Lee Brazil The Man Trap

The Man Trap

Lee Brazil

Breathless Press

Calgary, Alberta

www.breathlesspress.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are

used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any

resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or

persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The Man Trap

ISBN: 978-1-77101-031-3

Cover Artist: Victoria Miller

Editor: Olivia Ventura

or reproduced electronically or in print without written

permission, except in the case of brief quotations

embodied in reviews.

Breathless Press

www.breathlesspress.com

Dedication

This story is dedicated to my fellow

Story Orgiasts,

Who make Monday mornings fun,

And writing a challenge.

Hank, Em, James, Jade, and Havan,

I’m grateful for the friendship we’ve found

Trademark Acknowledgement

The author and Breathless Press acknowledge the trademark sta-

tus of the following:

Levi’s 501’s – trademarked by Levi Strauss & Company

Ford Mustang – trademarked by Ford Motor Company

“Happiest Place on Earth” – trademarked by Disney Enterprises

Chapter One

Try as I might, I couldn’t keep my gaze from straying to the

slender, dark-haired man resting on his heels on the faded green

carpet in the third aisle. He kept sliding his pale fingers along the

bindings of the books on the shelves, and I swear every time he

did I felt the touch as a caress on my own skin. Jeannie, damn her,

noticed my inattention immediately.

“Who is that, Simon?” my blonde sister-in-law demanded

nosily, peering intently at the man I had discreetly eyed since he

crossed the threshold of my bookshop that morning. He’d actual-

ly become a Saturday morning regular at my shop during the past

month. He wandered in and browsed the cookbooks, the classics,

and the science fiction section. He always bought something, but

never when I stood at the register. I swear he waited till I turned

my back before he’d buy his books. Today was going to be differ-

ent. I planned to stay at the register until he checked out or hell

froze over, whichever came first.

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I jerked my gaze around to her inquiring blue eyes. “Who is

who?”

She snorted, par for the course. Despite her delicate blonde

appearance, Jeannie made no pretense at being ladylike, or even

mannerly. Her blunt attitude was both refreshing and disgusting

all at once. If family pressure hadn’t assured me she’d make an

admirable assistant, I never would have trusted her around the

customers. I needed someone to man the shop while I visited es-

tate sales, sure, but usually shopkeepers prefer to have assistants

who treat customers nicely.

“The remarkably pretty, vaguely familiar guy in the cooking

section who comes here every Saturday morning. The man you’re

watching out the corner of your eye like a poor imitation of Mike

Hammer. That’s who.”

Oh yes. Thank you, Jean, for pointing out my lack of subtlety and

discretion. I shuffled a stack of shipping invoices from the printer

to the corner of the counter and dumped the cardboard box I’d

carried from the storeroom in their place. “That, Jeannie, darling,

is the reason—other than an insane crush on Brad Pitt and unre-

quited lust for Johnny Depp—I can say with absolute certainty I

am bisexual, not straight.”

Jeannie scoffed at me, as the rest of my family and friends al-

ways did when I made the claim. I’m not sure what they thought,

that I was trying to be cool or something with my claim to bisexu-

ality. Only people who aren’t gay think being gay is cool. When

you’ve thought about your sexuality and agonized over why you

like men, it’s enough just to accept it. They never believed me.

The skepticism could, I suppose, have something to do with the

fact I’d only ever dated women. Could I help it if Brad Pitt never

returned my calls?

Jeannie nodded dubiously, continuing to print shipping la-

bels and eyeing the man in aisle three, absorbed in perusing cook-

books. I smacked her in the shoulder swiftly. “Stop staring; he’ll

see you looking at him.”

“I don’t get it. Who is he? And what’s all this crap doing on

the counter?” She waved a manicured hand at the battered brown

cardboard box of high school memorabilia.

My used bookshop, specializing in rare and antique editions,

does a thriving e-business, and we reserve the front counter with

its glass display cases for the books, orders, and wrapping ma-

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terials comprising that business. Random stuff gets in the way,

so we have an unstated rule nothing goes on the counter unless

a customer makes a purchase. I had visited several estate sales

that week, and a few customers brought in boxes of books for

exchange value. Books lay in tottering piles on my desk, the floor,

and the shelving in the area around the counter. The new mate-

rial needed logging into inventory, pricing, and shelving. What

this meant in the long run was there was no place else to put my

“crap,” as Jeannie so lovingly labeled the mementos of what I

cherished as the best moments of my life. Simon Harris in a box,

that’s what I’d just put on the counter.

Some people claim high school is hell, and the premise sure

seemed accurate while I attended the local one. Classes started too

early, teachers made too many demands, classmates were jerk-

offs or punks, and sports were a huge waste of time. I hated teach-

ers telling me what to read and what to think. I lived to party and

school interrupted my fun. Of course, the man in the cookbook

aisle had been a big part of my high school days, and a big part of

why I cherished the memories in this box.

Alexi Manetas had been a grade below me in school, but be-

cause he was an overachiever and I an underperformer, we ended

up in the same classes a lot during high school. I couldn’t miss the

fact that the boy with the big gray eyes and ink-black curls was

infatuated with me. I swear he never even attempted to hide how

he felt.

You can imagine how that went for the kid. And me—I had

nothing against Alexi, but I wasn’t up to being into guys. Plenty

of girls wanted to date me and I found them attractive enough. If

Alexi’s gray eyes and black curls snuck into my dreams at night,

well, a man can’t control his dreams. Who I ate lunch with, who I

took to the dances—those choices I made consciously. I played it

cool, and Alexi didn’t create drama, so everything was all right. I

didn’t encourage him, but to my shame I didn’t discourage him,

and I never had the guts to tell the others in the crowd to lay off

the kid and cut him some slack, either. Hormones are hell, but

peer pressure is even worse.

So all through high school, I had this ego boost. No matter

what chick dumped me or rejected me, or how low my grades

dropped, there was always this knowledge in the deepest recesses

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of my mind. Hey, I couldn’t be all bad if Alexi could love me,

right?

So I had my emotional security blanket all wrapped around

me throughout years of torture, and when graduation day ar-

rived, I hit the high road and never thought I’d ever look back.

Like a lot of dumb kids, I enrolled in a school as far away from

my hometown as my budget would let me. High school doesn’t

prepare you for college. Don’t let anyone fool you that it does. No

matter how smart you are, there’s going to be someone smarter.

No matter how hot you are, there’s going to be someone hotter.

And no matter how popular you were in high school, you’re go-

ing to be fucking lonely in the freshman dorm.

I was. And you remember those dreams about silky dark curls

and big gray eyes? That’s what I missed. Not the fluffy blonde

cheerleader I dated exclusively senior year or the succession of

girls who’d preceded her. I missed Alexi.

When Christmas break arrived, I determined to man up and

talk to Alexi, but got the shock of my life to discover he’d appar-

ently gotten over his infatuation and moved on—to no less than

the star quarterback of the varsity football team, the biggest cul-

prit when it came to teasing Alexi about his crush on me. I guess

jealousy motivated him.

In a mind-boggling fit of desolation, jealousy, and self-pity, I

wrote Alexi a letter I intended to send to him before I left town.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, however you choose to look at the

situation, reason prevailed and I never sent it. Or maybe coward-

ice prevailed. I didn’t send the letter, but I kept it. Now my bitter

outpouring of teenage angst lay in this box right in front of me

on the counter of my bookstore, along with the Christmas gift I’d

bought and intended to give to Alexi that long-ago holiday.

Alexi hadn’t changed much since I’d last seen him strolling

across campus hand-in-hand with the jock. He still barely reached

my chin; I’d have to bend down to kiss him. The gift, wrapped in

unimaginative blue snowman paper, was a sweatshirt from my

alma mater. The navy blue shirt should fit just fine. I’d bought the

smallest size available at the campus bookstore, and had planned

to ask him to wear it for me. Now, the opportunity had come to

pass the letter and the gift along to their rightful owner.

At the very least, giving him these belated tokens of my es-

teem would force Alexi to acknowledge me—that he recognized

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me—that if I was right, he wandered into my shop every Saturday

because of me, not a selection of ancient cookbooks. I tugged a

yearbook from the box and flipped to the photo I recalled, then

settled against the counter to outwait my prey.

It scared me a bit how fortuitous his reappearance in my life

had been. I mean, I only even have a shop for storage. Random

foot traffic brings in some money, of course, but I make the big

bucks on eBay, Amazon, and my website.

And thanks to that random foot traffic, I had a second chance

with the only man I’d ever truly wanted. Johnny and Brad were

only fantasies. Alexi was very real and approaching the counter

right in front of me. Time to spring the trap.

He pretended not to see me as he placed a copy of Colorado

Cache on the counter and acted like the magnetic bookmarks my

sister-in-law insisted I sell engrossed him.

“Hi, Alexi.” I demanded he acknowledge the past connection

between us, admit he recognized me. Since he didn’t meet my

eyes, I let my gaze roam across the very familiar planes of his face.

Fine pale skin, the faintest hint of beard shadow, and those same

enticing plump bee-stung lips that had haunted my high school

dreams.

“I’m sorry?” Vacant gray eyes met mine.

Right. Now, I may be thirty–one and not eighteen anymore,

but I don’t look much different than I did in high school. I still

keep my brown hair in the same longish skate-boy cut, still car-

ry my summer tan year-round, and former classmates swear

I haven’t aged so much as a day since graduation. My brother

swears I haven’t matured emotionally either, but I know better. At

sixteen I was a taker, and I’d taken Alexi’s affection for granted.

The intervening years had taught me a thing or two about appre-

ciating the finer things in life. Alexi was the finest life had to offer.

I leaned on the counter, stared straight into his eyes, and

tapped the yearbook photo between us. His eyes followed the di-

rection of my finger and widened, as they landed on the picture

of the Chess Club we’d both—briefly—been members of. “That’s

you,” I said, smiling in amusement. I dragged my finger over the

picture. “That’s me you’re staring at.” That’s me you’re worshipping

with your eyes, adoring with your posture. Don’t tell me you don’t re-

member!

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“Umm, yeah—okay—you got it, that’s me, Alexi Manetas.

That would make you—” He pretended to read the caption under

the photo upside-down. “—Simon Harris.”

Jeannie’s interested gaze never left us, and Alexi sneaked

peeks at her as he fumbled with his wallet and nudged the cook-

book toward me.

I smiled at him, “Yes.” I rang up his purchase and shoved the

book in a bag as he passed me a credit card.

He nodded, swallowing. “I remember you.”

“I thought you might. I have some things that belong to you.”

I dug through the box again to retrieve the package and the letter.

I read the confusion in his eyes as he stared at me. He blink-

ed, breaking the connection, and picked up his bag, shaking his

head. “Those aren’t mine. I don’t understand what you’re talking

about.”

He stepped away and pivoted on his heel to leave, but I

lunged across the counter, sending stacks of invoices and their

matching books flying. “Oh, but they are yours.” I tilted the arti-

cles so he could see his name clearly written on each, the envelope

and the package. The trap couldn’t close if he didn’t take the bait,

now, could it?

Clear gray eyes met mine again, his cheeks flushed the deli-

cate shade that had haunted my high school fantasies, and I re-

leased a breath I didn’t realize I held. His hand trembled as he

touched the letter, and something in the involuntary response

caused the light to glint off a gold band on his ring finger.

Chapter Two

That glint of gold sent me reeling backward and gray eyes

stared in confusion as Alexi shoved the unopened letter and pack-

age into the flimsy white plastic bag with his book.

Unthinking, I grabbed his wrist to get a closer view of the

gold band. He jerked away almost before I registered the tingle

of sensation touching Alexi brought. He clutched the hand in his

other, his beautiful face flushing. I barely noted his response to

my touch as the heat of our brief contact seared a path straight to

my cock. I stifled the groan threatening to escape as an awkward-

ly stacked pile of coffee table books toppled over. The top book,

a hefty volume on the cathedrals of Rome, crashed to the floor,

narrowly missing my bare feet. I jumped a bit further back, con-

scious all the while of Jeannie’s mocking blue gaze. Awkwardly

bending to retrieve the book, I strained to keep an eye on Alexi to

make sure he didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to make

an escape. That is, until a vinyl record sans jacket slid out of the

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cover of the book and landed on edge right across the top of my

left foot. Then my attention focused primarily on my pain and

Jeannie’s raucous laugh.

I dropped the book again and grabbed my foot, standing

there like an idiot for a few moments while Alexi eyed me in con-

cern and Jeannie laughed her ass off next to me.

“I told you,” she couldn’t seem to resist adding, “you should

wear shoes in here. There are OSHA rules about all that stuff.”

Dropping my foot and wincing, I noticed Alexi putting down

his bag and then restacking the other oversize books in a neat or-

derly pile. I bent and picked up the cathedral book and the LP.

Humph, “Sympathy for the Devil.” Hidden inside the cover of a

book on cathedrals? The irony wasn’t lost on me.

On the plus side, the pain in my foot distracted me from my

cock, which had thankfully responded to the pain stimulus by

conveniently forgetting about Alexi on the other side of the coun-

ter.

Searching for my flip-flops, I scowled at Jeannie, who made

no attempt at all to hide her broad grin. “I’m taking a break.”

She nodded, smirking, and continued printing and sorting

and watching.

I ignored the heavy weight of her eyes as I turned to Alexi.

“Could we get coffee and talk?” I slipped my feet into the

plastic excuses for shoes, wincing again as the strap slid into place

across my injured foot.

He seemed reluctant, checked his watch. His gaze skittered

away from mine, and then, as though he had arrived at some con-

clusion, he nodded. Picking up his bag, he waited for me to join

him on the other side of the counter.

“Be nice to the customers,” I warned Jeannie as I held open

the shop door, pointing to the refrigerator magnet on the cash

nie conveniently lost one, I had a replacement available. The mag-

netic rectangle said simply, “Kind words can be short and easy to

speak, but their echoes are truly endless. Mother Teresa”.

It might seem like a nasty jibe at Jeannie but was really all part

of a little game we played where I pretended I was her boss and

she pretended to give a fuck.

I followed Alexi out into the bright sun, letting the door swing

shut behind me with its muffled swish. He waited for me, glanc-

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ing up the sidewalk in the direction of the Tropical Fish Empo-

rium and the tae kwon do studio, so I risked touching him again,

drawing his attention to the coffee shop at the other end of the

strip mall. The tingle of awareness preceded the rush of arousal

as I came in contact with the warm, firm muscle of his bare arm.

He didn’t pull away, so I kept my hand there. I wiped the

trickle of sweat from my brow with my other hand. The sweat

owed more to Alexi’s presence than the still air and heat of the

California afternoon sun. I brushed my hair out of my eyes and

tilted my head to look over at the man who’d starred in my teen-

age dreams, right in time to see his tongue slide across the plump

curve of his lower lip. I nearly groaned aloud. I wanted to lick that

lip, damn it!

I’d had the chance to do so once before, and I’d grabbed it

enthusiastically, so to speak. My friend Brad had the misfortune

of having a younger sister, a freshman addicted to kissing games

and other foolishness. Apparently, they also adhered to a house-

hold rule that if Brad had a party, Melanie was invited. At this

particular party she’d devised some absurd hide-and-seek type

game where the boys would hide and the girls would find them.

Of course, when you found someone, you got to kiss them until

the next couple showed up at the “safe” spot.

Sobriety stood me in good stead that night as I observed Alexi

hiding inside a closet off the back porch. I waited a few minutes to

make sure none of the other drunken hiders noticed me, and then

I slipped into the closet after him. I’ve no idea why at that mo-

ment I decided being alone with Alexi in a closet was a good idea.

I just followed him. Impulsively, unthinkingly, I stepped inside

and closed the closet door behind me.

I heard the rustle of movement as he became aware of my

presence, heard his whispered protest to go hide somewhere else,

but I ignored it. I could only remember the dreams that had tor-

mented me for over a year, of warm, firm lips and dreamy gray

eyes. I couldn’t see his eyes in the darkness, but—

I dragged him quickly into my arms and, before common

sense could prevail, bent and pressed our lips together. It wasn’t

my first kiss. I’d been kissing girls since my first party at twelve,

and even at seventeen I had acquired some skill in the depart-

ment, but...this kiss felt different. The textures of Alexi’s mouth

enthralled me, the flavor of his response was addictive, and I had

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no idea where the experience was going to end. Instead of seduc-

ing, sampling, or even plain enjoying the kiss, I was flung head-

long into a maelstrom of emotion and confusion. Alexi’s kiss was

the best kiss of my life, and the most terrifying.

We broke off the kiss to breathe, and that’s when the fear

overwhelmed me. I pushed the door open, slipping out without

ever saying a word. I wanted to kiss Alexi, yes—all the rest of the

shit that went along with kissing? Being gay? I didn’t need that.

Alexi made me doubt myself. What scared me most was that kiss-

ing him made all the bad things seem worthwhile.

I’m pretty sure Alexi had no idea who had kissed him in that

closet at the beach cottage, but I was damned sure I’d like to kiss

him again. His tongue slicking his lips like that tempted me to

repeat the experience right here and now in the bright light of day

where he couldn’t possibly mistake me for some stupid football

player.

First, though, I had to get him to relax a bit and maybe tell me

about the wedding ring. He still darted nervous glances around

the shopping center, and I finally, reluctantly, released his arm as

we approached the coffee shop. We ordered at the walk-up win-

dow, and as we waited patiently for the barista to produce his ba-

sic cup of black coffee and my iced mocha, I strove to achieve ca-

sual as I asked, “So, what have you been doing since high school?”

He met my eyes briefly, then twisted about to stare off across

the parking lot to the opposite side of the strip mall. He leaned his

slim, compact body on a hip against the counter, and I couldn’t

help taking advantage of his lack of attention to look my fill. Tight-

fitting, faded-nearly-white jeans molded the firmly muscled legs

and flat abdomen. I noted the button fly of his jeans with approval.

Yeah, I can’t help it. Levi 501s are a trigger for me. I wished I could

retrace my visual path physically, with my trembling hands, my

tingling lips. A gray short-sleeved shirt open over a simple white

T-shirt completed his Saturday casual attire.

Once I had finished my survey and my gaze meandered up

to his face, he’d apparently had enough of the cars in the lot, and

I found him watching me instead. His moist lips parted and his

eyes sparkled. I nearly kissed him again right then, too aroused

to care about observers. I didn’t even care about the wedding ring

right then. Marriage clearly wasn’t on his mind either. It wasn’t

only that he was still sexy and attractive. He still wanted me. I saw

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the desire behind the sparkle and it sent me right back to those

high school days, only this time without the stupid part of me that

didn’t want to want another man in my bed.

The barista fortunately interrupted my eye sex with our order

and I remembered I was supposed to talk to Alexi, not visually

inventory the places I was tempted to kiss. Visibly shaken, Alexi

thanked the barista in a soft voice and shifted from his resting

place to stroll toward my shop. “The usual. Went to college. Came

home, got a job.”

Eye roll. Alexi’s forte was clearly not small talk. I refused to

drop the subject. “What kind of job do you have?”

We stood outside my shop, Alexi tense and poised to run, me

alert for any sudden moves, determined to see where this could

lead. The foolishness of my actions wasn’t lost on me, believe

me. I hovered in the doorway of my shop, ready to grab a grown

man who clearly itched to make an escape. Icing on the cake? I’m

almost certain I saw Jeannie peering through the window at us

across the book display arranged there. If I’d had my cell phone

with me it would have rung constantly. Jeannie excels at dispers-

ing news. I’m sure she had my brother, mother, and six of her best

friends on conference call before Alexi and I arrived at the coffee

shop.

Impulse, the same besetting sin that led me into that closet

years ago, controlled the moment. I understood myself better

now. I was on the verge of the most important moment of my life.

Convincing Alexi to give me a chance, to at least meet me again

away from the shop and prying eyes, was worth being a fool.

I couldn’t claim to understand his feelings, but chemistry siz-

zled between us, and I wasn’t ashamed to use the desire I’d seen

to my advantage. I had enough regrets with Alexi’s name on them

stored away that another wouldn’t matter, especially if things

turned out the way I wanted. I bent to kiss him—just a light kiss,

I swear—an enticement before I issued an invitation to dinner.

“Dad!” A clear, high, childish voice rang out across the park-

ing lot. I’d nearly attained my goal, heart pounding in expecta-

tion, but Alexi turned his head at the moment the voice reached

us.

Chapter Three

I hate grocery shopping. That’s not as ridiculous a sidebar as

you might think. Have you ever been in the grocery store when

some kid yells out from across the store in the candy aisle? Every

mom in the place turns automatically to see what the kid needs,

even if she didn’t bring her kids with her.

Well, the situation was the same on the sidewalk in front of

my shop. Except only one of us jerked around to see who was

calling, and it wasn’t me. I stood, shocked, as Alexi swiveled in

the direction of that voice. A huge beaming smile spread over his

face and he crouched down, spreading his arms in a welcoming

gesture. A small bundle of energy in a baggy, white, square-cut

martial arts practice uniform raced into Alexi’s arms. A wedding

ring was one thing...a kid was something else entirely. Something

I really wasn’t prepared for.

It was perfectly clear, seeing the two of them embrace, that this

was indeed Alexi’s son. The boy had slightly long, wildly curling

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ink-black hair, huge gray eyes, and creamy pale skin. His pointed

little chin, his rosy flushed cheeks, everything about the kid was

a miniature version of Alexi himself. No way was this anyone’s

child but Alexi’s. Clearly he had not married the quarterback of

the football team from high school, but really, who marries their

first boyfriend? I certainly hadn’t given a thought to my first girl-

friend since junior high.

As though realizing I still stood waiting, Alexi hoisted the

kid in his arms and turned to face me. The desire in his eyes had

changed, become almost challenging. “Simon Harris,” he said.

“I’d like you to meet my son, Gregory. Greg, say hello to Mr. Har-

ris.”

Unsure what to do, I held out a hand to the little guy who

seemed to me to be about six, but what do I know about kids? I

didn’t have any and neither did Mark and Jeannie, much to our

parents’ despair. I considered it a good sign that Alexi bothered to

introduce me to the kid. “Hello, Greg.” I said. “I’m an old school

friend of your father’s. You can call me Simon.”

“No, sir,” the earnest little voice replied. “I’m not allowed to

call grownups by their names. Nana and Poppa said.”

I glanced at Alexi, who grimaced. “My parents. They keep

Greg while I work. It’s the old-world influence.” He tilted Greg’s

little chin up so he could look into his eyes, and I admit seeing

them together touched me more than a little. My heart completely

melted when Alexi said, “Son, Simon is a special friend of mine.

It’s okay to call him by his name.”

Confused didn’t begin to cover my emotions. Alexi had re-

laxed and wasn’t nervous anymore. He listened intently to his

son chatting away about the tae kwon do lesson he’d apparently

attended, and glanced over at me occasionally, meeting my gaze

and smiling. For the first time all morning, he acted like he want-

ed me around. Only problem was, I hadn’t counted on a kid. Will-

ingness to overlook the significance of a wedding ring was one

thing...the existence of a child was something else entirely. What

the hell was I doing?

Being labeled a special friend to the man’s son was nice

enough, but being labeled a home wrecker if I got my way didn’t

appeal so much. I’d lived with and dealt with the heartache of los-

ing Alexi before. Just because hope for a relationship with Alexi

had resurged when he became a regular at my bookshop didn’t

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mean we had a guaranteed future together. Could I settle for be-

ing “just friends”?

Suddenly, I needed to get away. I hauled the shop door open

and nodded. “Well, nice meeting you again, Alexi. Nice meeting

you, little man.” I actually yanked the door shut behind me and

caught Alexi’s astonished expression before I turned my back on

the door and strode swiftly to the counter.

Jeannie was dicking around with some craft project involving

damaged book covers and empty picture frames. She glanced up

and dropped her project when she saw me and not a customer.

Kind of the opposite of the behavior I’d like to see in someone I

pay to take care of the customers, but what the hell. The idea that

I might have to be noble and give up my urge to seduce Alexi

away from the non-existent football player spouse depressed me.

Seducing him away from a woman and a child? I simply couldn’t

do it. If he’d decided after enduring the taunts in high school that

he was straight, found a woman he loved, got married and had

kids, well...fuck. He’d apparently succeeded at what I’d tried to do

in high school, hadn’t he?

Apparently I was more shocked than I’d let on, because I

somehow managed to spew all that out loud instead of in my

head. Jeannie answered me. “He’s not married. His wife is dead.

She died in a car accident. He still mourns her.”

I wanted to shut her up and I wanted her to keep going. Gos-

sip is evil and Jeannie is nothing if not malicious. I studied the

frame taking shape under her hands—crafty—but malicious.

“Jeannie...” She brushed aside my feeble attempt to stop the out-

flow of the information she’d managed to gather. Jeannie didn’t

even look up from her glue pot and ripped covers.

“His son is five. His wife died two years ago. He’s in account-

ing at Hoag. He hasn’t dated since his wife died and...everyone

says he buried his heart with her. You should realize your chances

aren’t good.”

A trace of sympathy lined the evil witch’s voice. I passed her

the full iced mocha I no longer found thirst-quenching. “Here. Se-

riously, I don’t want to know any more. Tell whoever you called

to get all that information so quickly thanks, but...knock it off,

okay? The man has a kid. That changes things.”

Jeannie dropped her ripped covers into the basket she kept

them in and shoved her supplies under my desk. She placed the

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finished frame on the glass shelf under the counter where people

could admire it. I have no idea why, but the damn things sold as

soon as she finished them, even though she charged an absurd ten

dollars apiece for them. Same thing with the magnetic bookmarks

she made me carry.

“I saw. Cute little brat he is, too. Looks exactly like his daddy.

Why does a kid change things?” Jeannie cleared up her supplies

efficiently, still refusing to meet my eyes.

Why? I shrugged uncomfortably. It just did. I dug into the

bottom drawer of my desk and withdrew a battered coffee tin. I

retrieved my pipe and a lighter. “It just does, Jeannie, it just does.”

I turned back to find her staring at me in blatant disapproval.

“What the hell are you doing, Simon? You said you gave up

smoking.” She grabbed her purse and laptop bag and scowled at

me. “Never mind, you’re clearly not father material.”

“That’s why,” I agreed with her. I closed my fist around the

ridiculous little purple ceramic pipe my last girlfriend had given

me.

Chapter Four

I threw the road map Jeannie had forced on me onto the pas-

senger seat of my Mustang and concentrated on getting out of

the parking lot. I’d stopped working Saturday mornings as of last

month when I spoke to Alexi and met his son. This meant I had

no excuse to give when Jeannie insisted I pick her friend up at the

airport out in Ontario. Never mind it was a long-ass drive and

the flight apparently got in before dawn. “What the hell else do

you have to do?” she’d demanded. And the answer to that was

absolutely fucking nothing. So I drove a hundred miles plus to

pick up her friend who managed to save a measly fifty dollars

by flying into the Ontario airport instead of the oh-so-much-more

conveniently located John Wayne International Airport in Orange

County. Never mind the fifty dollars in gas I’d spend to make the

trip; I apparently owed Jeannie something in return for not work-

ing Saturdays anymore.

Lee Brazil

Driving down the highway, I was in that lull between the Fri-

day night party traffic and the Saturday morning gung-ho sun

worshippers. The dawn was peaceful and quiet and gave me a

lot of time to think, an activity which I’d been intentionally avoid-

ing since I’d basically run like hell from the prospect of getting

involved with Alexi and his son. Why? Why do something so

stupid? I’m an adult, a responsible businessman—and I kept that

pipe and coffee tin in my desk drawer to remind me of my ma-

turity. Not to fall back on and use as a crutch when uncertainty

claimed me.

Jeannie’s jibe that I clearly wasn’t father material had rung

true, though. I’m thirty-one years old and I have never had any-

thing to do with kids of any age. They walk in the door of my

bookstore with their parents and I cringe. I’m pretty self-aware,

and though in some ways I’m sure I’ve changed since high school,

in others, I’m still the same selfish ass who took Alexi’s infatua-

tion for granted. I can’t fathom how a relationship with children

works.

Jeannie tells me that’s because I’m used to being the child in

every relationship I have, and maybe that’s true. I don’t think it is.

I could take the risk and have a relationship with Alexi. I could

even love him. Maybe we would end up together forever, but

maybe not. There were no guarantees. I’ve never done this with a

man before. I couldn’t risk another failed relationship with a kid

involved.

I’d tested all this logic out on Jeannie as it occurred to me dur-

ing the past few weeks and she always responded with the faintly

disgusted expression she’d perfected when we first met, after she

married my only brother. I’d considered the issue and reconsid-

ered it and, honestly, I haven’t had a relationship last more than

six months, ever, and in six months, damned if I’d be responsible

for making that sweet-looking kid cry. I saw tears in his father’s

eyes often enough in high school. I could guess exactly how they

would look. I didn’t want the responsibility for any broken-heart-

ed kids if things didn’t work out. I pay my taxes, I vote in every

election, even when I don’t like my options, I eat right, exercise,

and gave up smoking. I accept the responsibilities of adulthood,

but not that one. I won’t hurt a kid.

Jeannie is evil, crafty, and manipulative as hell. I got that she

was setting me up this morning out of pure orneriness. I just didn’t

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understand what or how. My best guess was I’d probably spend

the whole drive to Huntington in a blind date from hell situation

with one of her phony sorority sisters. Until I pulled into the pick-

up lane and Alexi opened the passenger-side door of my black

Mustang and slid into the seat beside me, smiling tentatively.

Relief, excitement, instant arousal, embarrassment, the over-

whelming desire to strangle Jeannie and then fire her. The emo-

tions ripped through me one after another in the span of seconds

as I thumped my head on the steering wheel just once. “A friend

of Jeannie’s now, are you?”

He had the grace to blush, but he didn’t glance away. Steady

gray eyes gazed earnestly at me, and I wanted so badly to make

the short distance between us disappear with a kiss. “We’ve

been...talking...the last few weeks,” Alexi confessed in his soft,

soothing tenor.

Now, why hadn’t that occurred to me? I understood Jeannie

was nosy and liked to gossip. I knew her. I did, and yet...

“Why?”

“I asked her to help me. I went to the trouble of finding you

after all these years, and was working up the courage to approach

you myself when you re-introduced yourself to me. Then, some-

thing happened. We were getting along. I still find you very at-

tractive, Simon, and you seemed interested.”

“I was. I am. I really...I can’t do this with you...with Gregory.”

Black curls danced around his head as he nodded. His hand

landing on my thigh riveted my attention. “I thought that might

be the problem. Can we talk about this?”

The heat from his palm soaked through my jeans, predictably

warming me. I had to break eye contact to get the car out onto the

road. Torn between the desire to push him away so I could focus,

and the near need to hold his hand in place and just enjoy the

touch, I compromised by ignoring the sensation.

“There really isn’t anything to talk about.”

“Shouldn’t I get to have a say in this decision you’ve made

not to explore what’s been between us since high school?” His

voice was level and calm in the darkness, but I could tell by the

tension in his grip my answer was important.

“I just can’t, not with a kid involved.” The excuse sounded

lamer and lamer every time I said it, especially out loud.

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“Let me be the judge of what’s appropriate for my child, Si-

mon. Turn here. I have a place in mind where we can go and talk.”

We drove in silence for a while. I followed Alexi’s directions

and steered into a parking lot. We had arrived at our destination.

Bemused, I turned to face him. “A winery? At this hour of the

day?”

His joyous smile chased away some of the depression that

had been my constant companion for the past month. A dreamy

expression deepened the gray of his eyes. “Yes! This is something

I’ve always wanted to do, and...” The determined look on his face

made me brace myself for his next words. “You can’t run away if

we’re up there.”

Up there? What the fuck did he mean?

Never underestimate the power of a pretty smile. Forty-five

minutes later, I clung to Alexi’s hand, visions of death floating

through my head. We sipped hot cocoa as a magnificent, terri-

fying, beautifully colored balloon inflated above the basket that

would carry us and a few other passengers in an hour-long sun-

rise tour of the Temecula wine country.

I am not afraid of heights. I fly regularly, look out the win-

dows of high-rise buildings, and I’ve even stood at the top of the

Washington Monument as it swayed under my feet while I gazed

out across D.C. A hot air balloon, though, was something else. A

fragile bit of nothing between me and a freefall through the frigid

morning air to earth. No engine, no seatbelt, no protective barrier

to prevent disaster.

I forced myself to release Alexi and pretended interest in the

inflating operation. The focus helped me gulp down the rising

nausea. A few other couples stood about waiting as well and in

short order we were on board and rising gracefully into the early

morning gloom. As though by unspoken agreement, we all head-

ed to separate corners, ensuring each couple the utmost privacy.

The gentle breeze ruffled our hair, and I shoved aside my doubts

about a relationship with Alexi, determined to enjoy the moment.

The sheer ethereal beauty of the rising sun over the orchards and

vineyards below swept fear away and I tugged Alexi back against

my chest, resting my chin on the top of his head as together we

absorbed the moment. Silky black curls tickled my nose and

cheeks as locks of hair clung to the bristle of five o’clock shadow.

The scent of his citrusy aftershave or shampoo, whatever it was,

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teased my nostrils. I inhaled deeply, pretending to myself that the

fresh air was what sent ripples of pleasure through my body.

I waved away the glass of champagne and orange juice, the

traditional breakfast of balloonists according to the pilot, but

Alexi accepted it willingly. I held him in my arms as we floated

leisurely above the rolling hills with their lush vineyards dappled

with ranch buildings and country estates, all colored by the bril-

liant glow of reds and oranges from the rising sun. Drifting here

and there, time had no meaning, and as we dipped close to the

top branches of a gnarled citrus grove, the pilot harvested a few

sun-kissed fruits.

Sipping his champagne, Alexi turned in my arms and gazed

up into my eyes. His touch skimmed along the bristle of my jaw,

and I tensed a bit, then relaxed under the soothing touch. He

twined his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck and

tugged lightly to bring my lips down to his. In this dream-like set-

ting, I gave no consideration to the pilot, the other passengers, or

the flimsiness of the basket we stood in. I settled back against the

edge and pressed our lips together. His were cool, wet, and sweet

from the icy champagne. As my lips parted over his, a few drops

of the bubbly champagne passed from his mouth to mine, fol-

lowed by tiny darting forays of tongue. I cannot deny Alexi’s kiss

aroused me; the evidence of my interest ground firmly against

him, and a hard cock rubbing against my thigh left no doubt

about how affected Alexi was. This kiss transcended the physical;

Alexi in my arms felt right in ways no one else ever had. In this

atmosphere, rejecting the possibilities the future held felt foolish

beyond compare.

In the glow of the early morning, with the peace of the dawn-

ing day before us, anything seemed possible. Alexi withdrew

his mouth slowly from mine, pausing to breathe across my lips,

words I could barely decipher over the noise of my heart. “I have

more than a hundred different kisses I’ve saved to share with you,

Simon. That was one.”

Feebly, my brain made a last attempt to force logic on my

heart, “Gregory...”

Warm, moist lips trailed from my chin across my jawline, and

I winced, seriously regretting the failure to shave.

“Six months, you said.”

Lee Brazil

Six months? What the hell was he talking about? Mellowed by

the experience, wits dulled by the passion between us, I couldn’t

fathom his meaning. “What?”

“You said you never had a relationship that lasted more than

six months. Give me six months. In six months, if we’re still dat-

ing, we’ll add Gregory to the equation. Until then...” He tapped

a finger against my mouth to keep it shut, I suppose, so he could

keep talking, but apparently he overestimated my ability to func-

tion while he touched me, because I immediately stopped listen-

ing. That warm touch, the gentle pressure, enticed. I couldn’t re-

sist. I had to taste. I licked and curled my tongue around the digit,

then sucked his finger gently into my mouth. His eyes widened

and he stopped talking abruptly before jerking away suddenly.

I agreed. I would have agreed to anything at all to experience

those hundred kisses. As our mouths came together again, I de-

cided that instead of firing Jeannie, I would give her a raise.

Chapter Five

I dumped a load of books on the counter for Jeannie to prep

for shipping as she strolled through the front door carrying a plas-

tic crate. It couldn’t be what it looked like, so I figured the box

contained some new craft crap for her to fill her working hours

with.

I should have realized it was exactly what it looked like—a

pet carrier. She set her burden on the glass countertop with a solid

thump that produced a horrible screeching protest from the dark

depths. I stared at the thing, repulsed.

“What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a cat, dumbass.” She opened the door and a streak of

black fur shot across the room to disappear into the depths of the

bookshelves.

I stared at her, unimpressed. “Why?”

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“You’re going to have a kid. You need practice.” She waved

a manicured hand around the shop vaguely. “At being domesti-

cated. Taking care of Ebenezer will help.”

Appalled, I listened to the rabid-sounding snarls and hisses

as the beast let his fury at being caged be heard. Then her words

sank in. “What the hell? Has Molly been in here trying to claim

she’s having my baby again?”

Jeannie stopped right where she was and stared at me, eyes

narrowing. She was counting backward, I could tell, to reach Mol-

ly in my list of alleged conquests. “Molly? ‘Oh my God, call an

ambulance, I broke a nail’ Molly? You got her pregnant?”

I collapsed onto the stool behind the counter and huffed. “No.

I did not. We only dated for a few weeks. I never had unprotected

sex with her. At least not that I can remember.”

Jeannie smirked. “Sure you didn’t.”

“No really, I didn’t. We screwed a few times, yeah, but al-

ways used condoms. She’s really not my type.” “Psycho” better

described her, but yeah...”not my type” covered it all.

“Well, I’ve no idea about Molly, but I was talking about Alexi’s

son.” Her eyes lit up, and she stared at me. “Speaking of which,

dish. How was it? What happened?”

Umm...how was it? Fantastic. I got so lost in memories of ex-

actly how incredible that morning had been, reliving the taste of

Alexi’s mouth, the texture of his skin, the pressure of his body

against mine, that apparently I was unaware of Jeannie address-

ing me. She, however, ever observant, noted the heated flush on

my cheeks and the other signs of my memories, and smirked

knowingly.

“I see the date went very well.”

Which reminded me; “Jeannie, you have to help me. You

helped Alexi set up that balloon thing, but now I need your help.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what I’m

doing! I don’t know how to date a man. Seriously.” I persevered

despite the disgusted glance Jeannie flashed me from bright blue

eyes. “He took me up in a fucking hot air balloon. As dates go, it

was beautiful, sexy, romantic. One couple up there with us was

celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Another guy

proposed to his girlfriend. The other couple quietly fought be-

cause she didn’t tell him until we were in the air that she was

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pregnant. It was fucking special. Me? I got nothing. Do I take him

flowers? Do we have dinner at a candlelit restaurant? The Lakers

game? I know what to do with a girl I’m dating. I get what women

expect. I know what to do with a guy friend I’m hanging out with.

I don’t know what to do with a guy I’m dating.”

Jeannie scowled at me again. “You really are a dipshit. Dating

is not a competitive sport, moron. You date a man just like you do

a woman. You go places you think he’d like and you talk and get

acquainted with each other.”

I stared at her helplessly. “Well, you talked to him. Where

would he like to go?”

She snarled her response. “With you? To bed. Here.” She

flung a pamphlet from the counter at me. “This is one of the op-

tions we considered for you. So he’ll like it. Any more advice I can

give you? Want me to draw you a damn diagram of what comes

after?” Muttering about high school girls, Jeannie began unload-

ing the basket of craft supplies she was never without. I tuned her

out to focus on the brochure.

What came after I was damn sure I could handle on my own.

Something told me Alexi could clue me in on everything my

imagination hadn’t conceived of. A change of subject was in or-

der. “So, Ebenezer, huh?”

Jeannie flipped her blonde ponytail over her shoulder and

scowled at me. “Fuck off. Don’t you have any work to do?” She

turned her back on me and continued unloading her materials for

the craft project for the day.

“Yeah. Here.” I shoved the stack of books toward her. “I

printed the labels this morning, and I’d like to get these in the

mail when I leave to meet Alexi this afternoon.” I fingered my

cell phone in my pocket and decided getting coffee for the two

of us while I phoned Alexi about my plans for the afternoon beat

having to share even more of my private life with Jeannie than I

already had.

I surreptitiously scooped up the brochure and turned toward

the door. “I’m getting coffee, be right back.” I studied the bro-

chure as I headed down the empty sidewalk to the coffee shop.

CSULB Japanese Botanical Gardens. The setting was gorgeous, no

doubt about that. A stroll in the gardens followed by a meal at a

local restaurant was doable. Then I noticed the operating hours.

Lee Brazil

Shit. I pulled my phone out and was listening to it ring before I

could second-guess myself.

***

An hour later, I stood by the entry gate of the Earl Burns Mill-

er Japanese Garden with its tiled roof inspired by a gate in Kyoto,

Japan. According to the brochure I still clutched tightly, the large

stone lantern nearby was imported from Japan. This lantern sup-

posedly shows a deer, but I could hardly focus my attention on

the beauty of the surroundings as I spied Alexi strolling up from

the parking area. The gentle breeze tossed his black curls about in

artistic disarray. His cheeks were flushed from the heat, the walk

up from the parking lot, or whatever. His lips, and the memories

they invoked, drew my gaze, and I licked my own in anticipation

as he approached.

His eyes sparkled as he came within touching distance and I

fought the urge to yank him even closer when he stilled, gazing

up at me. I drowned in the depths of his mesmerizing gray eyes.

I slid a hand along the smooth plane of his jaw, feeling him smile.

He must have recently shaved, because with the thick, dark curls

there was no way he could make it through a day till four o’clock

without a shadow.

I leaned down a fraction, he stretched up a bit, our heads tilt-

ing into line as though we’d shared the hundred kisses he’d men-

tioned the day before. Just before our lips connected, his warm,

damp tongue brushed my lip. My eyes drifted closed as our part-

ed lips slid softly together. Gently, a struggle with the demands

of my body in Alexi’s presence, I drew my tongue across his lips. I

cupped his jaw in my palm and then slid around to the nape of his

neck, to caress the soft skin and tunnel into the black curls there.

Uncaring that this was a public place, I drew him in closer, resting

my hand snugly against his waist, digging into the firm muscles

beneath the white dress shirt he wore. Every breath teased my

senses with the citrusy scent I’d noted before, and I sank deeper

into the kiss, into the moment, as his lips parted wider to accept

my entry. Slowly, attempting to keep things light, to leave no

doubt of my emotional state, but not wanting to encourage a rag-

ing inferno of desire in this public setting, I explored the territory

he offered to me, sliding my tongue along his, swirling around

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the cavern of his mouth, rediscovering the sweet heat of Alexi I

had nearly convinced myself was a product of the romantic atmo-

sphere the balloon ride presented.

Withdrawing with regret, I gazed again into his gray eyes,

dark and stormy now with a desire I recognized all too well. Alexi

shook his head briefly as though to shake off the effects of the

kiss, and I stifled a protest. I needed him as dazed by emotion, as

confused by physical desire, as I was myself.

“That’s two,” he whispered in a husky voice I had to strain to

hear above the pulse of blood beating in my ears. “You should be

kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how.”

I recognized the cheesy-sounding line from somewhere. But

where? He laughed at the confusion on my face. “Rhett Butler,

Gone With the Wind, to Scarlett. I am, at best, a thief of romantic

words, but every kiss we share, Simon, is an original, inspired

by you, for you. Since you kissed me in that closet all those years

ago, I’ve dreamed them up, stored them, marked them for Simon.

Now I’m going to try them all.”

Wait. He knew I’d kissed him at that party? And the kiss had

apparently dwelt in his memory as it had in mine? I was ridicu-

lously pleased. I’d kissed dozens of women, but I couldn’t remem-

ber every kiss with any of them. I’d certainly never planned how

to kiss anyone—beyond the basics of “hey, this gets the results I

want.” I felt like an ass and a king at the same time.

Alexi threaded his arm through mine, an affectionate gesture

that, more than the kisses we’d shared, assured me this was right.

What went before was immaterial. We had chemistry, yes, and

every kiss built my desire to possess Alexi, to make love to him, to

be his in every way. That fact was true. But this, the golden glow

of knowing he wasn’t bothered at all to be seen walking arm-in-

arm with me through a well-traveled public venue, these were the

moments that made me think there was more than lust between

us.

I laughed at him. “So, I’m your Scarlett?”

He laughed in reply, the husky tones ringing through the

parking lot. “Well, I do believe I have more the look of Rhett than

you do, but...”

I dropped his arm and wound our fingers together. His touch

on my arm was nice, the weight of it comfortable and sure, but the

skin-to-skin contact of our handclasp was even better. We strolled

Lee Brazil

into the gardens, down well-worn paths to gaze in tranquil har-

mony at the raked sand garden, and toss handfuls of feed to the

goldfish in the streams and ponds.

Chapter Six

I strolled through the door to my shop one bright California

morning a few weeks later to be greeted by the now-familiar sight

of Ebenezer, who needed to constantly prove his worth in order

to earn his keep. Eb lounged out across the glass countertop. His

bright blue eyes tracked my movements across the room as his

head rested on his crossed paws. In front of him lay his latest of-

fering. I hoped the damp blob was a hairball. More likely than

not, it was fresh kill. I’d never even realized we had mice in the

shop until Eb started sharing his hunt. Now my mornings weren’t

complete without a trip to the Dumpster to dispose of his latest

victim before I fed the beast.

I’d given up eating before work myself for the very same rea-

son. This morning, in front of Eb and his prey lay a dramatically

shredded pile of paper I recognized on closer inspection as the re-

sponsibility chart I’d labored on for hours and presented to Jean-

Lee Brazil

nie in an obviously futile attempt to assert control over my own

business. Next to the mess sat a small amber-colored vial.

I got the message when I cleaned up Eb’s gift. Apparently

Jeannie had had enough of my slow romancing. I realized it was

time to move forward; Alexi was becoming impatient with my

reticence as well. But, really? Honey Butter Kiss body oil? She

might as well have gone ahead and scribbled “Get Laid” on the

glass countertop in scarlet lipstick like she’d done on the bath-

room mirror yesterday morning.

And seriously, my reluctance wasn’t because I didn’t want to.

Every day, every kiss, every touch we shared convinced me more

and more that Alexi and I were meant to be together. Waiting just

seemed right. It was one of the myriad ways being with Alexi was

special to me. Any other potential lover I’d have rushed straight to

bed on the first date, and if things didn’t work out, there wouldn’t

have been a second date. But then, from them, that’s all I’d wanted.

With Alexi, much as I desired physical intimacy, I treasured

and savored every step of our growing relationship. If a lifetime

commitment loomed before me, then I wanted a courtship to go

with it, damn it.

Still, maybe the time had arrived for weeks of frustration to

end if both Jeannie and the cat offered bribes in an attempt to

soothe the rabid beast.

And so I found myself stupidly standing with a single red

rose in my sweaty grip, feeling cheesy and anxious, at Alexi’s

door an hour before we were supposed to meet. I hadn’t been to

his house before. He hadn’t been to mine. Meeting at the book

store or a restaurant was always so convenient.

And that right there showed me something was wrong. How

could I even consider a life-long commitment with someone when

I didn’t know how he lived? He liked jazzy music and Indian food,

adored nature and the sun, got seasick on the open sea but loved

the whales enough to suffer through it, hated movie theaters and

amusement parks. The things I knew about Alexi seemed petty

and trivial next to the mountain of information I didn’t have.

Every item on the other side of these doors could be immacu-

lately tidy or in rampant disarray. The coffee he made in the morn-

ing might taste like dirty dishwater. He might squeeze the tooth-

paste from the bottom or the middle of the tube. I didn’t know

if he even liked orange juice in the morning, let alone whether

The Man Trap

he preferred his juice pulp-free and calcium-enhanced or fresh-

squeezed.

My ignorance kind of made the point of whether he liked

Honey Butter Kiss body oil rather moot. The outside of the house

seemed like an argument in favor of ringing the bell. The lawn

was neatly manicured; the flower beds meticulously cared for.

The house was attractive enough, deep olive stucco with decora-

tive white wooden shutters.

I wasn’t sure if I should ring the bell and cross the threshold,

see what life inside Alexi’s house had to offer, or scamper off to

my Mustang and hightail it away to the shop to wait till we were

supposed to meet at the pier that evening. Maybe savoring every

aspect of our relationship hadn’t been holding me back; maybe it

was plain fear of the unknown. Fear that, for all the joy and plea-

sure being in Alexi’s company brought, greater intimacy would

tarnish what I wanted to remain shiny.

The door swinging open took the choice from my hands, and

Alexi stood there, in the collegiate sweatshirt I’d forced on him a

few months earlier and tight faded jeans, with a perplexed gaze

and mocking smile. He took in my black dress pants and blousy

white shirt, the deep red bloom of the rose I held and the uncer-

tain smile I forced.

“I don’t know what kind of orange juice you drink.” I cringed

at the words as soon as I spoke. Fuck. Since high school I’d been

an idiot around this man. Why?

He sighed, looped his arm through mine and dragged me

through the doorway. “You’re way over-analyzing this.”

The door shut with a solid thud that drowned the beating of

my heart. His body crowded me backward into the clean elegant

foyer. The soothing green of the walls and the gleam of blue tile

rushed in and out of my vision as my entire existence narrowed

down to the point where our eyes and lips met, where the warm

flesh of his body pressed against me.

Somehow, without breaking the connection of our lips, he

guided our movements down a shallow step into an open oasis

of a living area. I had the impression of green plants and dark

mahogany before Alexi’s face and form blocked my vision, shift-

ing us down onto a broad leather sofa. His warm, solid touch was

everywhere at once, stripping away clothing—mine, his—as if by

magic.

Lee Brazil

Naked at last, he knelt above me and my breath caught in

wonder. Swirls of silky black curls to match those on his head

coiled from the golden skin of his firmly muscled chest into a nar-

row trail down tight abs across the taut firm length of belly, to

spread again in an enticing thicket around the base of his cock.

The rightness of the moment brushed the uncertainties from my

mind. His confident touch on my skin swept away any lingering

doubts that this was the right time for us, and my hands found

their way back to the places they’d caressed before, bare now and

more addicting than ever. Our bodies writhed together in a tor-

turous caress of skin on skin, chest to chest, cock to cock. The deli-

cious friction sent my pulse racing, my breath heaving.

Our lips met in kisses so frantic and indistinct, one melded

into another and another. I was sure even Alexi wouldn’t be able

to keep up with his game of counting them. He tore his mouth

from mine and left a trail of hot moist kisses across my jaw to

whisper in my ear, sending ripples of sensation through me.

The words didn’t matter, because I could sense the love in the

tenderness of his touch, the desire to please in the tense way he

held himself, as though he’d caught my uncertainty. I stretched

to pick up the dress pants he’d thrown on the floor, and he mur-

mured indistinct words in a low soothing tone. Did he think I was

reluctant? If he did, the fiery trail his mouth burned down the col-

umn of my neck to the smooth skin of my chest was all the persua-

sion I’d have needed. The warm heat of his mouth closed around a

nipple while his fingers teased and plucked at the other. I fought

the temptation to just drown in the sensations, to let whatever

would happen, happen. One more thing, and then I’d let my wor-

ries go, let Alexi guide me on these paths I’d never traveled.

I fumbled through my trousers to find the Honey Butter Kiss

body oil Jeannie had so audaciously left for me, and pressed the

vial into his palm. Mission accomplished, I drew his head to mine,

and whispered into his mouth as I kissed him again, “I love you.”

He took the vial I shoved at him, returned my kiss and then

looked at it curiously. A strange flush spread across his cheek-

bones. “Umm... I seriously didn’t think she’d do it. I’m sorry.”

Alexi struggled to pull away from me, but I closed my arms

around him and held tight. “What do you mean?”

The Man Trap

“I gave the oil to her as a joke. She said she was passing my

gift on to someone who could use it more.” Alexi shook a little,

and worried lines creased his brow.

“Jeannie? You gave this to Jeannie?” I admit, I was a bit dazed

and couldn’t quite understand the problem. “What, you’re against

re-gifting?”

“She pressured you into this, somehow? Didn’t she?”

“No! No, she didn’t. I want this. I want you, Alexi. This is not

the response I expected from a declaration of love.”

“And you seriously want me to...” He waved his hands about

in some bizarre sign language that soared right over my head. I

had no clue what he was talking about, so I simply nodded.

A brilliant smile assured me my response was right. His trem-

bling fingers coiled in my hair, tugged our mouths back together,

and set the ball rolling again. I relaxed, loosening my death grip

when I realized Alexi wasn’t going to ditch me on the edge. My

caresses roamed his smooth flesh, memorized the sensations of

strong muscles and satiny skin, the crisp crinkle of hair and the

heat of his body.

I paid little attention to what exactly Alexi did with the vial

of body oil until his slick fingers wrapped around my cock and

smoothed the liquid from tip to base. The liquid warmed, as

though I wasn’t hot enough already, as he stroked me. My atten-

tion was caught, well and good. I stared, fascinated, as his gen-

erous lips parted and he flicked his tongue against the leaking

tip. My heart beat loudly in my ears, and I could scarcely breathe

as his mouth closed hotly around me, licking and sucking. This

wasn’t new territory, strictly speaking, I mean. But with Alexi, it

was. My brother and I used to joke there was no such thing as a

bad blow job, but Alexi made everything I’d experienced before

pale by comparison. There was knowledge in every touch, cer-

tainty that he understood exactly how he made me feel, and he

loved our being together as much as I did.

I wasn’t aware he had an ulterior motive until I felt slick, blunt

fingers rubbing oil into the skin of my hole, massaging, loosen-

ing the muscle. I should have had second thoughts, I should have

shaken with terror, like the night I’d fucked Mary Sue Gabradine

under the bleachers at Homecoming and lost my virginity. May-

be being a virgin the second time around wasn’t as terrifying, or

maybe loving Alexi made it easier.

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All I could say for sure was what he was doing felt a little

strange, but darkly pleasurable. His massage melted into the

sensations of his mouth on my cock, and it was right. And then

he shifted away, leaving me wet and aching, to nudge the tip of

something much larger than his fingers at my opening.

I didn’t have the opportunity to utter the protest that rose be-

fore his mouth closed over mine again. The pressure gave way

to a quickly fading burn as he slowly filled me. His grip closed

again around my cock, and I experienced the tell-tale signs of im-

minent release. This was new, but it was good, and I wasn’t going

to last long. So much for my vaunted experience. The stretch of

muscle in my legs, the thrum of blood in my veins, the sensations

all swam together, mingled with the magic of Alexi’s kiss. Every

movement flowed like choreography, and at the end, when warm

liquid spilled over his hand and I gasped for breath, when his

weight settled limply on me, and he turned his lips into my neck,

I recognized the rightness of my decision.

“Fresh-squeezed, with the pulp strained. Four oranges and

two tangerines.”

Alexi’s version of pillow talk took me aback.

He chuckled against my neck. “Orange juice. You asked.”

Chapter Seven

I placed a bowl of milk on the counter in front of Eb, figuring

that giving him the good stuff might encourage him to believe his

home with the shop was secure. Maybe security would lead to

complacency, and complacency to a decrease in the frequency of

Eb’s offerings. He sniffed the dish disdainfully, stalked around,

surveying it from all angles as though he suspected I was trying

to poison him, and deigned to take a tiny taste with the tip of his

tongue. A loud purr rose from the great beast and he eyed me cau-

tiously as he proceeded to lap the milk up.

I printed labels and orders and prepared to pull books from

the shelves so Jeannie could prep them for shipping. At 10:15 a.m.,

Alexi was stopping by for what had quickly become my favorite

tradition. Gregory had his tae kwon do lesson and Alexi would

drop him off at the studio before meeting me at the bookshop.

Jeannie would snarl us on our way and we’d disappear down to

the coffee shop, making our plans for the upcoming week over

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iced mochas before wandering back to observe Greg’s lesson

through the big plate glass window at the studio.

It was, as yet, the closest connection I’d made with Alexi’s son,

but I already glowed with pride when the little guy mastered a

kick or put his best effort into the calisthenics the sensei required

of them. I have to say, those kids had more stamina than I did. I’d

have collapsed halfway through the workout. So, in the interest of

keeping Jeannie occupied, I pulled books and piled them on the

counter for her to process so she wouldn’t sprain anything impor-

tant while attempting to spy on me through the shop’s window.

I perched at the top of the ladder, searching for some copies of

Ronald Syme’s The Roman Revolution for a shipment to a univer-

sity book store when the bell over the front door rang. It was too

soon for Alexi, but I figured Jeannie had arrived when no greeting

came in response to my “Be right there!” Customers generally say

“no problem” or something of the sort.

Climbing down the stepstool backward, I bumped into—lit-

erally, mind you—the person who’d come through the door. The

customer stood directly at the foot of the ladder. Some people

have no concept of personal space. A ripple of unease slid down

my spine as soon as the bump occurred. Oh, the sensation wasn’t

jarring or anything. Maybe her perfume hung in the air around

her. Maybe it was bad vibes, or maybe I’d just been too damn

happy.

So I excused myself and pointedly rolled the ladder a few feet

away so I could step forward before turning to face the person

behind me. I’m sure my face paled and my jaw dropped. Behind

me stood a very pregnant Molly “Oh my God, call an ambulance

I broke a nail” Flannery. Back to pawn her spawn off on me for

what must have been the fifth time. The first four times she’d

made the assertion that I had fathered her child, I hadn’t really

even believed the rail-thin woman was pregnant. There was no

doubting her pregnancy now.

My stomach lurched, and my heart slowed. I could say with

nearly one hundred percent certainty that she wasn’t carrying my

baby, but what would others believe?

If Jeannie didn’t believe me, Jeannie who had married my

brother ten years ago and worked side-by-side with me for six

years, then how the hell could I expect Alexi to believe me?

The Man Trap

He’d essentially known me for four months and a few years

in high school when I was living a lie. How could I expect him to

believe Molly was not having my baby?

“Molly.” I forced the word out politely, clenching my fists

behind my back to prevent myself from shoving her out of the

shop and locking the door behind her before Alexi arrived. “Can I

help you? We have a section devoted to pregnancy and expectant

mothers.” And one devoted to true crime sprees, which we might

well have on our hands if I couldn’t get her out the door quickly.

“Simon,” she whispered in her pathetic-little-girl-broken-

hearted voice. “You need to stop this. Our baby is going to be

born in three months, and it’s time for you to grow up and stop

running. We need to set a date for the wedding. I spoke to your

mother and...”

My fists clenched, and if I hadn’t been raised by parents who

believed in old-fashioned civility, I’d have hit her. Bad enough I

had to deal with psycho Molly, now she’d dragged my mother

into the fracas? On cue my cell phone rang and the bookshop

landline chimed in simultaneously. “Molly.” I swung around to

stalk to the front of the shop, dropping Syme’s books on the coun-

ter. “You and I both know that is not my baby. I’m involved with

someone else now, and I’d appreciate you moving on.”

She started to protest, but this conversation could not be had

in the middle of my shop with Jeannie and Alexi both due any

minute. My only hope was to get her out of there and force the

truth out of her.

It was a foolish hope, and the steely jaws of her trap closed

around me as I answered the shop phone and heard my brother’s

voice warning me not to answer my cell because Mom was on the

rampage.

Exasperated, I thanked him and hung up. I grasped Molly by

the arm and urged her toward the door. We collided with Jeannie

on her way in. Jeannie’s eyes widened and her mouth opened and

I took the opportunity to shove past her with my burden. “The

pulls are on the counter, I’ll be back later. If Alexi drops by, tell

him I’m sick,” I called over my shoulder.

I hustled Molly to my car, and paused for a moment while I

considered where to take her for this discussion. My place was

definitely out. The main thing was to get away from here before

Molly met Alexi and shared her pathetic story with him. The park

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around the corner would have to do. We needed to talk, but I

couldn’t put myself in a private setting with her.

Going to the park appeased Molly, and she smiled at people

and children as we passed them. She caught sight of something

and headed off with a giggle to sit on a swing. “Oh, Simon, how

romantic! Push me on the swing, honey.”

No fucking way. “Forget it, Molly. This isn’t about romance.

It’s about you wanting to trap me into marriage for some reason.

You don’t really think we would be happy married under these

circumstances, do you?”

“You’ll get over it, Simon. When the baby is born, you’ll settle

down.” She smiled at me vacuously.

“I’m not going to be stuck married to you because of someone

else’s kid, Molly.”

Her eyes narrowed. “But if this were your baby, you’d marry

me.”

Well, no. I probably wouldn’t. I couldn’t see it happening.

Then again, I didn’t really make much effort to envision happily-

ever-after with Molly, either. Leaving out the option of condom

failure, there was only one possible night Molly and I could have

had unprotected sex, more than six months ago. I drank a bit too

much, sure, but no way did I forget important things like that.

Still, the situation called for a paternity test, and the only way to

do one prenatally was in the doctor’s office. So far, Molly had re-

fused to cooperate. Her claim that the procedure was risky for the

baby struck me as sound, and waiting her out to do a cheek swab

test at birth appeared the best option, but that was before Alexi.

Alexi, who strode across the park toward me at that exact mo-

ment.

Chapter Eight

To say I panicked would be an understatement, like compar-

ing a backyard garden hose to Niagara Falls. The expression on

my face must have been truly blatant, because it moved even the

oblivious Molly to ask what was wrong. Alexi strolled calmly up

to us, wound his arm through mine and gave Molly a stern father-

ly glance. He turned the same gaze on me, and I literally quaked

in my boots. This wasn’t good. It couldn’t be good.

“How...” I broke off as he quirked a single dark brow. How?

Jeannie, of course. Fucking bitch. Just when I relied on her to have

my back, she pulled some shit like this. I should have known bet-

ter. Jeannie was no lifeguard, watching out for others. If anything,

she’d probably take pleasure in my drowning.

Alexi’s demanding touch slid up my arm and curled pos-

sessively around the nape of my neck. Even in chaos my body

responded to his touch, my lips parting in preparation as I bent

slightly to accept his kiss. I thought we’d kissed before, and in

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every possible way over the last few months. Alexi had even giv-

en up his game of counting each different type of kiss, but this

kiss truly was like no other. His mouth commanded, mastered,

claimed what it wanted without brooking refusal, as if I’d have

dared. The fact that we stood in front of my ex-girlfriend in the

play area of a local park faded quickly from my mind. Molly’s

gasp of shock brought the kiss to a slow, lingering end, and Alexi

whispered a single word—”Mine”—across my lips before turn-

ing to face Molly.

Molly’s shock was evident. Alexi didn’t give her time to get

over her upset. He took my hand in his and turned to face her

down. “Miss Flannery. This is not the sixties. Men do not indis-

criminately marry women who get pregnant. Society no longer

expects it. Morality no longer demands it.”

Molly smoothed the baby bump of her stomach, and she

opened her mouth to protest, but Alexi cut her off as he had me

earlier. “If, and I have my doubts about it, that is Simon’s child,

we will of course provide child support and expect to share cus-

todial privileges with you. Unless, of course, you’re willing to as-

sign your parental rights to us?”

Incredible. The surge from despair to elation left me dizzy.

Alexi didn’t even ask if it was my baby. More, he seemed perfectly

okay with it being my baby. He walked in, took charge, told Molly

how things were going to be and the whole situation became clear

to me as well. Of course an unplanned child wasn’t the end of

anything. If it was my baby, my mother would have her grand-

child, I would have visitation, and I would still have Alexi.

Molly nearly shrieked in her fury. “Give up my baby to you

two? Never. It’s not even his!” Her eyes sparked with rage and the

furious flush clashed with her red hair. She scowled at Alexi and

gripped her purse, breathing heavily.

Though I’d waited for months to hear Molly’s disavowal of

my impending fatherhood, those words didn’t quite send me

weak with relief. Curious, hmm? Now that Alexi had enlightened

me, I had instantly become addicted to the idea of us with a baby.

“But...”

Again, Alexi cut me off. “You’ll excuse us if we don’t take

your word as truth. Our attorneys will be in touch.”

His grip on my hand tightened again and, with a sharp tug,

he had me trailing along after him to his car like a five-year-old. I

The Man Trap

started to protest, waving at my car in the parking lot, but he gave

me a scathing glance and I sealed my lips with a sigh.

We managed the car ride around the block to the strip mall in

stilted silence. I should have been cheering and thanking Alexi for

getting Molly off my back, but his stiff posture and angry silence

kept my mouth shut. I found myself sulking, getting angry for no

apparent reason. At last I ventured, “It was before we met. Why

are you so pissed off? I’m sure you slept with plenty of people be-

fore we got together.” The last jibe probably wasn’t exactly called-

for, but I have never been one to waste time thinking when jump-

ing to conclusions would do.

Alexi chose to address the least important part of my stupid

accusation. “No, as a matter of fact, Simon, I did not sleep with

plenty of people before we got together. I dated two men before

I married my wife six years ago, and since her death I’ve dated

exactly one other. But this isn’t about who I slept with before we

met again, nor is it about who you slept with. It’s about something

a lot more important than sex.”

More important than sex? What could be more important than

sex? Alexi parked in front of the tae kwon do studio and we got

out. Without looking at me, he strode over to stand at the window

and peered in at the boys going through their moves. Reluctantly,

I followed him. Something was wrong, and I didn’t want to fight.

“We didn’t make plans for the week,” I reminded him hesi-

tantly.

He didn’t even glance around, just stared through the win-

dow at his son. “I’ll call you,” he said. The familiar words

bounced around inside my suddenly empty head. He wouldn’t

call, no more than I had any of the hundred times I’d said I would.

I walked off down the sidewalk, wondering how everything had

gone to shit so fast.

Chapter Nine

The dim interior of the bar was made worse by the drifting

clouds of smoke that burned my eyes. I wouldn’t have minded,

but this wasn’t the good kind of smoke that mellowed you out. It

was the acrid, bitter, chemical smoke musicians seemed to find

cool. Not what I came here to find. Drake was late. Not much of

a surprise there; my buddy Drake was the type to be late to his

own funeral. I tilted my chair to rest against the wall and eyed

the dancers through the flickering light of the candle on my table.

Anorexic girls and tanned men writhed in intimate patterns

across the small cleared area, and instead of arousing me as the

sight would have before, I was apathetic. I’m sure they were beau-

tiful people. After all, California is full of beautiful people.

I made a mental note to pick up some milk for Eb at the gro-

cery store on my way home. The furry beast had rapidly wormed

his way into my affections. His loyalty and affection depended

upon nothing more than a pet or two and a bit of food. He never

The Man Trap

hid what he thought or felt from me, never left me guessing if he’d

be there or not. He left me a rodent or two, and in exchange he got

good food and a bowl of milk. If he was pissed at me, he yowled

and glared and made his point clearly.

Alexi had seriously let me down. He hadn’t called to make

our plans as he’d said he would. This led me to conclude that

though he’d told Molly he was okay with her having my baby, he

really wasn’t. While I appreciated his show of support in the face

of the enemy, I’d really rather have the real thing.

The scrape of the chair opposite mine drew me from my mo-

rose reverie. I shifted my vacant stare from the dancing couples to

Drake. Drake had attended high school with Alexi and me. Thin,

tall, and gangly, he had the kind of bad-boy sexy look that at-

tracted the girls. Curiously, I studied him. Objectively, and with

empirical evidence, I could tell he was hot. He simply didn’t do

anything for me sexually. His eyes had a shrewd expression I

found at variance with his laid-back attitude as he lounged in the

chair across from me.

“Hey, Simon,” His deep, low voice left me cold.

“Drake,” I nodded, turning my gaze to the dance floor.

“Haven’t seen you in a few years,” he continued. His casual

comment brought my attention back to him. I’d just seen him at

a coffee shop the other day and in the gym sometime last month.

“Like this,” he clarified, gesturing between the two of us. Oh.

Well, that was true. Since I’d decided growing up meant giving up

certain frivolous habits, I’d spent a lot less time hooking up with

Drake at various and sundry bars around town.

“I quit.” I told him dully.

“You did?” He seemed ridiculously pleased by my emotion-

less statement, slipping his hand into his jacket pocket and fum-

bling with something before dropping a lighter and a pack of

cigarettes on the table.

“Yeah.”

“Then this is only a social call?” He seemed even happier with

the confirmation. Something about the whole thing bothered me,

but I didn’t give a damn enough to figure out what.

“No. I...”

Drake leaned forward and braced an elbow on the table. His

head tilted intimately close to mine and he whispered in my ear.

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“You need to stop right there, Simon. If you’ve quit, you’ve quit.”

Louder, he said, “Let me get you another drink.”

What the fuck? Since when did a dealer tell his client not to

buy? I squinted, trying to keep Drake in sight as he strode pur-

posefully to the bar. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and

talked into it, face impassive as he ordered and stood waiting for

our drinks.

The solid thunk of a chair landing on the floor next to me jerk-

ed my attention from Drake to a furious Alexi, who dropped into

the chair he’d stolen from the table next to mine. His black brows

knitted together, and his gray eyes were dark with emotion. His

jaw was set with grim determination.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off abruptly. “No.

What the fuck are you doing, Simon?” He didn’t wait for an an-

swer. “Why are you here, with Drake of all people?”

Of course he knew Drake. High school wasn’t that long ago,

and Drake had been in the same profession since junior high. “Re-

lax,” I bit out, bitterly. “He wouldn’t sell to me.”

“Well, thank God for small favors! Why the hell are you out

here looking for trouble, Simon?” He seemed honestly perplexed.

I shook my head.

“You didn’t call. You said you’d call, and you didn’t.” I didn’t

make any effort to keep the depression, the pathetic feeling of

abandonment from showing. Jeez... How often had I heard those

exact same words from women over the years? From Molly, even?

Shit.

Alexi’s exasperated sigh grated on my nerves. I’d been de-

pressed. Now I was getting pissed off again.

“Simon, I called. Is this your phone?” Without waiting for an

answer, he picked the phone up from the table in front of me and

fiddled with it. “There. I turned it back on. Now check your mes-

sages.”

The exact extent of this evening’s stupidity had barely begun

to dawn on me when Drake returned to the table with two cups

of black coffee. He nodded at Alexi and calmly stacked my shot

glasses in the center of the table before resuming his seat. Absent-

ly I sipped from the cup, the thick black brew jolting through my

foggy mind enough to jog my memory. I’d forgotten I turned my

phone off to avoid my mother’s constant calls in the aftermath

of Molly’s conversation with her. Alexi and Drake began a low-

The Man Trap

voiced conversation that barely registered on my consciousness

as I studied my messages. Alexi had called. Every half hour since

I’d left him at the dojo. Sometimes he’d left messages; sometimes

he’d hung up when I didn’t answer. Guilt about misjudging him

swept through me, compounding my guilt over the way I reacted

to my disappointment. Getting high wouldn’t solve our problems;

smoking was just another form of running away.

Alexi’s hand closed over mine on the phone, and he picked

up my coffee with the other and took a sip. Absorbing the sight of

his hand, minus the wedding ring that had given me brief pause

early in our relationship, I froze. Finally, I looked up from my

phone to find myself the object of discerning gray eyes. When had

he stopped wearing his wedding band? Lashes flicking down,

I glanced across to see if Drake had picked up on the intimacy.

Drake had noticed all right, but he smiled and nodded at me

again, sipped from his own coffee cup and then set it down.

“It’s been great seeing you guys, catching up on the news. But

I have to leave. My shift doesn’t end for a while and my partner’s

expecting me.”

Too much alcohol and emotion made sorting out his meaning

difficult, but Alexi seemed to have no problem interpreting my

dilemma. He scowled at me. “He’s a cop, you idiot.”

“Oh, yeah? How do you know?” I’d bought smoke from the

man more than once in my younger years. No way could he be a

cop!

Alexi flushed slightly. “He’s one of the guys I dated before I

got married.”

“I bought from him before.” Yeah. “Idiot” rang about right.

“He worked narc undercover for years, building a case against

a major distributor.”

“Then why didn’t he arrest me?” I must have still looked

pretty dazed.

“You were small potatoes, Simon. They were after the big

guys, not the petty purchasers. Please. Your twenty-dollar-a-

month habit isn’t worth the cost of prosecution.” Alexi gave an-

other of those deeply meaningful sighs and tugged me to my feet

and out the door.

***

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The pressure of his grasp on my cock felt so good. A tiny

droplet of pre-cum formed at the tip. He licked his palm before

slowly rubbing up and down, working my hard cock with a twist-

ing motion. He’d gently squeeze my hard shaft to make more pre-

cum drip from the slit. Clear liquid flowed from me, completely

covering my cock head, slicking it.

My balls and cock tingled as orgasm built. “I’m going to come

soon,” I gasped.

“Good.” He whispered and licked down the column of my

neck before sinking his teeth into the spot below my ear that drove

me crazy. The sting of teeth and the heat of his mouth sucking a

mark to the surface threw me over. I came while he held me, the

warmth of his body pressed close. He ground his own hard cock

against me. He threw his head back with a brief cry, and the warm

spurt of his cum landed on my thigh.

“Alexi,” I whispered. I had so much I needed to say, but no

idea where to start. Maybe intimacy hadn’t been the right move

at this point, but waking up to find myself snuggled close to Alexi

in his king-size bed, I reacted before I remembered, and now the

closeness was so awkward.

“Shh.” He swiped my hair off my brow and tucked a few

strands behind my ear. “We’ll talk in the morning. It’s going to

be okay.”

I accepted his reassurance and drifted comfortably into sleep,

warm and safe, in Alexi’s arms.

Chapter Ten

Slumped on a padded breakfast stool, I observed the calm

rush with which Alexi moved efficiently about the house the next

morning, preparing for the day. His demeanor led me to under-

stand I’d have to look elsewhere for a sympathetic nurse to tend

my hangover. He smiled blandly at me as I sipped black coffee

at the breakfast bar and waited with endless patience while I

dragged myself off the stool to put the coffee mug in the dish-

washer.

When I placed myself intentionally in his path, he smiled up

at me. I bent and, gazing deeply into his eyes, rubbed our lips

together. For the first time in memory, Alexi barely responded

to my kiss. He didn’t push me away, but he stilled and his lips

remained closed, caressing mine lightly before he stepped back,

urging me ahead of him.

His calm faded slightly as I dragged my feet when he urged

me toward the door. “Simon, I have to pick Gregory up at my

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parents’ house before ten or they’ll drag him to church with them.

I promised him I wouldn’t let that happen. Please. I’m not going

to have time to drop you off at your car if you don’t hurry.”

I opened my mouth to offer to go with him, but snapped it

shut again. Meeting the parents was far down the road in my plan

for our future. Playing happy families was there, yeah, but not till

after say, our first year anniversary. I pictured a traditional family

gathering. We’d arrive, the four of us, with the baby in a car seat

thingy, dressed in our best suits for some holiday meal, smiling

and laughing and hugging. Overeating and watching football and

rushing off to my parents’ house where we’d do the same thing

all over again.

This reminded me; I needed to call my mother. Maybe my

parents could handle this. Could Alexi’s? Did they know? I had

to assume my mom and dad did, even though I hadn’t said any-

thing. No way had Jeannie kept quiet about my current relation-

ship. I didn’t want to let Alexi leave, though. I followed him into

the garage, pausing to marvel at the pristine space. I spent many

an hour cleaning my parents’ garage as a kid, but you could eat

off the floor in this one. The place was spotless, dust-free, and

freshly painted. Maybe Alexi had a little problem with OCD. I

kind of felt better thinking he had a flaw, because so far I’d made

a damn fool of myself by comparison.

“Are you going to tell me what you were upset about if it

wasn’t my sleeping with Molly?” The words slipped out as I slid

into the passenger seat of Alexi’s Volvo.

Alexi’s sigh sent frissons of unease rippling through me. “We

can’t really talk about this now. I have to take you to your car and

then pick up Greg. I promised him last night when I left him at my

parents’ house to go chasing after you that I would take him to his

‘Happiest Place on Earth’ today to make up for abandoning him.”

Guilt rushed through me. Yet another screw-up I was respon-

sible for. Alexi eyed me out of the corner of his eye as he backed

out of the garage and onto the street. “You can come with us.” He

made the offer in a quiet, calm voice.

Shit. Six months hadn’t passed yet, had they? I counted back-

ward, but my pounding head made even simple math impossible.

My refusal must have shown on my face, because he sighed again

and turned to the road, pulling out onto the main street from his

subdivision. “Never mind.”

The Man Trap

It was the “Happiest Place on Earth” that bothered me, not

spending the day with Alexi and Greg. I worked at the fucking

“Happiest Place on Earth” all through high school and it was any-

thing but. Anyone who had mopped up puke, swept up tons of

litter and scrubbed a million toilets like I had would never set foot

in that place again.

I had sworn just that when I quit and threw my uniform at

my supervisor more than ten years ago. I swallowed my impulse

to suggest a trip to the beach instead. Alexi wanted me around. I

could spend the day basking in Alexi’s soothing company, watch-

ing him and Greg smile and laugh together, accepting that he

wanted me there and wasn’t angry enough about whatever I’d

done to break things off with me. I could handle Disney again.

“No. I want to go, really.”

He swung completely to face me, the joy on his face telling me

what a fool I’d been to doubt him. The tiny bleating of a moped

horn jerked his attention back to the road in time to avert a minor

accident. Everything would be all right. I rested my palm on his

taut thigh and he flashed me a quick grin before steering into the

parking lot of the playground. “We’ll still have to talk, but later,

after Greg’s worn out and in bed, okay? We’ll have the house to

ourselves and I’ll tell you everything, okay?”

Oh my God. I got into my car, waving at him as he zoomed out

of the parking lot. That isn’t a simple step forward. It’s a leap into the

deep end of the fucking pool. Not only was I apparently spending

the day at Disney with Alexi and Greg, I was apparently going to

spend the night at the house with the kid sleeping down the hall.

Quite a change from the guy who would rather rent a motel room

by the hour than take a date to his own apartment. Whole new

levels of intimacy opened up before me and I waited for panic to

set in. When it didn’t, I couldn’t decide if the hangover or some

new-found maturity influenced me.

I grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the visor and shielded my

eyes from the painful glare of the afternoon sun. I had a lot to do

to get ready for this little excursion to Hell on Earth, not least of

which was confront Jeannie and interrogate her mercilessly about

what was bothering Alexi.

Chapter Eleven

It turned out that Greg’s happiest place on earth was not my

least happy place. I’d spent a thoroughly enjoyable few hours with

Greg and Alexi at the mall, roaming from store to store. Greg’s

face lit up with laughter and pleasure in his father’s company.

I leaned against a lamp post outside the movie theater in the

warm California sunshine, resting as my lover and his son stud-

ied the posters of new movies before purchasing tickets. I held a

collection of shopping bags from various stores in the mall, en-

trusted to me by the exuberant Greg when he ran off to check the

movie options. Alexi had smiled apologetically at me before pass-

ing me a few of his own bags and following his son.

They were adorable. My heart sang as I observed the earnest

expressions on their sweet faces, curly black locks waving gently

in the breeze as they wandered from poster to poster, chatting and

smiling and holding hands. Beautiful. They were beautiful, and

they were mine. My family.

The Man Trap

Six months be damned. When Alexi strolled into my shop

that day months ago I knew I wanted him. I cared more deeply

for him than anyone I’d ever been with. I should never have let

doubts cloud the path for me. We could work anything out as

long as we were together, and that was exactly what I would tell

him after Greg went to bed this evening.

Alexi’s husky laugh drew my attention again, and I found

him and Greg in the crowd around the box office. Greg listened

intently to his father, then scurried over to me by my lamp post.

“Simon, Dad says you’re our guest and I have to ask you what

movie you want to watch before he buys the tickets.” Pleading

dark eyes gazed up at me, and warmth spread.

“Well, Greg. I didn’t look at the posters. Which movie looked

good?” He had his heart set on seeing one of those films in par-

ticular, I could tell.

Serious, intent upon fulfilling his duty as host, Greg took my

hand and tugged me forward. Hastily I scooped up the bags, in-

cluding the one from the mainstream bookseller. Alexi had been

sheepish about entering the store in the first place, but we’d spent

a pleasant hour reading children’s books to Greg and choosing

a few to take home. I’d bought a few from my “to read” list, and

Alexi did the same. Someday soon we could pack some books and

a picnic lunch and take Greg to the park, or even the beach for the

day. Pushing the sweet little boy on the swings and chasing him

around the sandbox had a lot more appeal than pushing Molly on

the swings. I enjoyed the vision of a tiny infant in a carrier seat on

a picnic blanket, Alexi napping nearby while I read books to Greg.

The images intoxicated me.

I found myself standing in front of a poster for an action film

depicting a young archaeologist. “This movie is good.” Greg said.

I was ready to agree the film looked awesome, before I noticed the

PG rating. Are PG-rated movies okay for five-year-olds? I had a

lot to learn.

Greg tugged me along down the line to another poster. “Dad

likes this one,” he said in front of the poster for a cartoon featur-

ing a lizard. The movie he pointed out was G-rated, which meant

general audiences, so I felt like I should agree to it on principle.

Uncertain, I searched for Alexi in the crowd, but he was talk-

ing to a young blonde woman who had a little boy by the hand.

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The kid bounced and tugged at his mom’s grip, clearly anxious

to be off.

“That’s my friend Ryan and his mom.” Greg confided. “He’s

going to see the archaeologist movie.”

Remembering we’d read a book about fossils at the bookstore,

I figured Greg probably would kill to see the archaeologist movie,

too. Decision made, easily as that. “I think I know what I want to

see, little dude.”

We strolled across to Alexi in time to hear the blonde woman

saying, “I’d love to take Greg to the show with Ryan. Can he come

out to dinner at the pizza place with us afterward?”

My breath caught at the same moment Greg’s did, though for

entirely different reasons. The little boy stilled beside me and both

of us turned pleading gazes on Alexi, who burst into laughter. “I

guess that would be all right, Moira. But,” he warned Greg, “to-

night’s a school night, so I’ll pick you up at seven and no whining

to stay longer, right, big man?”

Greg swore there would be no whining, and in seconds, he

and Ryan bounced hand-in-hand next to Ryan’s mother, while

Alexi tried to force cash on Moira to pay for Greg’s movie ticket

and dinner. She waved him off and, anxious to be on our way, I

added my two cents’ worth. “We’ll be happy to take Ryan some

night so you can have an evening for yourself.”

Her startled expression and Alexi’s deeply indrawn breath

brought me to an awareness of what I’d done. I’d just announced

us as a couple to Alexi’s friend.

Wondering if that was wrong, I turned to him, ready to apolo-

gize, and was stunned to witness him brushing wetness from his

eyes. “Yes,” he agreed, addressing Moira, but taking my hand in

his. “We’d love to have Ryan over one evening so you and Doug

can go out and have some fun.”

“That would be wonderful,” Moira accepted, apparently not

at all upset at realizing Alexi and I were a couple. “But don’t worry

about picking Greg up. I’ll drop him off at your house at seven.”

And simple as that, we moved forward. Oh, we still had talk-

ing to do, and I still had things to learn about being in a real re-

lationship, but we had a starting place and something to build

upon.

Chapter Twelve

Back at Alexi’s house, we settled on the comfortable leather

sofa where we’d first made love to have our talk. The temptation

existed to push the talk off again and indulge in passionate play,

but I didn’t want to build up a big warehouse of unspoken things

between us. My grandma always said you should never go to bed

angry with someone you loved. Well, she actually said, “Simon

Daniel Harris, you don’t let the sun set on your anger. Go talk to

your brother right this minute.” But I could apply her strictures in

this situation as well.

So, much as I wished letting everything slide, losing myself

in the lush glide of our lips together and exploring what Alexi’s

body had to offer were possible, if I wanted this to be about more

than physical things, then I had to put non-physical things first

for a while. It wasn’t fair for me to expect Alexi to always take the

lead, so I forced myself to speak, even though some part of me,

the part that thought emotions were like fungus and would thrive

Lee Brazil

best without exposure to too much sunlight, cringed while I did

so. “You’re upset about the baby, Alexi, but I’m almost certain it

isn’t mine.”

He sighed and leaned forward to rest his head on my shoulder

for a moment. “It’s not the baby. In fact, I’d love to have another

kid. The best thing about my marriage was Greg.” He drew away

and gazed at me thoughtfully, running a nervous hand through

his dark curls. “You never asked about my wife.” It was a state-

ment. It was true. I never had.

I shrugged, a bit uneasy. “No. I figured you’d talk about your

marriage if you wanted to. It’s not because I didn’t care, or didn’t

want to know,” I added hastily, unsure where he was headed

now. “I guess I assumed you fell in love with her and married

her, then found out you were bi.”

“I’m not bi.” He snorted. “I’m gay, always have been and al-

ways will be. I married Marrisa for my parents’ sake. They de-

served grandchildren. I’m their only son. It seemed like the fair

thing to do at the time.”

The subterfuge shocked me. I’d imagined Alexi to have the

noblest of spirits, to possess only the virtues and not the foibles of

the human race. Fair? “To marry a woman you couldn’t...”

He nodded. “Oh, I loved her, as a friend. Same as she loved

me. We neither of us expected to be in love with the other. She

wasn’t any more capable of loving me than I was of loving her in

that way. But both of us had parents from the old country. Parents

who desired grandchildren, and neither of us expected to be able

to provide them in the normal way of things. Meaning, if we fell

in love and lived happily ever after.”

Light dawned. “So, it was a marriage of convenience to ap-

pease your parents?”

“And hers,” he agreed, looking troubled. “We went the arti-

ficial insemination route, told our parents it was a technical dif-

ficulty.”

The inability to insert tab A in slot B constituted a technical

difficulty, all right. “What happened?” It sounded like a morbid

recipe for disaster, if you asked me.

“She was killed in a car accident. That’s common knowledge.

What isn’t well known, what I don’t want Greg to know, is she

was leaving me. Her girlfriend was in the car, too. Not a scratch

on her. If she’d told me she wanted out, wanted to change our

The Man Trap

arrangement, I wouldn’t have stood in her way. Just because I

couldn’t have the man I loved didn’t mean she couldn’t have the

woman she loved.”

Man he loved? A sexy image of a guy in a leather jacket, smil-

ing at Alexi in the dim light of the bar last night flickered through

my mind. “Alexi? Drake isn’t the man you loved, is he?”

He glared at me, apparently dumbfounded, and then smacked

me upside the head in a single swat. “Damn it, Simon! You’re so

fucking dense. For a genius, you’re pretty damn stupid. You are

the only man I’ve ever loved, okay? Can we accept that one prem-

ise as fact before we go any further?”

My ears rang slightly from the powerful blow, but the joy out-

weighed the pain by a long shot. “Gladly. You’re the only person

I’ve ever loved either, Alexi.”

“Then why won’t you share your life with me, Simon?” He

glanced away, blushing and twisting his hands in his lap before

grabbing my hand and pressing it to his lips. “You are my world.

You and Greg.” He paused while I absorbed his declaration. “I

want you to know I didn’t find you again by accident. I looked for

you. Drake helped me.”

“So if it’s not the baby, why were you upset with me yes-

terday? And don’t deny you were upset!” Drake must not have

wasted any time calling Alexi to the bar, either.

He sidled over on the sofa, cuddling up close to me, I’m guess-

ing so he could avoid eye contact while he bared his thoughts. “I

couldn’t be upset about the baby, Simon. Truth to tell I would

love to have more kids, and I would love it even more if they were

yours. But when Jeannie told me what you were going through

with that woman, I wanted to take a hairbrush to her hide and

yours, too!”

I wrapped my arms around him and tilted his chin up to look

into his eyes. “Why?” Simple jealousy couldn’t be the answer.

Alexi was never petty; he’d never chastise me for something that

happened before we met. Too bad his fair-mindedness hadn’t oc-

curred to me earlier.

He sighed again, his sweet breath a wave of heat across my

mouth. “Because you should have told me. Not Jeannie. You. I

should have heard the story from you. You should have asked me

for help. You should have talked to me. Why should bitchy Jean-

nie know about this witch and her baby and not me? I was hurt.”

Lee Brazil

Oh. Jealousy I could understand. “I’m not used to sharing yet,

Alexi. I’d never even spent a full night in anyone’s bed until I met

you. I don’t know how to do a relationship. I’m sorry. I realize I

should have told you what was happening. Molly’s delusions just

didn’t seem important when I was with you.”

He nodded again. “And I realized afterward that I hadn’t

shared everything with you, either. When I said we needed to

talk, I meant both of us.”

Keeping the eye contact, I brought our mouths the few cen-

timeters closer necessary to make contact. His lids drifted down

and his lips parted as I gently sucked his lower lip, then the upper,

tracing them lightly with my tongue. “I’ve saved up thousands of

kisses, thousands of experiences, I only want to share with you,

Alexi.” I echoed his words from early in our relationship.

“There are still plenty of experiences we have yet to share,

Simon. Things we still haven’t done. Things I want you to do with

me, only me.” His gray eyes shone in the dim light of the living

room, and he wasn’t talking about climbing Mt. Everest or snor-

keling off the coast of Costa Rica. We could do those things, too...

well, maybe not Everest. I’m not a fan of snow.

But Alexi had warmer things in mind, and I was more than

willing. Only this time, I needed something a little different “Can

I... Do you...” Still at a loss for words to express myself around this

man, I settled for action and flipped us over on the couch so he

lay beneath me and I rested between his spread thighs. He smiled

up at me, licking his lips in a familiar gesture that had taunted

me since high school, and I leaned forward to lick and nibble at

his lips, sealing our mouths together, finding again all the places

inside I’d claimed, savoring the flavor, the passion that was mine

alone.

“Alexi, love,” I whispered, stealing another swift kiss from his

panting mouth before trailing my lips along the beard-roughened

arch of his throat. My fingers were clumsy with the buttons of his

shirt, but I soon flung the garment aside and explored the mus-

cled chest with its tempting copper nipples. This was something

familiar to me, and something I could handle with skill. My lips

traced the nubs, opened and drew them in. I sucked lightly, bit

gently, loved the sighs and gasps my efforts earned.

My lips followed my hands down to the fly of Alexi’s jeans,

and made short work of them with the neat trick I’d learned early

The Man Trap

in life. The right angle, the right amount of force, and the neat

row of buttons on a pair of Levis just pop right open in sequence.

I never had the chance to try it on a pair of pants someone else

wore, but it worked fine. From the expression in Alexi’s eyes, it

might have just become one of his favorite tricks, too.

My goal in sight, I became impatient, shoving jeans and un-

derwear out of the way and down. Had to shift about a bit awk-

wardly, but I wanted too much to care how my lack of grace ap-

peared, and in short order I had a naked Alexi sprawled beneath

me. I sat on my heels and let my eyes take in every inch of the flesh

revealed. Golden skin dusted with fine black curls, taut muscles,

and lean flesh met my eyes. Alexi wrapped a strong hand around

his cock, hard and leaking. I waited. He stroked himself slowly.

“What do you want, Simon?” Sultry humor glinted in his

gray eyes and I knew he understood damn well what I needed.

“Tease.” I bit out. “I want you.” As he played with himself, I

quickly stripped off my own clothes, and then found myself hov-

ering stupidly, aching for more intimacy, but uncertain how to

proceed.

Alexi took pity on me, opened a drawer in the coffee table

and passed me the vial I’d left behind the other day. “Condom?”

he asked.

Condom. Yes. I remembered that. “My wallet,” I croaked. We

were really going to do this. I was going to do this. Alexi was go-

ing to let me do this. Why did I feel so overwhelmed by the idea?

I’d had anal intercourse before. Of course, those experiences were

with women, but the principles couldn’t be much different. And

God, did I remember from my previous experience with Alexi

that it would feel very good for both of us, if I did it right.

Alexi scrabbled on the floor for my pants, took out my wallet,

and tossed it at me. He never looked away, silently gazing at me

with the most solemn expression on his face. I was humbled, as

always, by his trust in me.

The condom was easily found, rolled on with a bit more dif-

ficulty, and then we were at the crux of the situation. I unscrewed

the cap from the vial and sniffed. Pleasant. I dipped in a finger

and tasted the oil. Maple. I could live with the scent and the fla-

vor. I dipped my finger in, scooping out a liberal amount, and

watching Alexi for any sign that I was fucking it up, drew my slick

finger in a line down the underside of his cock, from the base of

Lee Brazil

his head over the soft sensitive flesh of his balls, and the dark flesh

behind, down to the hole he exposed for me.

He sighed gently as I reached that sensitive flesh, lifted into

my touch, and in every way he could, showed me what to do. I

accepted his unspoken instruction, nudged forward and felt his

body accept mine. My cock jerked. The heated passage closed

around me, and I bit hard into my lip to distract myself from my

sudden want so I could focus on Alexi and his needs.

“Two.” The contented murmur caressed my ear after a few

movements of my finger, and I slid the second finger in beside the

first, continuing to slide them in and out as Alexi stroked himself.

My fingers hit his prostate. His breath sped up, and he clasped my

hand in his, tugged them both away. I couldn’t tear my eyes from

the prepared passage, gleaming slickly, waiting for me.

“Now. But slow,” he cautioned.

I shook as I lined the head of my cock up to his hole, groaned

as the ring of muscle stretched open around me, welcoming me

with a moist heat more enthralling than I’d ever felt before. Alexi

gripped his cock tightly again and lifted up into my downward

movement, seating me fully inside. I fell forward, trapping his

cock between us, as I peppered his face with hot kisses.

“Move, Simon, please,” he moaned. I couldn’t resist the plea.

Every thrust sent waves of pleasure surging through me, and

from the wild look in Alexi’s eyes, he felt the same.

“I love you.” He exhaled the words on a breath. I felt them as

an oath, a promise in my heart.

The words acted as a trigger to my senses, and I felt the end

approach, too soon. “Alexi,” I whispered harshly. “I’m—”

“Me too.” He whimpered, hand tugging faster, lips parting

on a long, drawn-out moan.

I couldn’t have stopped then, for anything. My balls drew up

tight and hard, the base of my spine caught fire. Alexi was beauti-

ful in pleasure. Thick streams of creamy semen spurted from his

cock to land in gleaming pools on the golden flesh of his chest

and stomach. The scent of cum, the delicious contrast between the

semen and the golden skin it landed on, were all the stimulation I

needed. I came before Alexi’s cry had receded.

I fell forward, catching myself on my elbows so I could stare

down into his gorgeous gray eyes as we struggled to catch our

breath. “I didn’t hurt you?”

The Man Trap

“Never.” He coiled a hand around my neck and yanked me

down. I hissed at the contact with the cold sticky mess that had

appeared so sexy moments earlier.

His mouth devoured my protest, and I happily gave up on

speaking for a while.

Eventually, though, I remembered the way I felt at the mall

that afternoon. “Will you and Greg be mine? My family?”

Alexi’s enthusiastic “yes” was followed swiftly by the peal of

the doorbell, signaling our son’s arrival. Alexi pushed me aside

and hauled his jeans on, grabbing my shirt to wipe at the mess on

his chest. He scowled at me.

“You go shower. Now.” He shoved the pile of clothes at me

and pulled on his own shirt.

Obediently, I trailed off down the hall, listening to my fam-

ily’s happy voices as they chatted with Moira and Ryan. I made a

mental note to call my mom after the shower and make arrange-

ments to introduce her to her new grandson.

Biography

I’m an avid reader and former teacher of grammar and com-

position who believes that falling in love is the grandest adven-

ture anyone can have. In a nutshell, that’s every story I have to

tell.

Relocating from the crazy pace of life in Southern California’s

Orange County to the beautiful and leisurely atmosphere of the

Illinois countryside has given me the time to indulge the desire to

write that I set aside when I started teaching fourteen years ago.

Readers can find out more about me and my writing by visiting

me at my blog, Lee’s Musings or finding me on Facebook. Feel

free to drop me a line at lee.brazil@ymail.com

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