Men of London 06 - Flying Solo (27 page)

Maxwell nodded and clasped her hand as they watched their respective partners ascend the stage and stand beside Alex. There was some conversation between them and hugs as the award was handed over. Jack looked uncomfortable being in the spotlight and pushed Gibson forward to accept it.

Alex grinned at their obvious discomposure. “Congratulations guys for this achievement. I meant what I said. I’ve had my eye on you boys for a while and this is a real achievement for you both. You should be very proud. I’ll be talking to you both about your future plans.”

He handed the microphone over to Gibson, who took it wildly and glanced out at the audience. He pushed his glasses up with his index finger, and Maxwell smiled at that familiar gesture.

“Uhmm, this is a huge surprise. I mean, a
huge
surprise.” His voice tailed off and Maxwell wanted to run up and stand beside him, tell him to milk this opportunity because he so deserved it. “I think I speak for both myself and Jack when I say we are absolutely honoured and thrilled to have won. I’m not used to giving speeches so I hope I don’t say the wrong thing, but there are so many people to thank, I’d be here all night if I did.” There was an appreciative chuckle from the audience. Jack fidgeted beside Gibson, looking as if he wished he was anywhere but the stage.

Beth giggled. “He looks so gormless up there. He hates this sort of attention. But oh my, he’s my man and I am so damn proud of him.”

“I hear you, sister,” Maxwell murmured. “Our men are awesome.”

Gibson found his second wind. “The guys I want to thank know who they are, and believe me, I’ll be contacting each and every one of them after this show to tell them how grateful I am to have them as colleagues on this project. Jack”—he turned to his friend who was pink cheeked at being singled out—“Jack has been the best business partner and collaborator ever and he deserves a round of applause.” The room exploded with clapping as poor Jack blushed scarlet and mumbled something. Maxwell thought ruefully Beth’s hands were going to catch fire at the rate she was clapping.

The room grew quieter and Gibson stood further towards the front of the stage. “There is one special person I want to thank out there. Someone who held me together and gave me the encouragement and support and love I needed to get through some tough times.”

Maxwell closed his eyes briefly. Surely Gibson wasn’t going to…

“His name is Max, and he’s my boyfriend. He’s been there for me and now that I have an audience, I’m going to take the opportunity to tell him how much he means to me. Max, baby, I love you. Thanks for helping us make this happen.” He held up the award to a fierce round of cat calls, hoots and more clapping. Maxwell’s heart swelled so much with love he thought he might burst.

“He’s killing me here,” he muttered and Beth laughed and punched his arm.

“That was so sweet,” she said dreamily. “He is so romantic.”

Gibson turned and said something to Jack, who scowled fiercely and shook his head. Gibson muttered something. Jack capitulated and took the microphone, looking ill at ease. Beside Maxwell, Beth drew a breath and leaned forward expectantly.

“Uh, yeah, I’d like to thank everyone too, what he said.” Jack jerked a thumb at a grinning Gibson. “And also tell my girlfriend Beth I love her too and she’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” He hurriedly passed the microphone back to Alex.

Beth was sniffling now, and Maxwell passed her his napkin.

“Ladies and gentleman, another round of applause for Gibson Henry and Jack Cunningham from Anomaly Media!” Alex de Clair beamed at the audience as Gibson and Jack exited the stage.

Maxwell couldn’t wait to congratulate Gibson in a more intimate and up-close–and-personal way, but he supposed he’d better stick to a hug and a kiss for now.

Maxwell stood up as Gibson reached the table and pulled him into his arms. He held him tightly, nuzzling his soft hair. “Thanks for what you said up there,” he said, half choking on emotion.

Gibson pulled back and kissed him softly. “I meant every word,” he murmured, his eyes shining. “You’re my rock, Max. I never thought I’d say that to anyone.” He held up the award. “This means a lot to me, but you? You’re everything.”

The next kiss they shared was not as gentle and Maxwell vaguely heard cat calls and whistles from the crowd as he was thoroughly mauled. He wasn’t complaining though. When Gibson finally released him, Maxwell was dazed. Jack and Beth beamed beside them.

Jack spoke excitedly. “Did you hear what Alex de Claire said up there? He wants to talk us about the future. What do you think it means?” he asked excitedly.

Gibson shrugged. “Not sure, but it sounds like we have some fun times ahead.”

Maxwell reached into his bag. “I have something for you too,” he stammered to Gibson. “I was going to give you this later but now seems the right time.” He pulled out a crumpled pile of A4 paper, tied into a roll with bright red, green and white ribbons, with a multi-coloured glitter bow perched on one side.

Gibson stared at the present. “This looks interesting,” he murmured as he took it and began unravelling the strands. Maxwell confessed wryly to himself he may have gone to town a bit on the ribbons.

Once the wrapping had been relegated to a pile of colour on the table, Gibson rolled the sheet open.

“What the hell is it?” Jack peered over Gibson’s shoulder curiously, Beth beside him. Maxwell saw Gibson’s eyes widen and grow bright as he looked up at Maxwell.

Gibson grinned, the joy in his eyes hard to miss. “The perfect end to a perfect evening,” he announced.

He laid the sheet down on the table. It was a copy of Maxwell’s
Sexcella
Worksheet, set with a smiling picture of Gibson in the middle and ‘
Stuff #5, he’s my #10’
written in one corner of the photo. There was another comment at the top of the document: ‘TO BE DELETED–NO FURTHER USE’ written in big black letters.

Gibson looked gob smacked. “Max, you’re crazy, you know that?” His eyes were filled with love. “This is such an awesome present, thank you.”

“I still don’t get it,” Jack grumbled, squinting at the sheet. “I mean what the…oh. Shit, Maxwell, you kept
this
sort of detail?”

His face screwed up in embarrassment and Beth giggled. “Sweetheart, you’ll need to bleach your eyes if you read any more.”

Gibson drew Maxwell into a deep, passionate clinch and for the moment, Maxwell heard and saw nothing more. When Gibson released him, Maxwell was rock hard and ready to roll.

“Not fair,” he squawked, making sure his dinner jacket still covered his groin. “We need to go home right now.”

Gibson laughed. “Later. Right now, I want to celebrate with you, catch a dance or two on the floor and then we’re going to back to the hotel so I can bonk your brains out.” He winked and Maxwell’s groin grew hotter. He liked the idea.

The sound of Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s ‘Relax’ blared into the room and Maxwell grabbed Gibson’s hand to drag him onto the dance floor. As they gyrated to one of his favourite tunes, and he watched Gibson’s blond hair fall into his eyes, his spectacles steam up, and his beloved face crease in a smile as they stared into each other’s eyes, Maxwell knew he’d got exactly what he wanted for Christmas.

The End

Last winter, when I worked in London, I tried to give my coat to a homeless man who was barefoot in the snow and had only a thin jersey around his shoulders. He was in his sixties (or maybe younger; we all know living on the street ages people) and he shook his head.

“Madam,” he said, “you’re a woman. I can’t take your coat. I’m a gentleman.”

He took the coffee I bought him and walked down the street, still barefoot, before I could give him anything else. That sense of pride and dignity has stayed with me.

Those people on the street once had a family, a life. They have a story to tell, and there but for the grace of God go I.

Susan Mac Nicol is a self-confessed bookaholic, an avid watcher of videos of sexy pole-dancing men, a self-confessed geek and nerd, and in love with her Smartphone. This little treasure is called ‘the boyfriend’ by her longsuffering husband, who says if it vibrated there’d be no need for him. Susan hasn’t had the heart to tell him there’s an app for that.

A lover of walks in the forest, theatre productions, dabbling her toes in the cold North Sea and the vibrant city of London where you can experience all four seasons in a day, she is a hater of pantomime (please don’t tar and feather her), duplicitous people, bigotry and self-righteous idiots. She likes to think of herself as a ‘half full’ kind of gal, although sometimes that philosophy is sorely tested.

In an ideal world, Susan Mac Nicol would be Queen of England and banish all the bad people to the Never Never Lands of Wherever-Who Cares. As that’s not going to happen, she contents herself with writing her HEA stories and pretending that, just for a little while, good things happen to good people.

OTHER BOOKS BY SUSAN MAC NICOL

Stripped Bare

Saving Alexander

Worth Keeping

Double Alchemy

Double Alchemy:

Climax

Love and Punishment

THE MEN OF LONDON SERIES

Love You Senseless

Sight & Sinners

Suit Yourself

Feat of Clay

Cross to Bare

THE STARLIGHT SERIES

Cassandra by Starlight

Together in Starlight

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