On the Same Page E-Book

K.C. Wells

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 390

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Secrets: Book Four When a Dom invites a shy bookstore owner to live out his fantasies, more than one life will be transformed. Words are Heath Snow's life. He can't remember a time when he didn't have his nose buried in a book. He couldn't make a living as a writer, so he did the next best thing—he bought a bookstore. But when he's not selling books, he's living vicariously through the characters he encounters. Real men can't hold a candle to the hot men in his favorite genre. The Pride display in the bookstore window may be what captured Xavier James's attention, but the man enthusing about books interests him more. The BDSM book lying next to the cash register is a pleasant surprise, and when he draws attention to it, Heath's flushed cheeks and bright eyes pique Xavier's curiosity even further. Xavier is about to learn that some things are more important than work, and Heath is about to step out of his comfort zone, into a place where fantasy and real life coexist.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Blurb

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

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Copyright

On the Same Page

By K.C. Wells & Parker Williams

Secrets: Book Four

When a Dom invites a shy bookstore owner to live out his fantasies, more than one life will be transformed.

Words are Heath Snow’s life. He can’t remember a time when he didn’t have his nose buried in a book. He couldn’t make a living as a writer, so he did the next best thing—he bought a bookstore. But when he’s not selling books, he’s living vicariously through the characters he encounters. Real men can’t hold a candle to the hot men in his favorite genre.

The Pride display in the bookstore window may be what captured Xavier James’s attention, but the man enthusing about books interests him more. The BDSM book lying next to the cash register is a pleasant surprise, and when he draws attention to it, Heath’s flushed cheeks and bright eyes pique Xavier’s curiosity even further.

Xavier is about to learn that some things are more important than work, and Heath is about to step out of his comfort zone, into a place where fantasy and real life coexist.

To those who’ve followed us from the moment Leo Hart first uttered the word “boy” to Alex Daniels, and to those just starting on the journey with us, we thank you.

As always, a huge thank-you to our team of beta readers. Thank you for seeing what we don’t. ;-)

Chapter One

HEATH SNOW went out into the street to check the display, and had to admit he was more than satisfied with the results. The window of Wordsmith Books was a riot of rainbows. This would be his second Pride Week since he’d bought the shop, and the first one he was actually ready for.

That made him smile. With more than a week to go until the big day, he was already ahead of schedule.

No one could miss this window. Glittery rainbows were suspended from the ceiling, rainbow flags moved gently, thanks to the A/C, and yet more flags lay beneath the titles on display. There was a variety of books to catch the eye, ranging from a history of gay literature, to London and the culture of homosexuality, right down to several bestselling fiction books and My Two Dads and Me, all chosen in honor of Pride—and also with the unspoken hope that while the colorful window would catch the eye, curiosity about the books displayed there would draw the customers inside.

Content, Heath stepped back inside the shop and took a deep breath. Why is it that the smell of books always calms my nerves? Not that he had much to be nervous about these days, thank goodness. Two years ago? Now that was a different matter. Two years ago, he’d stepped out of his comfort zone and bought a bookshop, and ever since, he’d done his best to make a go of it. If the receipts were correct—and they always were—he was doing okay. Nothing to write home about, of course—he wasn’t about to win the Queen’s Award for Enterprise—but he’d made enough to pay the mortgage on the building that doubled as his home.

Plus, I can afford to eat this week. That was something never to be sniffed at.

The grandfather clock standing in the corner of the shop had belonged to his grandparents, before they passed away four years ago at the ripe old age of ninety-three. The clock’s ornate wooden scrollwork and heavy brass weights added to the feel of the place, with its dark varnished floorboards, oak beamed ceiling, and its lingering scent of—

What do books smell of? It was an unquantifiable thing, something perplexing yet nevertheless comforting on a primal level. It wasn’t until he’d had the place about six months that Heath realized he associated the smell of books with his grandparents’ home. That fits, I guess. They’d left him a decent bit of money in their will, which had given him the collateral he’d needed to get a loan for the rest. And it was even more fitting that their clock should be in the shop, ticking away the hours, its weights gleaming in the lights.

Speaking of the clock….

It was closing time. There hadn’t been a customer in over an hour. Still, he’d decided to stay open, just in case someone came by in desperate need of a last-minute read. Heath smiled to himself. Who am I kidding? It’s Pride. Everyone is in a bar, having a good time.

Heath had other ways of having a good time.

As he crossed the floor, its wooden boards glowing warmly in the overhead light, he felt the familiar thrum in his chest when he realized this was his place. Something built maybe not with blood, but with sweat and plenty of tears. During the first year, when he thought he’d go under so many times, somehow he’d managed to pull things together and stay open one more month. It had become his mantra. One more month. Now, at last, he had a bit of breathing room, not to mention a steady clientele. And in the present economic climate, where stores closed down in the blink of an eye due to the pressure of internet sales, such a clientele was worth its weight in gold.

Heath walked over to the heavy wooden front door inset with glass, turned the sign to Closed, then leaned against the doorframe, surveying his kingdom. Another day gone on the journey that had started with a love of reading. When several attempts to write his own book had failed miserably, he’d done the next best thing. Charles Dickens had nailed it all those years ago in Oliver Twist, when Mr. Brownlow had asked the boy—in the movie, at any rate—if he’d like to be a clever man and write books. Oliver had replied he’d rather be a bookseller.

Oliver Twist. Now he had his head screwed on.

One last glance at his store filled Heath with a sense of pride in a job well done. Now that his time was his own again, he reached under the counter for his copy of Master and Servant, then walked through the shop to the rear of the building, where a narrow staircase led up to his flat. One of the perks of living above the shop—when work was done, he was mere steps away from home.

After putting a chicken-and-mushroom pie into the oven, Heath took his book into the cozy little living room, switched on the tall lamp beside the couch, and sat down, his fingers coming into contact with the slim bookmark he’d left between the pages. Time to pick up where I left off. Master Byerley was just getting ready to put his submissive, the cute, pug-nosed Malcolm, through his paces. Heath’s chest heaved and his breathing quickened as he got to his favorite part. Master Byerley was about to paddle his boy’s arse, turning it a brilliant shade of red, not unlike a glass of merlot—deep, rich, and so ready to be sampled. Master Byerley could sample my arse any day. Heath loved Byerley and Malcolm together, loved how they tore up the scenery with every encounter. This was their third book, which Heath had ordered along with the second, as soon as he’d discovered it was a series, and he’d lost track of how many times he’d read and reread those pages, submerging himself into their world. As much as Heath loved his life by day, surrounded by books, he ached for the evenings when he could shut out the real world and lose himself in a fantasy.

“You’ll take it because I require it, boy. Do you understand?”

Malcolm drew in a breath. “Yes, my lord.”

Byerley greased his prod, then spread Malcolm’s cheeks. He groaned loudly as he entered his boy, the tightness gripping him like a velvet fist.

Heath’s dick strained against his zipper, and he reached down to adjust himself. This was better than real life any day. It had been a long time since he’d hooked up with anyone, and that time didn’t even last long enough to qualify as a one-night stand. More like half an hour of some guy grunting while he took Heath, who’d grown bored after the first few minutes and had mentally begun putting together his to-do list for the morning. The man had no style or technique. It was obvious he’d only wanted somewhere warm to stick his cock. But the bar had been about to call last orders, and Heath had badly needed to get off, which was the only reason he’d accepted the invitation in the first place. He couldn’t even recall what the guy had looked like, apart from a lack of hair disguised by a comb-over. His dick had certainly been unmemorable.

After that, Heath saw no reason to be needy again, not when what took place between his ears was way sexier and so much hotter than what took place in someone else’s bed. It was far better to slip into a book and pretend he was Malcolm, with Byerley mounting him from behind, taking what he wanted. Fuck yes. Better than most of the sex he’d had in his thirty-six years.

His erection was starting to ache, so Heath unbuttoned his trousers and slid his fingers beneath his briefs, encountering warm, silken, solid flesh. He gripped his shaft, then glanced at the clock on the wall. The pie still had fifteen minutes to go, so he could definitely make good use of the time.

“Do I please you, my lord?”

Swat. An open hand came down on Malcolm’s arse, causing him to squawk.

“You know better than to talk without being asked. Don’t make me regret sparing you the crop this evening.” Byerley grunted, thrusting into Malcolm in one swift stroke. “You speak when your master wishes it, not before. Do you understand?”

Before Malcolm could reply, another hard swat found its target, the pain hot and sharp.

“Y-yes, my lord.”

Byerley drove his turgid length into Malcolm over and over, each time causing his stable boy to grunt or moan, his round cheeks rippling from the impact. Byerley’s own needs consumed him, but he ran a gentle hand over Malcolm’s backside to calm him and remind him who he belonged to. He grinned to himself when Malcolm babbled about needing to spend. If—when—Malcolm satisfied Byerley’s needs, then Byerley would see to his boy’s.

Fuck, Heath loved this book. Of all the ones he’d read by the author, this was by far his favorite. He closed his eyes, tightened his grip around his now-freed shaft, and moved his hand up and down, slowly stroking himself. In that instant he could almost feel Byerley inside him, using Heath for his pleasure. He could feel the slam of Byerley’s body into his, feel the pleasure/pain as Byerley thrust deep into him.

“Yes, my lord,” Heath gasped. He stood on the edge of the precipice, not daring to come, waiting for Byerley to tell him he could step off and plunge into ecstasy. So close. So fucking—

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

Someone was about to break his front door down, from the sound of it.

“Shit. What the hell?” Heath scowled as he looked at the time. Almost eight thirty. Who would be knocking at his door at this hour?

He shoved his aching, rigid dick back into his pants, wrestled with the zipper, and headed for the stairs, the book still clutched in his hand. As he passed the tiny kitchen, he caught the first ping of the timer. Damn. The pie. He pulled it from the oven, then placed it on the counter before grabbing his book once more and stomping downstairs, ready to give whoever it was a piece of his mind. It says Closed. Can’t they read?

As he strode through the darkened shop, the knocking continued, annoying Heath even more. Through the etched glass, he saw the silhouette of what looked like a broad-shouldered man, wide in the chest, huddled in the doorway to escape the rain that battered against the windows. When did it start raining? Heath pushed the question aside. There could have been an earthquake during the last twenty minutes, and he doubted he’d have noticed, lost in his book—

Which was still in his hand. Heath put it down beside the cash register, then went over to unbolt and unlock the door before yanking it open. As soon as he did, the man turned toward him, and any words Heath had meant to utter fled his mind. Standing there was an insanely sexy, wet man, with a sheepish grin, water beading on his black curls. The combination of dark umber skin and full, thick beard gave him an aura of gravitas, as did his high cheekbones. Full, generous lips that had to be perfect for kissing. But those eyes…. In the light from the shop, they appeared almost black, but his gaze was intense. The jacket the man wore didn’t give much away, but Heath imagined it hid a good build. Not too muscled, but not overly soft either.

Heath swallowed hard. “Can I… help you… uh… sir?”

Chapter Two

XAVIER JAMES shivered in the doorway. I could be home right now. Warm. Dry. Except he knew that was bullshit. As if he’d let Kyle down. Again. He’d never hear the last of it.

He’d been working late, doing his best to get caught up with his project before the meeting the next day. By the time he’d finished, there was no one left in the office besides Reg, the night cleaner. The call of a hot shower and some much-needed rest was too strong to ignore, and Xavier left there in a hurry, trying to avoid the sudden downpours as he made his way to his car. Bloody British summer. The forecasts had been good all week long, promising a dry Pride for a change. And for the most part, they’d been spot on. When the temperature had climbed into the nineties a couple of times, it felt like summer had well and truly arrived.

Cue that evening’s thunderstorm. And torrential downpour. And cool, brisk winds that had whipped up out of what felt like Siberia. The worst of it? The following day promised to be another scorcher, but with all this rain, it was going to be humid as hell.

Xavier aimed an irate glance at the heavens. Make your bloody mind up.

When he’d reached his car, Xavier had thrown his briefcase onto the passenger seat, slid in, and started the engine. He turned the heater up to high, hoping to chase away the chill before he got home. The A/C was on full blast, doing its best to keep the condensation at bay, when his phone rang. He glanced at the display and winced when he saw Kyle’s name.

Now what? He connected the call. “Hello?” The word came out a lot sharper than he’d intended.

“Nice to hear you too, you bastard. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

“As if.” Xavier kept his tone light.

“Listen, I know it’s late, but I wanted to know what time you’re coming tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? Xavier opened his day planner. He had meetings all morning, lunch with a client, and then he was supposed to be taking a dinner meeting with a prospective PA. Nothing in there about meeting Kyle.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Kyle asked, after a moment of silence. The hard edge to his words spoke of his annoyance.

“All right. I forgot. So go on, tell me exactly what I’ve forgotten.”

Kyle sighed deeply. “You might have heard of this. Once a year, best friends get together and celebrate. It’s called a birthday. And I’m having one. Tomorrow. Does a party at the club ring any bells?”

Aw fuck. “I’m sorry, but—”

“No.” Kyle’s brusque retort cut off Xavier’s words. “There will be no buts. The only thing I want to hear from you is ‘yes, Sir.’”

Xavier snorted. “You’re not now, nor will you ever be my Sir.”

Kyle’s chuckle went a long way to alleviating Xavier’s unease. His friend wasn’t that angry. “You know what I mean. You blew us off last year because… what was it? Oh yeah, the copying system was down, and you had to run around to find a place to get ready for some big, important meeting. What’s your excuse this time?”

“Would you believe a big, important meeting? Then I’m going to be taking my new PA to dinner tomorrow night so we can discuss her duties and things like that.”

Kyle coughed. “So you’re into women now?”

“I… what?”

“Well, I figure if you’re blowing us off again, it’s got to be for someone special.”

Xavier snorted. “Ever heard the one about leopards and spots? No. I’ve been working with so many people lately that I need a permanent PA to keep track of them all. I need someone who will learn my schedule and know everything that goes along with it. Right now I’m practically killing myself trying to get it all done.”

Kyle clucked his tongue. “You know what your problem is? You’re always trying to get things done. Ever since you took that job, you’ve been running yourself into the ground, and for what? Now you made me a promise, and I fully expect you to keep it. You said you’d be at the club tomorrow night, with an amazing gift, and we’d have fun. You do remember fun, I hope?”

“Yes, I do,” Xavier said, pushing down hard on his frustration. He hated that his work-life balance sucked.

“Tell you what. You come to the party, have a good time, and I’ll owe you a tattoo.”

Damn it, how did he know? Xavier had been thinking about getting a new one only recently, and Kyle’s ink was the stuff of legends. As the co-owner of Dominant Ink, he was in constant demand, not only for his art but for his patience with nervous first-time clients. It was that ability to calm a person that made him such a great Dom. And his skills with the needle were nothing short of a miracle. He’d done the dragon tattoo on Xavier’s right arm, and the tribal markings on his left. They never failed to get him noticed. A new tattoo? Xavier was sorely tempted.

He went through a mental checklist, trying to work out which meetings could be postponed until later in the week, rescheduling with his PA—who’d have to get used to Xavier’s weird hours if she was going to last—and… yes, he could just about do it.

“I’ll be there,” he promised.

“With a gift,” Kyle reminded him.

Xavier bit back a sigh. If he’d had his PA already hired and trained, all of this would have been on his calendar and the gift would already have been purchased. “With a gift,” he parroted.

Which had brought him to be huddled in the doorway of that little hole-in-the-wall, blink-and-you’d-miss-it bookshop. Earlier in the week, he’d driven by and seen the man in the window, putting together a stunning display for Pride. Xavier was sure to find something suitable in this shop—provided it was still open by the time he got there. Of course, given his overloaded schedule, the store was dark when he reached it. Light filtered through the windows above, so he knew there had to be someone still around. The chances of getting them to come down and open the shop were pretty slim, but he had to try. Kyle had been his best friend since university, and to disappoint him again was unacceptable. Maybe that was why he’d ended up thumping against the door, careful to avoid the glass. What kind of shop doesn’t have a doorbell? But when a light flickered on inside the shop, Xavier shoved aside such irritations. Come on. Let me in, and I’ll make it worth your while.

When the door opened, Xavier blinked several times. The man was about five feet ten, with beautiful green eyes and black hair that lay in gentle waves across his head. His beard was nearly as full as Xavier’s, and meticulously trimmed, with a thick mustache beneath that long, slim nose. But what really caught Xavier’s attention was the fact that the man was trembling. “Can I… help you… uh… sir?” There was even a tremor to his voice.

Now was definitely not the time to be ogling the man, especially since Xavier needed his help. But the way sir tripped off his lips…. Xavier really liked that.

He pulled himself upright and gave the man a reassuring smile. “First off, please forgive me. I’d hoped to make it back here before you closed, but… well, obviously I didn’t. I need help. My friend’s birthday is tomorrow, and I need a gift.”

“Well, we do open at eight in the morning,” the man said, frowning.

Xavier really wanted to make the owner understand how important this was, and he wasn’t above pouting a little, if it got him his way. “I wish I could, but I’m going to be in meetings most of the day. I could ask someone to pick up something for me, but I kind of promised him it would be a special present.” When the man’s expression showed no sign of change, Xavier let out a heavy sigh. “Look, I know you’re closed, and I know you probably wanted to enjoy the rest of your night, but if you could please see your way clear to helping me out…?”

Xavier left the remainder of the sentence unspoken. Either the man would or wouldn’t.

When the guy bit his pale pink lip, it was one of the most adorable things Xavier had ever seen. But what came to mind was an image of him naked, lips puffy from kissing, slowly impaling himself on Xavier’s dick….

Apparently it had been quite a while since Xavier had gotten laid. Too long, in fact. He stifled a groan and sent a silent message to his cock to behave itself.

The man’s sigh echoed his. “Okay, but I really don’t have a lot of time. I need to get some sleep. I’ve got a lot to do in the morning.”

Warmth rushed through Xavier. Thank God, a man with a heart. “Thank you. You’ve saved my life. Probably literally. I promise, I’ll be no more than fifteen minutes.” He held out a hand. “I’m Xavier, by the way. The man who owes you his life.”

“Heath Snow,” the man replied with a shy smile as he took Xavier’s hand in his. “Come on in. Let’s see if we can find something for your friend that will fit the bill.”

The first thing Xavier noticed when he stepped through the door was the shop’s interior was much larger than it had appeared from the outside. Every available inch of space had been used in creative ways. The far corner of the room had a forest-green carpet with a starburst pattern, and atop it sat a circle of chairs, each a shade of the rainbow, surrounding a large, low table strewn with upside-down coffee cups. There was a podium behind the front window, on which sat an old-fashioned cash register, and the walls were lined with a mismatch of shelves, some metal, some wood. The rest of the floor was wood, a warm color that gave the place life. If Xavier had to choose a word to describe the shop, it would be kitschy.

“I love the design. Did you do it yourself?”

Heath’s cheeks pinked as he glanced around the shop with obvious pride. “Yes, thanks. I went around to some bookshop before I opened, and they seemed fairly sterile. I wanted this place to be different. Warm, inviting.” He waved a hand in the direction of the chairs. “There are readings every so often, and a book club meets here once a week. There’s a coffee maker in the back, but it’s off for the night. I could make some if you’d like, but it might take a bit of time.”

Xavier shook his head. “Thank you for the offer, but I did make you a promise to be in and out in fifteen minutes.” Still, he loved how animated Heath got as he pointed out features of the shop. It was obvious the man loved it and had invested a small fortune in getting it to look this way. Xavier stared at the table covered with neat piles of books. “I have to admit, it makes a pleasant change to find a place like this. What with e-books and things, I figured bookshops were going the way of the dinosaurs.”

Heath shrugged. “A lot of people like having a real book in their hand. They like the smell of the pages, its weight as they hold it. Plus, it’s easier to fit a book into a pocket. A Kindle or iPad tends to be less forgiving if you try to bend it.” He laughed at his own joke, then blushed.

The unassuming peal of laughter fit Heath perfectly, and Xavier wanted to know more about him. With a great effort, he pulled himself back into the moment. “Right. Let me get to finding a book so you can get some sleep. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

Another cute shrug. “It’s no problem, really. I tend to think customer service is a rare commodity these days, and if I can help someone out, I’ll do my best. What kind of book does your friend like?”

Xavier considered the question. “Something with a lot of pictures.” When Heath bit back a smile, Xavier rolled his eyes. “He’s got a collection of coffee table books that would probably fill most of your shelves. Lots of photos of men, but… artistic. I mean, we’re not talking porn, okay? Some of the books date back to the early thirties. He’s always been fascinated by things like that. Of course, he’s a tattoo artist, so he loves the visual element.”

Heath tilted his head to one side. “Photos of men?” He brightened. “Oh, I think I might have the perfect gift for him.” He bounced on his heels, and Xavier found his obvious excitement contagious. Heath hurried to the shelves and ran his finger along the spines of the books. When he found the one he was searching for, he let out a whoop. “Eureka!”

He rushed back to where Xavier stood, and placed the book on the desk by the cash register. On the front was The Invisibles: Vintage Portraits of Love and Pride by Sébastien Lifshitz. He opened the pages and pointed at a few images. “These were pictures that they culled from garage sales and the like. Early snapshots of gay history that might have been lost, if not for the author.”

As Heath flipped through a few more pages, Xavier knew instantly this was indeed the perfect gift for Kyle. The artistry was gorgeous, and the black-and-white photos were a stark reminder of the lives people lived in years gone by.

“I’ll take it. Can you wrap it for me?”

“Of course, sir. I’d be happy to.”

Xavier felt a tingle run along his spine at Heath’s words. He loved it when people called him Sir, but from Heath’s lips, it sounded more like a promise. Heath deftly wrapped the book in a translucent light blue paper, which captured the lights of the store.

“How much do I owe you?”

Heath’s fingers danced over the till, and then he looked up. “Twenty-two pounds.”

Xavier frowned. The book was much cheaper than he thought. It certainly wasn’t worth Heath giving up sleep for it. “Do you have gift cards too?”

“We do. What would you like?”

Well, I did promise Kyle a present. “How about you add a hundred-pound gift card on top of that? That should make for a stellar present.”

Xavier could have laughed when Heath’s eyes bugged out. “A hundred…. Are you sure? I mean, please don’t think I’m trying to dissuade you, but—”

Xavier chuckled. “I can’t recall the last time someone tried to talk me out of a purchase.”

Heath’s eyes grew larger. “No, I wasn’t… I mean, I don’t….” He sighed and his chin dropped. “You must think me a fool. I’m not trying to talk you out of it, honestly. It’s just… I never want a customer to be unhappy with something they got from me. This shop is my life, and I want everyone who walks through the door to know I’ll do whatever I can to make them happy.”

Warmth bloomed in Xavier’s chest as he noted Heath’s earnest expression. If it meant a chance to see it on Heath’s face again, he’d gladly have added to his purchases. But Xavier wasn’t interested in buying affection. He could go to the club and be fawned over by the subs there. Still, there was something about Heath that put a knot in Xavier’s stomach. He’d rarely seen someone so willing to please. And for a brief moment, he wondered how far that willingness would extend.

There’s something about you, Heath Snow….

Xavier reined in his interest and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease you. Yes, I’m certain about the card. I very much appreciate you doing this. You’re a lifesaver.”

A flush crawled up Heath’s neck. “You’re welcome, Mr.… I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your last name.”

“James. Xavier James. But please, call me Xavier.”

He could think of a few more things he’d like Heath to call him—not to mention the specific circumstances in which to hear them. Xavier shook his head to clear that image from his mind. He’d never been one to let a pretty face sway him, but Heath?

I am so swayed.

“Let me pay for this as fast as I can, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Heath gave a shy smile. “Oh, you’re not… I mean, if you want, you can look around.”

It took a supreme effort to not reach out and cup Heath’s cheek. “No, you need your sleep. And I have to get home so I can go in for early meetings. But I’ll definitely be back. I like this store very much.”

A flush crawled up Heath’s neck, spreading slowly over his face. “Thank you,” he whispered, looking down at the book in his hand.

Heath was simply too adorable for words.

Xavier tugged his attention away from Heath and glanced at the counter next to the cash register. A solitary book lay there, and its provocative cover caught Xavier’s eye: two men in period costume, one standing with a crop in his hand, the other kneeling before him, head bowed. It was obviously a BDSM title, and Xavier’s pulse quickened.

Then he noticed the state of the book. Judging by the highly creased spine, and the state of the pages, the book had been read many times.

Well, well, well….

He couldn’t resist. “That looks like it would be interesting reading.”

Heath jerked his head up, his face ablaze. He swallowed hard and his eyes widened. “I… I… I….” Heath snatched the book away and slid it beneath the counter. “It’s… for a customer.”

Xavier grinned. “I see.” At least, he hoped to God he did see. It seemed too much to hope for—Heath’s demeanor, his interest in the lifestyle…. And if he was willing to explore it within the confines of a book, might he be willing to take it a step further? The things I could show you, the places I could take you…. Real life was better than any book, no matter how well written.

Xavier made a quick decision. “Do you have a paper and pen?”

“Sure.” Heath opened a drawer and pulled out the requested items, then placed them on the counter.

Xavier quickly scribbled down the address for the club before he could change his mind. “My friend, the one I’m buying the present for, is having a small party tomorrow at this address. I thought maybe you might want to join us. It would be a fun evening.” Xavier’s heartbeat was racing at the thought.

Heath’s smile fell. “Oh. There’s only me, so I’m here from open to close, I’m afraid. And that can be as late as seven or eight, depending on customers.”

Xavier frowned. “Couldn’t you close early? I’d love for you to come.” And if I’ve read him all wrong, then I’m going to have some explaining to do. Xavier was willing to risk being embarrassed. He decided to play the guilt card again. It wasn’t fair, but if Heath did find the lifestyle interesting, then why shouldn’t he have the opportunity to explore it? “It would mean a lot to me. If you can’t close early, that shouldn’t be a problem. The party will probably go on until quite late. You could come after you’ve closed for the night.”

“Well….” Heath glanced around the store. “I guess I could try.”

Xavier put a hand on Heath’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “I hope you can make it.” He picked up the pen again and scribbled his work and home numbers down. “If you need anything, or if your plans change, you can reach me at one of these.” He held out the paper, his shaking hand the only indication of how badly he wanted this.

Heath’s eyes widened as he slipped the paper into his pocket. “Here you go.” He held out the bag containing the book and the gift card. Their fingers brushed, and Heath sucked in a breath.

“And you will think about the party?”

Heath smiled. “I’m making no promises… but I will try.”

“I can’t ask for more than that, can I? Good night, and thank you again.” Xavier opened the door and stepped back out into the night. The rain had finally stopped, so he turned down the collar of his jacket, then glanced back and noticed Heath watching him through the glass. Xavier raised his hand, and Heath hesitantly returned the wave, appearing a little startled by the gesture.

Xavier headed back to his car, warmth spreading through his body. He couldn’t wait for the party.

Because he’ll be there. He has to be.

Chapter Three

CHIME. CHIME.Chime. Chime.

Heath groaned as he reached out from under the sheet to thump the alarm clock. Six thirty already? As always, there was that little internal voice, the silky one that said, Forget the shop. Stay in bed and read.

One of these days, he’d actually listen to it and follow its suggestion.

Except he knew it would never happen. It was just a pleasant dream.

Reality was something entirely different. The bookshop was his life, and if he wasn’t ready to open at nine, he risked losing out on customers. And even if his last-minute customer—Xavier, he recalled, a flush of heat crawling through him—had purchased the largest gift card Wordsmith’s had ever sold, it was a small drop in a very large ocean. Heath still needed to make as much money as he could. The building mortgage was held by the bank, and if he had any hopes of getting out from under that debt before he was old enough to retire, he had to banish that silky, seductive inner voice, get up, and start his day.

As he set up the coffee machine, he noted his dinner from the night before, still sitting on the counter, and frowned. I didn’t eat after Xavier left. Not that it was a surprise to him. That invite to Xavier’s friend’s party had left him with his head in a whirl. It was so… surreal. What kind of person invites someone they don’t know to join them at a private affair? Heath hadn’t even asked what he should wear.

Wait—that sounds like I’m considering turning up. Then he smiled. Why the hell not? The idea sent yet more heat surging through him, but Heath put it down to the warmth of the day. One glance at the thermometer attached to his window told him it was already warming up out there. Flaming June strikes again.

Party clothes would have to wait. He threw the pie into the dustbin, then went into the bathroom for a quick shower. The water heater, an ancient thing, could barely hold it together long enough for a five-minute spray of lukewarm water. It was on his list of things to get fixed, and he’d saved up about half of what he needed for a new one, but it wasn’t his highest priority. For now, that honor went to advertising and to coming up with ways to make new inroads to LGBT groups to raise his standing in the community. While Wordsmith had books for everyone, Heath really wanted to be a part of something bigger.

The tepid water helped to wake Heath up a little. By the time he was dried and dressed, his toast eaten and his first cup of coffee drunk, he felt almost human again. He ran through his checklist of things to be done before he opened. Today was a big day, and everything had to be just right.

He headed down to the shop, flipping the switch on the big stainless-steel urn as he passed by so it could heat. Once that was started, Heath dusted and polished the shelves, vacuumed where there was carpet, then swept the remaining hardwood floor. When that was done, he adjusted the chairs so they were in order by color of the rainbow, then set up the pots of regular and decaf coffee, ensuring he had cans of soft drinks and pitchers of water at the ready. When someone knocked, Heath glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was already after eight. He rushed to the door and flung it open.

“Good morning, Mr. Snow!”

A rush of hot, humid air blew past Heath, and he groaned. Weather like this would mean he’d have to crank up the air conditioner. “Hi, Dave. Sorry I didn’t have the door open—I hadn’t realized how late it was.”

Dave stepped through the door so Heath could close it, then held up a box. “It’s not a problem. I’ve got your order of two dozen assorted pastries.” He grinned. “That I slogged all the way here to deliver.”

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