Here for You (2 page)

Cole made his tone brisk. “I doubt Brendan would go.”

“True.” For a moment, Ian’s mouth quirked slightly, as close to a smile as Cole had ever witnessed from him. “Brendan is dedicated.”

“Yeah, he’s dedicated all right.” Cole suppressed a sigh. Reason number three to ignore Ian Stark was the biggest reason of all: Brendan was in love with him.

And that was that. Cole would never pursue it.

With a last, quick glance at Ian, Cole gathered his things and turned away.

“Hang on, just a second.” Ian took his arm. His voice cracked through the small café like a whip.

“What?”

“Why are you always in such a hurry to get away from me?” Ian asked, his eyes shrewd.

“I’m not.” Cole stood there waiting for Ian to release his arm. He didn’t. “You’re going to make me spill my latte.”

“We’ve been doing this little dance for months now. Don’t you think it’s time we stopped?”

Cole lifted his chin. “I don’t know what you mean.” His tone, he hoped, was nonchalant.

Andrew was listening to them with keen interest, and Cole shot Andrew a glare that had him pretend to get busy at his counter. Great, all he needed was this all over town.

“Cole,” Ian said forcefully, clearly expecting Cole to meet his gaze.

He did so, reluctantly, his heart squeezed tight. Cole paused only a moment to take Ian in: his elegant build—solid muscles wrapped in that expensive suit—his unstoppable blue eyes, those mouth-watering lips.

There was an electric moment of silence. Ian’s grip didn’t hurt, but his fingers were curled possessively around Cole’s arm, holding the tight muscles of his bicep. Ian’s expression was questioning, probing, but then it altered. Cole watched his face change, his eyes focused and intent, felt Ian’s fingers holding him, gliding over his skin.

Oh sweet God.
The soft slide of Ian’s palm. Cole felt the touch sharply in his entire body, like a deep note, an ache.

Ian’s gaze had an expression Cole had never seen on him, and Ian’s look both thrilled and frightened him. He wanted Ian to keep touching him. Cole wanted to touch back.

Cole tore free. “No.” He stepped back. His tone was way too revealing on that one word, sounding far too desperate and guttural, and Cole caught himself. “I mean—I have to get to work.” He tried for his signature careless smile, but Cole seriously doubted Ian bought the forced grin he managed to produce. He turned away.

This could not happen.

Anybody could pay rent and live someplace, but Cole had wanted a home. He’d always wanted a home. With Marc, Tomas, River, and Brendan, he’d finally found one. As he hurried away, he pushed Ian from his mind. Nobody was worth jeopardizing what he had with his housemates.

Cole neared the door. The trouble was he had to juggle the biscotti and his hot latte in one hand as he fumbled for the handle with his other. He felt a stain of color flag his cheeks. Christ, would the dumb thing turn already? His stupid blush increased as Cole sensed Ian coming up behind him. A trickle of sweat ran down his back.

“Need help?”

“No. I got this.” Cole craned his neck to glower at Ian behind him. “And you’re annoying me.”

“Everybody needs a hobby.” Ian’s mouth slanted upward, his blue eyes taunting Cole.

Cole refused to smile back. They held each other’s gazes for a beat too long before Ian gallantly swung the door open and Cole was able to escape. Ian’s gaze was on his ass, Cole knew. He could feel it until he turned the corner.

I’m simply a challenge to him.

Ian Stark was the kind of guy who liked to win. That was all. Cole understood the type. Hell, it was exactly his type. Cole never wanted to scream in frustration so much as he did every time Ian was near. If only Cole could turn the tables and do his normal thing, he’d be the one pursuing Ian and making
him
flush.

If he didn’t love Brendan so much, he’d throttle him for bringing Ian to his attention. Brendan was ecstatic to work for Ian, who was so smart and polished, the epitome of class, the hardest worker—blah-blah-blah—Brendan could talk about Ian endlessly. Some mocha latte spilled as Cole walked away too quickly. It didn’t matter that Ian got him all hot and irritated, Cole wouldn’t play, not if it meant hurting somebody he cared about.

T
HEY
ALL
kept different schedules. Tomas worked as a bouncer for a club named Swanky’s. Tomas was huge, with biceps the size of Cole’s thighs. He was the gentle giant of the group, though, and he only scowled on the nights he needed to look tough, flexing his muscles and showing his tats, never having to do much more to bounce troublemakers out of the bar. Tomas was a nursing student, taking his classes at Broward College when he could. He’d be an asset to any hospital, being male and speaking fluent Spanish too, if they could get past the fact that Tomas looked as if he could smack down the Terminator in a fight.

Marc, pursuing culinary school, paid for his classes working at a tree trimming and stump removal company. He spent most of his day on high ladders pruning trees for country clubs and hotels. Marc did have a green thumb. He’d even made their sorry-ass lawn and patch of plants look decent. He could cook too, of course—not that the bastard did much of it for the rest of them. Marc, in his sarcastic way, sometimes pretended to have brought treats back from school, only to show them an empty brown bag and laugh uproariously. Marc could be an asshole, and Cole almost hadn’t liked him, until he suddenly made up for it by preparing a surprise feast on Christmas. That was Marc. He made you love him just when you were ready to hate him. On rare occasions when Marc would reveal his true nature, like a treasure, his guard dropped, and you forgave him all the rest of the year. Someday Marc hoped to open his own restaurant, but for the time being, he scraped pennies like the rest of them.

River worked as a car mechanic, and Cole didn’t know how he felt about his job, since River was the quiet one in the group and rarely let anybody into his private thoughts.

Brendan, of course, worked with Ian when he wasn’t attending law school. Out of all of them, Brendan was the most focused, the most optimistic about his future.

As for Cole, he had no clue about his future. He worked at It’s Five O’clock Somewhere. He used to enjoy it more when he’d first moved to Florida. The early days of bartending had been fun, a pack of hands waving their crumpled money at him, beautiful men all jammed together, most of them tanned and muscular, all eyeing him as he poured their vodka martinis and cut thin slices of lime. But lately he’d grown tired of the scene. Basically, all his housemates were working at one job while dreaming of another.

They’d lived together for three years in an old, nearly dilapidated Spanish-style house they rented at 75 Summit Court, and none of them had any family who gave a damn, so they counted on each other. It had been a ramshackle place when they’d first moved in, old and in need of a paint job, with large metal hurricane shutters and a carport instead of a garage, yet their house became their sanctuary. They loved the aging house on the south side of the railroad tracks, only ten miles from the beach, which they’d decorated together and hosted rowdy parties in. They gave grace for each other on Thanksgiving and toasted each other on New Year’s Eve. Brothers not by blood but by their own choosing, they stuck together through good and bad, like migrating birds in a vee formation who’d finally made it home.

Ocean Vista, located halfway between Miami and Fort Lauderdale, was a gay-friendly town. It was a decent place to live too. The town kept trying to be cool and cutesy, with new pubs and funky restaurants sprouting up all the time, but the underbelly of the place had a seedy element that refused to go away and, luckily for the friends, made it affordable.

Now, as he began his shift at the bar, which wouldn’t end until much later, and hoping Andrew’s latte would energize him and keep at bay the headache threatening just above his right eye, Cole heard the familiar rumble of thunder. The weather promised the usual afternoon storm.

Florida weather—like life that summer—was fairly predictable. When the heat built up enough, seconds before the lightning struck and the thunder rolled in, there would be an awareness of the coming siege of rain. But that day, that ordinary June day as Cole began his shift, there were no warning signs, and none of them knew that trouble, far beyond the typical storm, was brewing.

W
ELL
,
THAT
was a huge success.

With a last look at Cole Gannon’s retreating backside, Ian fixed his gaze on the sky. Rain was imminent. Cole didn’t have an umbrella, and Ian frowned, thinking how the rain might catch him out before he reached his work. Then again, maybe not. Cole was moving awfully fast. Ian’s lips twisted. He never did this, never chased somebody down the street.

“Do you still want something to eat?” Andrew called.

“Thank you, yes,” Ian said, although he’d lost most of his appetite. Starks were not overly emotional people. Ian was used to keeping his feelings private and enclosed. So why did his heart feel smacked with a freight train at every encounter with Cole Gannon? It was so new and strange for him to care at such a primal level.

He told himself it was mere coincidence to bump into Cole at The Busy Day Café but in truth Ian knew what time Cole did errands and where, thanks to carefully prodding it out of his paralegal. Ian fervently hoped Brendan hadn’t sensed an unusual amount of questioning.

“Does he work a lot of nights?” Ian had asked, as if making casual conversation.

“A lot of Thursdays and weekends,” Brendan answered.

If he weren’t careful, Ian would be accused of stalking.
That
was a good thing for a lawyer to be accused of! He’d only wanted to push Cole today, nudge him a little to see if he would be honest, if he’d admit there was a wild chemistry between them that heated and crackled whenever they got near each other.

Heat between him and Cole wasn’t the only thing crackling. Lightning suddenly pierced the sky.

“Looks like a bad one,” Andrew said.

“Looks like.”

Sure enough, by the time Ian ordered his food, the storm did break. He sat and ate one of the café’s new salads—raspberry and walnut, with chicken and flakes of parmesan—watching it pound the concrete outside. Ian didn’t mind eating alone. Of course not. He ate alone most nights. His routine was to eat, read, and go to sleep. Ever since his one long-term relationship with his boyfriend Sam had ended, he didn’t do much else.

Unless he counted acting like an idiot for Cole Gannon, Ian thought wryly. Cole was gorgeous, sure, but Ian usually didn’t flip over a person’s looks alone. He first liked to talk, find mutual interests, and so forth. Why Cole left him all warm inside, Ian didn’t quite get. Why did he have this crazy
need
to seek Cole out? It was baffling to him, and he really wanted to get it out of his system.

The rain glittered on the rooftops of the stores across the street. Ian forced his mind onto other concerns. He opened his briefcase, but all he saw before him was Cole. Cole was so easily irritated with Ian, so determined to run away, his every emotion crossing vividly over his face.

Maybe that was it, Ian mused. He couldn’t help finding Cole’s strong emotional energy attractive as hell, especially when he compared it to most people he knew or had grown up with, where emotions were to be well maintained like a clipped front lawn, feelings hidden behind a suave exterior, men judged dispassionately by their intelligence or the size of their income.

Not Cole. He couldn’t hide how much he felt. Every flicker behind his lovely gray eyes, every purse of his lips, gave him away. Oh, he said go away, but his eyes sent out a different message. Ian couldn’t recall anybody else ever
devouring
him with his eyes the way Cole did, right before he would look away. After all the time spent in the corporate world, dealing with hostile or lying clients, Ian had learned to assess people and their body language.

Ian didn’t flatter himself about his looks. He knew he had a decent face, even if his ears stuck out a little and his nose was rather sharp, but it wasn’t the face of magazine covers. Ian had always counted on his intelligence and caring—and all right, maybe his credit card too—for securing a date. But Ian bothered Cole, that was clear, and the brief look had been smoldering and sexual. A hot flush raced through him at the memory.

A small smile tugged at Ian’s mouth. He wasn’t ready to give up on Cole, not just yet.

I
AN
MADE
one stop on his way back to the office. Katherine, his secretary, was on maternity leave and had cajoled Ian to come and see her baby, and he’d promised her he’d be there on Sunday to visit. Not that Ian actually needed cajoling—he liked babies. Or he thought he did. He’d enjoyed the few times he’d held his various nieces or nephews. What to bring as a gift, though, puzzled him. Standing in the middle of Babies “R” Us, Ian struggled to decide between a giant teddy bear and a set of colorful blocks. He also was enamored with the rocking horse. Ian always wanted a pony as a kid. But maybe Katherine’s baby was too young for that? Maybe he should get a bunch of rattles? Ian stroked the side of his jaw, carefully examining each product. A fidgety toddler nearby tried to wrestle out of his mother’s arms, or Ian would have consulted her for an opinion, but she clearly had her hands full. He was using his iPhone to check the various ratings and safety concerns, when a pert little blonde woman in a Babies “R” Us apron rushed to assist him.

Ian ended up buying all of it.

He greeted Brendan, carried a few files into his private office, and shut the door. The rest of the afternoon, back at his office, Ian worked steadily. His brain worked overtime on his clients.