RAINDROPS AND ROSES


�ŚI don’t believe in insta -love or what some call love at first sight. But sometimes the chemistry between two people is so strong and so compelling it’s overwhelming. A time when normal commonsense takes a vacation and anything approaching rational thinking goes along with it for the ride.

For me, this was one of those times. And I knew he felt it, too. That’s why we continued to sit here, staring at one another like we were under a spell or something.

�śCan I buy you a cup of tea?” he asked.

�śUmm�Ś” I tried to break eye contact and failed. I knew I was in trouble. If I had any sense, I’d make up an excuse and go, now, while I still had the chance. And do what? Wonder what if,wish I’d acted differently and then come back in the hope he was still here?

The waitress placed a pot of tea and a bowl of soup in front of Michael. �śYour sandwich will be up in a minute,” she said before turning to me. �śAnd what can I get for you, sir?”

�śI�Śer�ŚI don’t know. I�Ś” I glanced around for inspiration, a menu, wishing I didn’t feel so unsure, so vulnerable, so completely unlike my normal self. I gripped the edge of the table in an effort to get my thoughts back on track. I don’t do flustered. I’m the calm, cool, collected type. The guy people turn to when things get out of hand and panic sets in.

�śBring him the same as what I’m having,” Michael interjected smoothly. �śThanks, Sara.”

The waitress left, and he reached under the table and laid a hand on my knee. �śAre you alright?”

�śI’m okay.” I forced a grin. �śJust a tad discombobulated, as they say�Ś”





ALSO BY CHRISTIANE FRANCE


And The Cat Came Back Anything You Can Do Blues In The Night Chance Encounter The Club At Cool Harbor The Cop And The Drifter Crossing The Line French Twist

The Gallery On Main Street I’m Sorry

The Impossible Dream Independence Day I & II It Happened In Las Vegas Les Hommes, Vols. I & II Love Matters

Missing Presumed Dead Oh, George

On Days Like These Once Upon A Secret Reincarnation

Some Place Only We Know Strangers In The Night A Taste Of Honey This Time For Keeps Wishing On The Moon





RAINDROPS AND ROSES


BY

CHRISTIANE FRANCE


AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC


http://www.AmberQuill.com

TITLE





AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK


This book is a work of fiction.

All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

Copyright © 2012 by Christiane France ISBN 978-1-61124-356-7

Cover Art © 2012 Trace Edward Zaber

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

For Roy and The Boys. And for Ro, who loves kitties as much as I do.





RAINDROPS AND ROSES


London, September 30 I’ve always found something infinitely sad about a wet day, and watching the raindrops slide down the window of my London hotel room only made it worse. For me, rain goes hand-in-hand with sad events like funerals, lost chances and empty dreams. Today, it signified the end of a brief affair I wished could last a lifetime. A cosmic cleaning service to wash away the memories and drown out any hope that, just maybe, tomorrow things would be better.

Except tomorrow won’t be any better. Or the day after that, or the next one, or any other day in the next hundred years.

If�Ś

If I hadn’t been between projects at work, I wouldn’t even be here. And if I hadn’t decided to check out that cute basement teashop, I wouldn’t have tripped on my way down the stairs. Of course, if I hadn’t tripped, I wouldn’t have been saved from possible injury and certain embarrassment by a stranger’s quick thinking and outstretched arms. And if none of that had happened, I wouldn’t be standing here now feeling as if my life was over.

I’d known the moment Michael touche d me and our eyes met I was heading for heartbreak rather than love everlasting. My assignment in London had finished yesterday and today I would be leaving. All that was left for me to do was finish my packing and get through the last few hours. Knowing that, I should have thanked him politely and made a quick escape. Instead, I’d lingered. We’d had lunch together and chatted the afternoon away. I have no idea what we talked about, just meaningless chitchat to hold onto the moment. Then, when the teashop closed, instead of going our separate ways, we’d gone to his place and listened to music.

Later, we walked to Soho and dined at a tiny, very romantic Italian restaurant he knew about. We ordered the house special, spaghetti Bolognese, or spag-bol as Michael called it, and a bottle of Chianti, then spent last night together.

By this morning, I was in so deep I didn’t want to leave. �śHey, Drew, what time did you say your flight goes?” Michael gave me a hug, along with another unnecessary and painful reminder our time together was all but over. �śIs it two or two- thirty?”

�śTwo-thirty.” Another hour, and I’ll call the front desk to have someone collect my luggage and find us a cab.

We’d agreed not to make stupid promises to keep in touch. If we were meant to be, then it would happen. But we both knew a long distance affair would never work; we lived too far apart. And I shouldn’t have prolonged the agony by agreeing to let Michael see me off, but he’d insisted, and I hadn’t had the heart to say no.

Goodbyes are a total bitch and I could already see this one playing out in my mind: After I check in with the airline, the two of us will have a drink or two at the bar. Then, like the characters in an old black-andwhite movie, we’ll rehash the past twenty-four hours and get to feeling more and more miserable while we watch the minutes and seconds tick away, until the time finally comes to say our last farewells.

Already my throat feels tight, but I’ll do my best not to cry and make an idiot of myself. If I do, I can seeit now�Ś Michael, his expressive gray eyes dark with pain, will try to comfort me by saying something trite like, �śToo bad you don’t live here.” Or maybe, �śToo bad we didn’t meet the day you arrived.” For one last time, he’ll hold me, pressed tight against his hard body. And for one last, wonderful, but agonizing moment, I’ll smell his special scent and feel his mouth on mine. He’ll walk with me as far as the security check, where we’ll hesitate. And then, before I continue on and he turns away to retrace his steps, he’ll hand me the single red rose he bought on our way back from breakfast and tucked in his buttonhole for safety. We’ll smile and blow each other one final kiss. I’ll take a deep breath, blank my mind, and walk away.

With a little luck, this time tomorrow, Michael Dawson, England, and the past twenty-four hours will be nothing more than a memory.

I moved away from the window to give the room a final check, make sure I hadn’t left anything behind. I don’t dare look at Michael, or�"

The phone rang.

* * * London, two weeks earlier I deplaned at London’s Heathrow to what one of the flight attendants announced were clear blue skies, a gentle breeze and warm September sunshine. It sounded like a nice welcome after the high winds and torrential downpour I’d left behind in Toronto.

I looked around at my sleepy-eyed fellow passengers as we made our way through the airport. I’m not crazy about overnight flights. For me, it’s like being pulled out of my comfort zone and dropped off in unknown territory. I was tired, irritable, and having trouble believing I was even here. But the company had needed a body to solve a problem, and I’d happened to be available.

I glanced at my watch. A few minutes after six in the morning British time, and passenger traffic was a mere trickle compared to the crowd scene I’d expected. I didn’t know if it was due to flight delays from elsewhere or if I’d just been lucky and hit a temporary lull. Whatever the reason, I wasn’t about to complain. Instead of standing for hours in long lineups that moved at a snail’s pace, I cleared passport control, claimed my luggage and was through customs inspection in record time. As I exited through the door into Arrivals, I scanned the waiting crowd until I caught sight of a uniformed limo driver holding up a sign marked Drew McEvoy, Falton International. I beckoned the man forward and introduced myself.

I hadn’t slept on the plane and I hoped to catch a couple of hours once I checked into the hotel. But by the time we made it out of airport parking and onto the highway, I knew that wasn’t likely to happen. Traffic into the city was the complete opposite of my trip through the airport�"morning rush hour, which translated to one huge traffic jam, or tailback as the Brits call it. Resigning myself to the joys of stop and go for the entire journey, I swallowed a yawn, leaned back against the soft upholstery and closed my eyes.

I’d been with Falton International since graduating college. The company specializes in the renovation and restoration of old buildings and has completed jobs all over the world. When I started, like every other new employee, I’d begun at the bottom doing a little bit of everything, slowly moving up as I learned the business until I reached my present position as a senior project manager.

The company CEO, Grey Falton, is one of those hands-on, hasto-do-it-all-himself types. The kind who keeps a close check on every aspect of the company’s business and its employees, and insists on daily status reports for each and every job on the books. When Grey intercepted me on my way into the office yesterday morning, I’d had no idea what he wanted, but he’d cut straight to the chase.

He said he’d quoted on a couple of jobs in England he figured he hadn’t a hope in hell of getting, but a few days ago, the unexpected had happened. The company he’d expected to succeed had withdrawn due to what were rumored to be financial problems, and Falton was declared the lowest bidder. This put us in possession of what promised to be two very lucrative contracts: one to restore an abandoned, old-money family estate on the outskirts of London into habitable condition; and the second to restore the building, but modernize the kitchens and bathrooms of a once-famous but outdated hotel property on the south coast with a view to it regaining its former popularity.

He said work was scheduled to start over the next few months. Office space had been leased in London and a skeleton staff hired to set things up. What he needed now was someone to provide a stabilizing head office presence in London while he found the right person to act as general manager to oversee both projects.

While he was thrilled to get the work, the fact remained that thanks to the lousy economy, all the big international corporations were under constant scrutiny by the media. Exhibit the slightest problem or expose the smallest crack and our public image could suffer. To reduce the risk of anything like this happening to Falton, he needed to send someone over to hold the fort. And if I hadn’t already guessed, that’s where I came in. He needed someone in the London office for two weeks, absolute max. I was between jobs and if I would kindly get my ass on the first available flight for London the problem would be solved.

For now, any and all preliminary work related to the contracts was being handled from Toronto. All I would be required to do was look busy, push some papers around, answer any questions from the media with the standard line that everything was on track, smile for the cameras and leave it at that. In other words, he wanted someone to act as interim window-dressing and make it clear to all interested parties that Falton International was up for the job.

Privately, I thought he was paranoid, or at the very least worrying for nothing, but I kept the thoughts to myself. The ink on the contract was barely dry, and good faith had been shown by opening and staffing a London office. What more did the media hounds want? They had to know Falton getting the work was the result of another bidder’s misfortune. Juicy stuff like that is impossible to keep under wraps. But I knew Grey was right about the media’s penchant for sniffing out the slightest hint of trouble and making it sound like a double-dipped major disaster instead of a minor glitch. And that being the case, I couldn’t fault him for taking precautions.

If a hotshot reporter found out Falton was still for looking for someone to take overall charge of the projects, the situation would be blown out of all proportion. No allowances would be made and no excuses given. The report would be slanted just enough to stir things up, make the company look incompetent, and encourage the public to ask stupid but provocative questions.

The driver slammed on his brakes, jerking me out of my reverie. I opened my eyes and glanced out the window. I saw nothing I recognized, just a depressing view of post-WWII housing, neglected patches of garden and what I figured were old, abandoned buildings awaiting either a buyer with money to spend or demolition.

The last time I was in England was the summer after I graduated from college. A group consisting of five friends and myself spent three months backpacking through Europe, hitting the must-see spots like London, Paris and Rome, but that was a lifetime ago. We were young, on our own, free from authority figures, and desperate for new experiences. As a result, we’d pushed the limits and done everything to excess. When I thought back now to all the crazy fun we’d had, it seemed more like something I’d dreamed about after a hard night’s partying than something that had actually happened.

We’d hung out in town squares and sung for our supper. We’d slept on the beaches when our money ran short. And there were the times we’d attached ourselves to bus tours and visited museums and other tourist attractions for free, just to prove we could get away with it. Most of what we got up to was innocent fun, but there had been a few things that were not. Such as running out on a restaurant check we knew we couldn’t afford before we sat down, and snagging beer and smokes while the store owner’s back was turned. Then there was the time one of the guys in our group tried getting friendly with a local girl, and she’d responded by yelling for the cops and screaming rape. Lucky for him, the girl was drunk and known to the cops for making false accusations. They let him go with a warning, but it was a nasty few hours and a salutary lesson for us all. We hadn’t needed a second reminder to understand there’s nothing fun or romantic about a foreign jail, or that getting thrown into one can be a whole lot easier than getting out.

The traffic was, at last, beginning to pick up speed. I noticed Marble Arch a short distance ahead, but then we turned off at the next set of lights. After what seemed like a crazy switchback ride through a series of narrow streets, the limo came to a velvetsmooth stop in front of what the driver announced was my hotel.

I’d checked Jasper’s out on the Internet while waiting for my flight. The location is great. It’s near Oxford Street, London’s main shopping district, and occupies a fabulous, newly renovated, multistory, centuries’ old, red brick building. It’s one of the new, super trendy, upscale boutique hotels, no doubt expensive as hell as no prices werementioned, and it was Grey Falton’s choice rather than mine. Which was fine with me since he was the one picking up the tab.

Grey said there were several reasons why he preferred Jasper’s to the big chain hotels: it was quiet, comfortable, no more than a five-minute walk from our new London office, and with the property being owned by an old friend, he’d been able to negotiate an attractive corporate rate. On top of that, Jasper’s served the most delicious full English breakfasts, and I was to be sure to check out the wonderful French bistro across the street�"Chez Moustique, where the cuisine, in Grey’s opinion, was unequaled in all of London.

I tipped the driver, took possession of my luggage, and walked through the open door into Jasper’s lobby. If the boss wanted me to have what amounted to a paid overseas vacation, I’d do my best not to disappoint.

* * * The guest rooms at Jasper’s were all individually named and decorated. I was in the Robin Hood room on the top floor. The décor was hunter green and white with touches of gold, heavy dark wood furniture and the wall art a mixture of old-fashioned hunting scenes set in bosky dells and sunny woodland glades. Too fussy for my taste, but I didn’t have to live with it, just put up with it for a week or two. The bathroom was a whole different story, like something out of a magazine�"the epitome of luxury, complete with a shower massage, a whirlpool tub, plus a stack of thick, white, fluffy towels and a basketful of expensive toiletries.

After I finished unpacking, I took a quick shower and dressed to impress in a charcoal business suit, a plain white shirt and a discreetly patterned tie. Window dressing or not, I was the face of the company for the time being and I needed to look the part.

The office was located on the main floor of another older building not far from Jasper’s. The door was wide open, so I went in and introduced myself to the skeleton staff I’d been told was composed of Rose, the receptionist-cum-secretary for now, and Ari and Vineet, a pair of IT technicians who were busy unpacking and installing computers. I explained that I was in charge temporarily while a few last minute details were worked out back at head office and they finished getting things set up here in London. Once that was all that done, someone else would take over from me and more staff would be hired. In the meantime, any questions or problems should be directed my way.

I’d picked up a coffee and a newspaper on my way and, with introductions out of the way, I snagged the only office that had a desk, chair and computer, went inside and closed the door. I sipped the coffee, glanced at the headlines, then leaned back in what was an amazingly comfortable chair. I didn’t expect to receive any phone calls or interruptionsand I wasn’t disappointed. What I got instead was almost three hours of deep, refreshing sleep.

I awoke starving, not too surprising since I don’t like airplane food and my last meal was the burger and fries I’d eaten while waiting for my flight in Toronto.

I told Rose I was going for lunch, then headed farther down the street to a pub I’d noticed on the next corner. I ordered the daily special, which happened to be a favorite�"fish and chips with mushy peas. I could tell it was a frozen entree rather than freshly made, but washed down with half a pint of light ale, it tasted fine.

When I was through with lunch, I went back to the office, read the rest of the newspaper, did the crossword and played computer solitaire for a while. I stared at the phone a few times, willing it to ring, but of course nothing happened. Just before five, I said goodnight and see you tomorrow to Rose and the two IT guys and left.

Holding the fort in London for a couple of weeks had sounded great. But my days were normally spent trying to beat the clock rather than watch it, and after one day of doing nothing, I was bored.

Tomorrow, instead of twiddling my thumbs, I’d spend the time surfing the Net�"check out the clubs, the theaters, and the restaurants and make a list of things to see and do while I was here. One weekend I could rent a car and drive down to Brighton or one of the other resort towns on the south coast. Or maybe find one of those picturesque old inns where I could spend a day or two exploring the countryside.

There were fors and againsts being alone in a strange city �"the fors meant not having to consider anyone but myself. The biggest against was the loneliness factor, which was easily dealt with by keeping busy.

With that thought in mind, rather than return to the hotel and spend the evening watching TV or staring at the walls, I went for a stroll along Oxford Street. After a couple of hours walking and window shopping, I went into one of the better hotels for dinner, ordered roast beef with all the trimmings and half a bottle of good red wine.

I hate eating alone in a classy restaurant; it’s the pits. Linger too long and who knows what the waiter might think or what ideas some of the other lone diners might get. I’d already noticed an older guy shooting speculative glances my way. Maybe I was reading him wrong, but rather than let him think I might be interested, I finished my wine, paid the tab and got the hell out of there. I thought about checking out a movie or a bar, just for something to do, but I wasn’t in the mood. Between jetlag and all the walking I’d done, I was beat. I had two whole weeks in which to sightsee and go clubbing, plenty of time in which to do it all.

* * * London, September 29 After two weeks of mild temperatures and glorious sunshine, the perfect weather for sightseeing, I awoke to dark skies and a hint of rain. By noon, the hint had developed into a full-blown downpour. Since arriving in London, I’d found a number of ways to help fill in the hours between nine and five. One was going for a walk each day before finding somewhere to have lunch. Today, with no umbrella and a walk out of the question, I stopped at the first place I came to�"the basement teashop in the next block that advertised homemade soups and hot snacks. I’d been intending to check it out several times before and this was my last chance.

Yesterday, I’d received the call I’d been expecting every day since I arrived: someone had been hired to take over the London operation, and I’d been assigned a project I desperately wanted�" restoring a burned-out hotel in old Montreal. My return flight had been arranged and this time tomorrow, I would be back with my family, friends and the people I knew. My time in London had been fun in many ways and I’d met some nice people. But after two weeks on my own, I could hardly wait to get on that plane. I was ready to go home.

Partway down the basement steps, my feet went out from under me. Suddenly, I was in free-fall with arms flailing and hands grabbing. But instead of landing on my ass or my face, I was saved by a pair of outstretched arms attached to a deliciously firm body.

�śHoly�"”

�śHey. Steady on there.” The speaker was male, dark-haired, several inches taller and a few pounds heavier than me. As I regained my balance, he relaxed his hold, and I found myself captured by a quizzical smile and beautiful, soft grey eyes.

I tried to look away, but something in his gaze held me prisoner. I blinked a couple of times and rubbed a hand over my face. �śWhat happened?”

�śI have no idea. Come sit down. Catch your breath.” He returned to his table and pulled out a chair, indicating I should join him.

I glanced back at the steps, then sat and checked the bottoms of my shoes. Nothing! �śIt felt like I slipped on something.”

�śEasy enough to do on a wet day like this.”

�śI guess. I was in a rush to get out of the rain.”

A smile teased the corners of his mouth. �śYou’re an American, right?”

I returned his smile. �śRight continent, wrong country. I’m Canadian.”

�śOops!”

�śNo problem. We’re the ones who say �Śeh’ rather than �Śgee whiz,’ or so I’ve been told.”

�śI’ll try to remember that.” He laughed and held out a hand. �śI’m Michael Dawson.”

�śDrew McEvoy.” His handshake was firm, dry and lingered about two seconds too long.

I don’t believe in insta-love or what some call love at first sight. But sometimes the chemistry between two people is so strong and so compelling it’s overwhelming. A time when normal commonsense takes a vacation and anything approaching rational thinking goes along with it for the ride.

For me, this was one of those times. And I knew he felt it, too. That’s why we continued to sit here, staring at one another like we were under a spell or something.

�śCan I buy you a cup of tea?” he asked.

�śUmm�Ś” I tried to break eye contact and failed. I knew I was in trouble. If I had any sense, I’d make up an excuse and go, now, while I still had the chance. And do what? Wonder what if, wish I’d acted differently and then come back in the hope he was still here?

The waitress placed a pot of tea and a bowl of soup in front of Michael. �śYour sandwich will be up in a minute,” she said before turning to me. �śAnd what can I get for you, sir?”

�śI�Śer�ŚI don’t know. I�Ś” I glanced around for inspiration, a menu, wishing I didn’t feel so unsure, so vulnerable, so completely unlike my normal self. I gripped the edge of the table in an effort to get my thoughts back on track. I don’t do flustered. I’m the calm, cool, collected type. The guy people turn to when things get out of hand and panic sets in.

�śBring him the same as what I’m having,” Michael interjected smoothly. �śThanks, Sara.”

The waitress left, and he reached under the table and laid a hand on my knee. �śAre you alright?”

�śI’m okay.” I forced a grin. �śJust a tad discombobulated, as they say.”

�śFalling down a flight of stairs can do that,” Michael said.

�śIt wasn’t that bad.”

�śNo, but for a moment or two it throws the whole world out of whack and leaves one quivering like a newborn left unattended on a street corner.”

�śYou think?”

�śI know so. It’s happened to me. You’ll feel better once you’ve had a cup of tea and something to eat.”

He’d summed up exactly how I felt, but I didn’t see how tea could help. And I wasn’t sure I liked a virtual stranger being able to read me like an open book.

�śI’m sorry. I should go.”

Before I could put my words into action, Michael gripped my hand tightly, a flicker of something approaching panic in his grey eyes. �śNo, please don’t go.” He hesitated. �śAt least stay and have your lunch.”

As he slackened his grip, my need to run dissipated and I began to feel more like my normal self. The self that reminded me meeting someone as attractive as Michael was a rare occurrence. That I should go with the flow and see what happened, even though it was my last day here. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t. After all, what did I have to lose? This time tomorrow I’d be at the airport, waiting for my flight home.

Michael’s sandwich and my order arrived together. I’m not a huge fan of cream of celery soup or cucumber sandwiches, but it could have been a mixture of snails and puppy dog tails on toast for all I cared. And while I almost never drink tea, once I took a sip, I realized the hot, strong brew was exactly what I needed.

�śAre you over here on vacation?” Michael asked.

�śNo. It’s a work-related thing. The company I’m with is in the process of opening a London office. I’ve been helping set things up.”

�śSo the position is temporary?”

�śUntil our head office finds a permanent general manager to take over. What about you? You work somewhere close by?”

�śI’m an acquisitions editor for a publisher. Their offices are across the street, but I mostly work from home. Once or twice a week I come into the office, drop off whatever I’ve finished working on and pick up the latest crop of unsolicited manuscripts.”

�śHave you ever found any bestsellers?”

�śOnly in my dreams.” His smile changed to a sigh. �śMost of the time, I despair of finding anything that’s even readable, never mind publishable.”

I tasted the soup. It was better than I’d expected and definitely not from a can. I reached for the sandwich and took a bite. Mmm�ŚI closed my eyes and sighed with pleasure. The bread also tasted homemade, like it came straight from my grandma’s kitchen. �śThis is so good.”

�śI know. I’ve been coming here for years. Everything’s homemade and they don’t charge a bomb.” He finished his tea, then beckoned the waitress over and ordered a fresh pot. �śAnd you can also bring us a couple of your lovely scones with lashings of strawberry jam and clotted cream,” he added. �śI want to give my friend here a real English treat.”

While we ate, we talked about everything and nothing. We discovered we had a lot in common�"we both loved visiting faraway places, detective stories, black-and-white movies and jazz, and that neither of us had any interest in heavy metal bands or anything tagged as scifi. Long after we’d finished lunch we continued to sit and talk, until Michael suddenly said, �śGood grief, is that the time?”

I followed his glance to the clock on the wall, surprised to see the afternoon had disappeared and it was a few minutes after five o’clock. The office had my cell number. If I’d been needed for any reason, Rose would have called. I took out my phone and checked for messages. Nothing!

�śWas there somewhere you needed to be?” I asked, hoping the reverse to be true.

�śNo. What about you?”

The only items on my desk awaiting attention were a half-read newspaper, a magazine I’d found in my hotel room, and an unfinished crossword puzzle. In fact, meeting Michael had saved me from what would have otherwise been my last afternoon of complete and utter boredom. �śNothing that can’t wait.”

* * * When we left the teashop, the rain had stopped, the sun was out and the pavements were dry.

I hadn’t wanted to leave. I wanted to forget this was my last day. I wanted to spend forever inside that magic bubble gazing into Michael’s grey eyes, but the place closed at five so we were given no choice.

It was put up or shut up time, and I didn’t have a clue what to say or do. I’d thought we were on the same wavelength, but Michael hadn’t said anything. Now I was afraid the first corner we came to, he’d go his way, I’d go mine and that would be it. Maybe I’d read him all wrong and he wasn’t interested. Maybe he already had someone in his life. Maybe he was straight. No, I knew I was wrong on all three counts. If even one of them were true, after saving me from breaking my neck, he wouldn’t have lingered. Once I regained my balance, he would have gone about his business. He wouldn’t have treated me to lunch and stayed with me the whole afternoon.

So, was he waiting for me to say something?

As we walked, I juggled a few ideas in my mind. I didn’t want to come on too strong and scare him off, but I didn’t want him to just disappear. I thought about suggesting a movie, or if he preferred, we could stop somewhere for a drink. Or what about meeting up later for dinner?

We reached the corner. My nerves tightened; my mouth was dry. I could barely breathe. This was it. Now or never. The traffic lights were in our favor, but instead of crossing over the street, Michael hesitated. �śDo you have any plans for this evening?”

My breath escaped in a soft whoosh, and my heart skipped a beat. Yes! �śNo. Why? You have something in mind?” I asked, careful to keep my voice casual.

Just from the way he smiled, I figured he knew what I’d been thinking. �śI have to go home and drop this off.” He indicated his bulging briefcase. �śWould you care to come with me? It’s only a ten-minute walk from here. We can listen to some music, have a drink or two, and then later go out somewhere for dinner. What do you say?”

�śSounds like a great idea to me.”

* * * Michael’s home was above a bookstore some distance from my hotel. Like Jasper’s, the building was probably several hundred years’ old. But instead of fresh paint and flowers, all I could smell as we ascended the stairs was �śold building” and damp, along with the lingering odors of food overlaid with a pine-scented floor cleaner.

At the top of the stairs, Michael unlocked a door and preceded me inside. He was immediately greeted by an orange-and-white cat rubbing against his legs. The kitty looked up at Michael, then at me, then back to Michael. �śMeoow?”

�śHello, Marmalade . I want you to meet my new friend, Drew. Drew, this is my flat-mate. I found him last winter while he was still a kitten. It was freezing cold, snowing like mad, and he was outside on the steps, trying to get his tiny mouth around a piece of moldy toast he’d found. Between that and his color, I figured Marmalade was the perfect name. Poor little chap was so thin you could feel his bones, and so weak I didn’t expect him to survive. But now�Ś”

Michael lead the way into the living room where he put down his briefcase, picked up the cat and snuggled him against his face. Both of them were clearly enjoying the contact and I had to admit to feeling a trifle left out, even jealous. �śWe’re doing quite nicely, thank you very much.”

I reached out to pet the animal. To my surprise, he pushed his nose hard against my hand.

Michael laughed. �śWell, look at this. He’s usually shy around strangers, but he’s obviously taken to you.”

�śHe must sense that I like cats. We always had a couple at home when I was growing up. I’ve often thought about getting one of my own, but for one reason or another, it’s never happened.”

Marmalade jumped out of Michael’s arms onto a nearby chair, then looked back and forward between the two of us as if to say, Okay, guys, what’s the holdup? I want my dinner.

�śMake yourself comfortable and please excuse the mess.” Michael retrieved his briefcase from the floor and dumped it on an already cluttered dining room table. �śGive me a minute to feed His Majesty, and I’ll find us something to drink.” He took off down the hallway to what I assumed was the kitchen, with the cat in hot pursuit.

I sat on the sofa and glanced around the room. What Michael seemed to think constituted a mess gave the room a warm, lived-in feeling. The furniture looked like thrift shop specials, books and papers littered the table, a navy sweater was draped over the back of one of the chairs, and there were a couple of catnip mice on the floor. Except for the cat and his toys, it was pretty much like my place in Toronto. I rented the upper half of an old house just off the Danforth that was in constant need of repair. But it had character and the owner was retired and liked fixing things, so I had no plans to move anytime soon.

Michael returned with glasses and a bottle of wine on a tray.

�śI hope you like dry red.” He sat down and uncorked the bottle. After half-filling each of the two glasses, he handed one of them to me. �śCheers!”

I returned the toast and took a sip�"dry without being tart, smooth as velvet and delicious in every way. �śHey, this is really good.” I picked up the bottle. French, from Provence, but not a label I’d seen before. �śIs this available in a wine store?”

�śMy sister is married to a Frenchman whose family owns vineyards near Avignon. This is one of their private labels. Intended for friends and family only.

�śNice! Thanks for including me. I feel honored.”

�śActually, I should have said for special friends.” He lifted his glass, leaned back in his chair and ran his tongue slowly over his upper lip, then he smiled and drank some of the wine.

A slow trickle of need slid down my spine and settled in my dick. I moved my butt a little to ease the sudden tightness in my pants. �śSpecial friend, huh? That’s even nicer. Guess I should feel doubly honored.” I knew Michael was flirting with me and I loved the subtle way he was doing it.I also knew we’d end up in his bed before the night was over. My only question was: would it be before we went out for dinner, in which case I suspected we’d forget about dinner, or would we stretch out the anticipation by waiting until we came back?

Michael put down his glass and turned his attention to a stack of CDs on a side table. After sorting through them, he slipped one of the discs into a small, portable player and pressed play.

The haunting notes of Acker Bilk’s clarinet playing �śStranger On The Shore,” filled the room, heightening my need and making me wish Michael and I had more than a few hours together.

He returned to his chair and once again captured my gaze. My mind raced with ideas. I could call the office, tell them about the fall, make it sound more serious and ask to delay my return for a few days. Maybe take some of my unused vacation time. I had at least a month coming to me. Or I could call and say I’d decided to stay here in London.

And do what?

I was forty-two, not twenty-two. Chances were better than good I’d have trouble finding anything even approaching a decent job.

Getting swept off my feet with feelings this sudden and this intense hadn’t happened to me in years, not since high school. I’d fallen hot and hard for a classmate. Less than a week later, the brief affair was over and done with, and I never understood why I’d been attracted in the first place. I hadn’t even liked the guy.

Unless I was willing to risk history repeating itself, I needed to take a step back and think. What if the way I felt about Michael didn’t last? What then?

The cat, Marmalade, reappeared and jumped onto Michael’s lap, turning around and around before finally settling down. He looked so damn comfy and cozy I wanted to push him off and bury my face in that exact same spot. I wanted to feel Michael’s warmth, assure myself of his need, and inhale his own unique scent.

Michael began petting the animal, scratching him under his chin and stroking his head. Marmalade responded by stretching, then rolling onto his back, demanding a tummy rub. Michael complied, and I looked away, fast.

What had started as a twinge of jealousy now burned both hot and strong. I wanted to smack Michael’s hand away. I wanted to tell Marmalade to get down and get lost, that Michael was mine.

God! I rubbed a hand over my face and quickly downed the rest of my wine. I couldn’t believe I was jealous of a cat.

The last track on the CD faded away. Michael finished his wine and put the glass on the tray. �śWould you like more wine? Or shall wego out and find somewhere to have dinner before it gets dark?”

�śNo more wine, but dinner sounds good.” I put my empty glass beside his on the tray. The room was warm. It felt as if everything was closing in on me. I needed to get outside in the fresh air where I could breathe. �śYou have somewhere in mind?”

�śYou like Italian?”

�śI love it.”

�śGood. There’s this little place in Soho I know that makes the best spagbol.”

�śAnd that is?”

�śSpaghetti Bolognese. Pasta with meat sauce.”

Michael picked up his keys, and I followed him down the hall. Just before we reached the door, he hesitated, then turned and gave me a hug. �śIs everything okay?”

�śSure. Why do you ask?”

He smiled and shrugged. �śI don’t know. You were looking a little tense and introspective. I thought maybe you were having second thoughts.”

�śAbout what?”

�śThe two of us spending the evening together. If you don’t want it to go beyond dinner and conversation, I promise not to push.”

* * * It was almost dark when we reached the flashing neon lights of Soho with its clubs, pubs, sex shops, clip joints, bars and restaurants. The night was cool, but the sidewalks were crowded. Snatches of music and laughter erupted, then vanished as people went in and out of the various establishments.

Soho is the center of London nightlife. Whether you’re looking for a quiet drink, a meal, a little company, or something more exotic, you’ll probably find it here within the square mile bounded by Oxford Street, Regent Street, Leicester Square and Charing Cross Road.

I’d been here several times over the past two weeks, checking out the action at some of the eateries and bars. However, I hadn’t noticed Lisetta’s until Michael turned off Greek Street into a narrow alleyway and I saw the name in flaking gold script on a window.

From the outside, the restaurant looked a little shabby and rundown. But once Michael opened the door and I followed him inside, I knew this was my kind of place. It was small, crowded, noisy, and the enticing smells of garlic and roasting meat nothing short of my idea of pure heaven, gastronomically speaking.

The waiter showed us to a table for two and then, at Michael’s request, left and returned a moment later with a bottle of Chianti and a menu.

�śWe have two specials tonight,” the man inform ed us after Michael tasted the wine and he’d poured some into each of our glasses. �śRoast leg of lamb and Spaghetti Bolognese. The soup is minestrone.”

�śI’ll have the Bolognese and the minestrone,” Michael said. �śDrew?”

I took a sip of the Chianti. The menu was handwritten and virtually indecipherable. Rather than try to figure it out, I gave up and handed it back. �śI’ll have the same, but I’d like a small green salad in place of the soup.”

While we were eating, Michael told me about a recent vacation he’d spent in France and the town of Arles where his sister lived.

As he talked, I found myself wondering if I should mention this was my last night in London, then decided there was no point. Michael already knew my job here was temporary. If he’d wanted to know more, he would have asked.

I finished my wine and refilled the glass to just below the halfway mark. Between what I’d drunk at Michael’s place and now this, my head was feeling a bit fuzzy. I needed to slow down.

Michael sprinkled on extra cheese, then twirled a few strands of the spaghetti around his fork. �śMy sister took me to an exhibition of everything Van Gogh while I was there. I found it totally fascinating. Did you know Van Gogh used to live in Arles?”

�śSo I’ve heard. Apparently that’s where he did some of his finest work.”

�śAnd also chopped off part of his ear.” He stopped playing with his food and put down his fork. �śAre you interested in art?”

�śMe? No, not especially. I’m just a guy who knows what he likes.”

�śYes. Me, too.” The way he suddenly narrowed his eyes and looked at me made my blood run hot and my cock started to stiffen. I knew we were no longer talking about art even before he reached under the table and laid his hand on my thigh.

The only thing that mattered was the here and the now. We both knew what we wanted and that we would be making love before the night was over. Everything else was irrelevant. The only question was where and when?

Michael removed his hand and went back to talking about his trip, while I did my best to relax. But the tension between us was rapidly tightening to the point it needed some relief.

I was ready to go as soon as we finished our entrees, but then the waiter came by with coffee and a plate of complimentary aniseed cookies. It delayed our departure by no more than a few minutes, yet to me it felt like hours. When he returned with the check, I handed him a couple of bills, waved away the change and pushed back my chair.

�śWhere to now?” I asked after we left the restaurant and were back on Greek Street.

Michael shrugged. �śYou want to go somewhere for a drink? Maybe check out one of the clubs?”

�śNot really. You?”

�śNo.” He took my hand and pulled me into the privacy afforded by a dark doorway. �śWhat I want is�Ś” His soft lips touched my mouth in the very briefest of kisses, then he pressed a hand against my cock and laughed. �śYou know damn well what I want. But not here.”

�śWhere? Your place or my hotel?”

�śMy place is closer.”

This was what I wanted, too. I wanted to hold him, touch him, taste him and never let go. The hard part would come later when it was time for me to turn my back and walk away.

* * * When we got back to Michael’s flat, Marmalade was asleep on one the chairs. The cat opened one eye, then closed it again, stretched, and returned to his kitty dreams.

Michael smiled at his pet’s reaction, then he collected the bottle of wine he’d opened earlier, fetched two clean glasses from the kitchen and led the way to his bedroom.

I watched as he set the bottle and glasses on the nightstand, turned on the lamp, removed his jacket and shoes and stretched out on the bed.

He changed position onto his side, then looked up at me and smiled. �śAre you going to stand there all night?”

�śJust enjoying the view.” I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat as I slipped off my own shoes and dropped my jacket on a chair.

For some reason, I felt more nervous than I had all those years ago the first time I slept with another man. I was shaky, uncoordinated, and my hard-on of a moment ago had vanished. I took a deep breath and released it slowly. If I didn’t get my emotions under control, I’d be useless and that was the absolute last thing I wanted to happen.

Michael got off the bed, poured a little wine into each of the two glasses and gave one to me. �śHere. A little Dutch courage.”

�śYou think I need it?” I took a sip, but my hand trembled and I put the glass on the bureau. �śGod! I feel like an idiot.”

He took my face in his hands, kissing me gently on the mouth and putting his arms around me. �śHey, it’s all right.” He started rubbing my back, digging deep to loosen the tight muscles, then moving lower to squeeze my butt cheeks. �śThis isn’t the first time for you, is it?”

�śNo. It’s�Ś” I forced what passed for a laugh. �śIt’s nothing. Just overexcited, I guess.”

�śThe result of too much anticipation?”

�śSomething like that.”

�śIt happens. Take off your shirt and pants and lie face down on the bed. Maybe a massage will do the trick.”

I did as he asked, then said, �śI should warn you a massage usually puts me to sleep.”

Herimmed my ear with the tip of his tongue. �śThis one won’t. And that’s a promise. Give me a minute to get my supplies.”

I figured he gone to fetch some kind of oil. When he returned and I saw the other items he placed on the nightstand along with the massage oil, I felt a quick thrill of excitement. This was our first time, so I’d figured it wouldn’t go further than a little mutual relief. Maybe a blow job, if I was lucky.

But if the container of lube, the handful of condoms and the interesting strip of leather were anything to go by, Michael liked it hot and a little kinky.

He straddled my body and poured a trickle of oil on my back. As he began the massage, I wondered about the leather strip. Would he use it to tie my hands? To inflict punishment? Or was its presence supposed to tease and titillate the viewer? If so, between Michael’s clever fingers and my thoughts, it was working. By the time he got to my waist, my balls had developed a pleasant ache and my shaft was hard as a rock.

�śCan you lift up a bit? Your boxers are in the way.”

He moved his weight off my legs, and I lifted my body enough for him to slide them off. The loss of my shorts made me totally vulnerable to his demands, but instead of being scared, it doubled my feelings of arousal.

�śI want you to get up on your knees and lift your butt high, okay?”

Again, I complied, and again I began to tremble, this time with excitement.

�śThat’s good. Just hold the position.”

I shoved the knuckle of my right forefinger between my teeth and bit down, hard. I heard the rustle of clothing as he disrobed�Śand then a soft curse as he struggled to open a condom package

Please, please hurry!

He moved in behind me, and I felt his hot breath against my ass. As he slid a finger down my crack, I almost lost it. Then his tongue was everywhere, licking my back and teasing my balls, while his fingers played with my dick.

I was so wound up, about to come, when he suddenly backed off. I whimpered my disappointment at the loss of contact.

He laughed softly and bit my ear. �śYou ready for me to fuck you now?”

I’d never been more ready for anything in my life. �śYou have to ask?”

�śI just wanted to be sure. Not everyone is happy about doing it this way.”

I felt the shock of cold lube against my hole. Michael inserted a finger, then a second, gradually working the muscle until it loosened.

Finally, the moment I was waiting for happened. He spread my ass cheeks, positioned the head of his cock against my anus, wrapped his arms around me and pushed.

The sensation of him sliding all the way inside me like that made me sigh with pleasure. He pulled partway out, but before going back in, he took possession of my penis. As he coordinated his strokes, I rocked back against him, urging him on. We were both too excited for anything slow and easy. We needed relief and we needed it now.

Finally, that special moment arrived when everything felt suspended, like a glass bubble hanging in space. I held my breath, knowing it was about to happen, but wanting to savor every microsecond. But then the glass shattered, the moment was over and we collapsed in a heap of tangled sheets and limbs.

�śWow!” Michael pressed kisses against my back and neck. �śThat was great, but over a whole lot too fast.”

�śGive me a minute to catch my breath, and we’ll try for an encore.”

�śIn your dreams, love.” Michael sighed. �śI’m forty-five. These days, I’m lucky if I can get it up once a week. Twice in one night is out of the question.”

�śAm I allowed to try?”

�śCertainly you may. But first I need to pay a visit to the head.”

I wentto the bathroom after Michael returned. I couldn’t have been in there more than a couple of minutes, but when I got back, he was already fast asleep.

I switched off the lamp, lifted the covers and got in behind him. Then, wrapping an arm around his body, I found myself marveling at what could happen in so short a time. Last night, I didn’t even know Michael existed. Tomorrow night�" I pushed the thought away. I needed to concentrate on the here and the now and enjoy what little time we had.

* * * When I awoke sometime later, the light was on and Michael was lying on his side, staring at me.

I frowned. �śWhat’s wrong?”

�śNothing. Just watching you sleep.”

�śDoesn’t sound too exciting.”

�śYou’d be surprised.” He smiled, then reached out and stroked my face. �śDid you know you talk in your sleep?”

�śWhat did I say?”

�śActually, you mutter. About what, though, I don’t have a clue.”

He rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. �śWhat would you say to a trip to the country this next weekend? My parents have a house on the river near Henley, and Sunday is my mother’s birthday. She’ll be expecting me, so I’d love you to come as well.”

The invitation caught me by surprise. �śSorry. I can’t.”

�śWhy not?” He laughed and poked me in the ribs. �śA hot date you don’t want to break?”

I considered making up an excuse, such as�Ś Such as what? I was having tea with the queen? �śNo.” The least Michael deserved was the truth. �śI won’t be here.” I got out of the bed and walked over to the window. �śThis is my last day in London. I fly home tomorrow afternoon.”

�śBut I thought�Ś”

�śI know what I let you think. I realize I should’ve said something, but I didn’t and I’m sorry.”

�śSo why didn’t you tell me?”

�śThe sudden attraction I felt for you, the chemistry between us, call it what you will. I wanted to hold onto the magical feeling as long as possible. Stretch it out to the very last drop.”

�śAnd you think if you’d told me it was your last day I’d have cut lunch short and walked away?”

�śI don’t know. Would you have?”

�śI don’t know either. The chemistry was mutual, Drew. The instant I touched you, it was like being sandbagged. I knew I was in trouble. I wanted to hang on tight and never let go.”

�śMe, too. That’s why I didn’t spell it out. There was no point. I knew the most we could have was a few hours together, so I figured why not enjoy them.”

�śAnd you think that excuses you lying to me? You could have told me and let me make up my own mind.”

�śI didn’t lie.”

�śMaybe not, but you deliberately misled me and that’s just as bad inmy book.”

�śWhen we met in the teashop, I knew the attraction was there, but most times things like that go nowhere. After lunch, I figured you’d go your way and I’d go mine. Why would you care where I’d be tomorrow or next week?”

�śYou could have mentioned it in passing.”

�śWhy would I?”

�śOkay, so maybe not then, but why didn’t you say something later? Like when I invited you over here and suggested us going out to dinner.”

�śBecause by then it was too late. I was afraid if you knew you’d walk away. I would have sold my soul to stop that from happening.”

�śIn other words, you were only thinking about yourself. Thanks a lot. If it wasn’t four in the morning, I’d ask you to leave.” Michael got out of bed, pulled on a robe and left the room, slamming the door hard on his way out.

I wanted to yell at him to come back. I wanted to insist he put himself in my place. Try to understand there are times in this life when all you get is one tiny taste, not the whole fucking pie. Most of all, I wanted him to forgive me. My eyes burned and I pressed my forehead against the wall, hating myself for screwing up what had been the best thing to happen to me in years. Michael had every right to be angry. I’d hurt him by letting him believe what we had was the start of something, when I knew damn well all we had was one night. If he hated me for not making that clear, then it was no more than what I deserved.

I collected my clothes from the chair and started to dress. Anything I said or did could only make things worse, and I didn’t want that. I needed to leave now. It didn’t matter it was dark outside or that I didn’t have a clue how to get back to Jasper’s. I’d figure it out.

As I sat on the edge of the bed to put my shoes on, the door opened and Michael came back into the room. I knew he’d been crying and that made me feel even worse.

He came over to the bed, then went down on his knees and threw his arms around me, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. �śI’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that for something thatwas my own fault.”

�śHow do you figure it’s your fault?”

�śWhen I asked, you said your job here was temporary. I could also have asked what that meant, but I didn’t because�Ś

�śYou didn’t think it was any of your business?”

�śNot even that. I just didn’t want to know. It’s not often two people connect the way we did. I wasn’t about to spoil the wonderful feeling by thinking about practical stuff, such as tomorrow or next week or the fact you didn’t live here. All I wanted to think about was now. If our positions were reversed, I doubt I could have rained on our parade either. We live too far apart to run back and forth on weekends, or make promises we probably wouldn’t keep.” He hesitated and rubbed his eyes. �śI’m a great believer in Fate. What’s meant to be will be and all that. Maybe all you and I were meant to have was these few hours. What time is your flight?”

�śTwo-thirty this afternoon.”

He lifted his head and the look on his face almost broke my heart. Despite the tear tracks on his cheeks and the way his lips trembled, his beautiful smile was firmly back in place. �śGood. We still have a few hours left. Let’s not waste them. I’m truly sorry for what I said. Please, don’t go, Drew.”

�śI’m sorry, too.”

I urged him down on the bed beside me and pulled up the covers. I would have liked for us to make love one more time, but if all we could have was these last few hours locked in one another’s arms, I would be satisfied.

* * * London, September 30 Drew’s Hotel Room When the phone rang, I picked up, expecting it to be the front desk wanting to know if I was ready for them to send the porter to collect my luggage.

Instead, I was surprised to hear Grey Falton’s voice. �śDrew? That you?”

�śYes. What’s up?”

�śWhat time’s your flight back?”

�śTwo-thirty outof Heathrow. I’ll be leaving here shortly.” �śThen thank God I caught you before you did. I was a little

worried there for a minute, trying to figure out the time difference. Anyway, long story short, that guy I hired to take charge of the London office changed his mind. I spent yesterday calling some of the other applicants and then late last night it struck me.”

�śWhat did?”

�śYou did. How would you like to spend the next year, year- and-ahalf over there? You’re well qualified for the job and you have no ties here that I’m aware of. I realize it’s very short notice and I’ll understand if you say no. But�Śwhat do you think, Drew? Will you do it?”

�śI, err�Śumm�Ś” I didn’t know what to think or what to say. My head was spinning and my legs felt weak and wobbly. Something this wonderful didn’t happen in real life, only in dreams. �śCan you give me a minute?”

�śYou want to call me back?”

�śNo, it’s okay, just hang on for a moment.”

I pressed a hand over the phone and looked at Michael. �śYou’re not going to believe this. No way. I’m not sure I believe it myself.”

�śSo tell me.”

�śIt’s my boss on the phone. He wants to know if I’d like to stay on here in London. It would be for at least a year, maybe even longer. What should I say?”

Michael’s reaction was pretty much what I expected. He grinned from ear to ear and punched his fist into the air, mumbled something about Fate and how could I even think about messing with what was meant to be. Then he said, �śWhat in hell are you waiting for? It’s a yes! Just tell the man yes.”





CHRISTIANE FRANCE


Christiane truly believes that love makes the world go round, so she likes stories with both happy and bittersweet endings. Christiane has been writing romance for the past twenty years and lives near Niagara Falls with her husband and The Boys�"two black and white Persian cats.

* * * Don’t miss Blues In The Night by Christiane France,

available at AmberAllure.com!

To celebrate their reunion after a six-month work-related separation, Alain and his partner James have planned to meet up for the perfect dream vacation. When James calls with what Alain expects to be details of his arrival time at the first stop on their itinerary, James says he won’t be joining him. He’s met someone new, the temporary assignment has turned into a permanent job, and sorry, but their relationship is over.

Alain leaves the hotel, hoping the sights and sounds of the city will help distract him from the shock of James’ desertion, maybe stop him from trying to figure out ways of changing the unchangeable. As evening turns to night, he continues walking, up one street and down the next until music drifting up from a basement nightclub catches his attention. The singer’s voice is distinctive, different, and it sounds like Kenny Dumaine, a man Alain met in his hometown a couple of years ago.

Kenny doesn’t remember him at first. But Alain is drinking heavily, and when he mentions what sounds like a romance gone wrong, Kenny recalls the circumstances of their first meeting. Alain had helped him out of a bad spot, and now it looks like he needs the favor returned. Kenny was attracted to Alain first time around, and although things never turned physical, that hasn’t changed. As an entertainer, always on the move, he’s learned to keep things casual. His last performance is the following night, and the next day he’ll be gone. Where’s the harm in offering an old acquaintance a little badly needed TLC?





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