the news. Hell of a way to hear about
it, but I drove here instead. That’s weird, huh? You believe in fate then?
Sounds like it.”
Matt winced.
“There’ve been a few incidents in my life that have me believing in something—not
sure what.” Worry stopped him from saying more. He’d lost a lover before with
this kind of revelation. Not that Angel was a lover, yet, but Matt silently admitted
to wishing he could cut through all the preliminary talk and crush Angel to his
body in a hug. When Matt let his need to be with a man free, it overwhelmed
him. He unleashed it then in the hope that Angel would see it and respond. He
longed for the feel of this man’s hard body pressing the full length of his own—longed
for kisses and more. He’d made hash of the meeting after discovering who the
gorgeous guy was, now he had to make up for it. He stared hopefully at Angel.
Matt’s
emotions must have been written on
his face.
Angel’s eyes
filled with what Matt recognized as desire. “It’s been a long time since I had
to drive down the need to grab a guy and kiss him. I’m taking a chance on
telling you that’s what’s happening now, but I can’t seem to care. Events have
torn my heart open. I don’t know how to be, except straightforward. I want you
in my arms.”
Matt’s lower
body tightened. His cock responded to Angel’s words, hardening and pressing up
against his suit pants’ fastening. His balls zapped with sexual tension. He
picked up the whisky and drained the glass. He basked in the aura of masculine
energy that surrounded Angel. It had been long enough between orgasms with a
guy for Matt to wonder if he’d lose his wad when Angel kissed him. “I want to
be there.” He finally whispered.
Angel sipped
at the whisky in his glass. He ran a hand over his forehead.
“How long?”
Angel’s voice was gentle.
Matt’s
thoughts tumbled. “How long?”
“Since you
had a guy in your life.”
“Eighteen
months, give or take a few days.”
Angel shook
his head. “I don’t do ‘one-nighters’. If we connect tonight I’ll expect more, at the very least to see you again soon.
You fill me with an emotion I thought I’d never feel. Is that okay?”
Acceptance
brought a smile to Matt’s face. “It’s great. I’m close to desperate to hold you.”
Happiness lifted his nerves.
“Sorry to be
so intense. I just … I won’t be able to take being messed around.”
Concern
flooded Matt. “I’m the same. I am…” He allowed himself the pleasure of tracing
Angel’s face with his gaze, soaking up the beauty with a sigh. “You’re so, so …
I can’t imagine why you’re alone—why someone hasn’t snapped you up.” Matt
couldn’t find words that wouldn’t sound false. He gave Angel an encouraging smile.
I hope this is the start of something
good—something lasting.
Angel leaned
forward. “You took the words out of my mouth. I’m amazed you’re single. Not many hot-as-hell guys are. My room or
yours?”
The sudden
invitation made Matt’s heart thump. Nervous again now, he went for the safety
of his own territory. “Mine.”
Angel stood.
“The drinks are on my bill. Lead the way.”
To his
disgust, Matt’s hands shook as he walked from the bar and turned to take the
wide stair to the next floor. He snatched his key from his pocket hoping the
act of holding something would stop the tremble. Instead, he fiddled with the
key. His suite was close. He glanced at Angel. “I’m nervous.”
Copyright E. D. Parr, Evernight Publishing
Music video maker,
Angel Starc is about to board a plane to Paris when he receives some sudden sad
news. It takes him hurrying back to his childhood home after two years away,
estranged from his older brother, Rory.
