by David Horne
“Surrendering His Heart”
M/M Gay Romance
David Horne
© 2019
David Horne
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is intended for Adults (ages 18+) only. The contents may be offensive to some readers. It may contain graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations. May contain scenes of unprotected sex. Please do not read this book if you are offended by content as mentioned above or if you are under the age of 18.
Please educate yourself on safe sex practices before making potentially life-changing decisions about sex in real life. If you’re not sure where to start, see here: http://www.jerrycoleauthor.com/safe-sex-resources/ (courtesy of Jerry Cole).
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Products or brand names mentioned are trademarks of their respective holders or companies. The cover uses licensed images and are shown for illustrative purposes only. Any person(s) that may be depicted on the cover are simply models.
Edition v1.00 (2019.01.14)
http://www.DavidHorneauthor.com
Special thanks to the volunteer readers who helped with proofreading. Thank you so much for your support.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter One
George Maxwell finished shaving and finished his coffee. He brushed his teeth and made sure the pressed shirt, slacks and vest were secured in the backpack before he turned off the light and left the house for the day. The sunset along the river was bronze and gold. His small apartment faced Otter Creek across the road. The colors pressed over the sleepy town like a soft, warm blanket.
It was the beginning of June and temperatures were steadily rising. It was going to be a hot summer. The entire month of May felt like it never stopped raining. Now he could enjoy a leisurely bicycle ride to work without precipitation.
“Hey George,” Mary shouted from the porch of the ancient house at the top of the street.
Now that the weather turned warm, the sun began to dry the May showers. People crept from their cottages and spent more time outside after work instead of hiding from the fresh air. George slowed to a stop in front of the huge white house on Scovel Lane, a few houses down from George’s apartment building.
“Morning Mary,” George replied and received a visible smile and a friendly wave. The reversal never blemished the ritual. When everyone else got home for the evening, George was on his way to work.
Mary was a descendant of the generation that settled the township in the 1700s. Her family, as she liked to share with George or anyone else who passed by the massive home, helped forge the municipality into an industrious logging city. The deep Otter Creek that split the town of Vergennes in half was the main thoroughfare for small ships and millions of logs stripped from the surrounding countryside.
“We’re getting a break from all the rain.”
George dared look up to the bright sky. On prior occasions, this action usually showed angry black clouds and fits of gusting winds, both contributed to the heavy rains that saturated the whole of Vermont. Now empty blue skies went on forever.
“I hope it lasts,” he agreed.
George never asked about Mary’s husband. Her children had grown and moved on. There was a mild rumor years ago suggesting Mary had something to do with the unfortunate demise of her husband. Her husband was another product of the settlers. He’d come from a long line of loggers in the community. When the mills closed and the majority of the workers left Vergennes, he stayed, married Mary and moved into the old house.
One day they traveled into the woods, only one came back. In the 1970s, no one questioned a woman when telling the story of her departed husband from a logging accident.
“Heard any more about the hotel?” Mary wanted to know. George spent some long hours with the old woman. Mostly because she lived a few houses down from the apartment he rented from a family. She made great coffee. “Are they going to sell the place?”
They shared stories. Short of confessions, Mary was open about the history of the town before George arrived fifteen years ago.
George shook his head. “I don’t get a lot of information about anything that goes on at the hotel.” He sighed because the filter he received news through had clogged with self-righteousness from his manager. “When I know, you’ll know.”
He balanced the bicycle and began riding away. “See you, Mary.”
The old woman continued to rock the antique rocking chair on the wooden porch. The enormous federal style home surrounded her in a halo of summer sunlight.
George pedaled the bicycle further along Scovel Lane. He leaned right on Main Street and sailed over the bridge. Otter Creek rose over the course of heavy rains in May. The river was murky with silt. Many of the businesses and homes along the shoreline suffered from river water leaching into basements and soaking foundations. Unable to rebuild or refurbish from the weak economy, many of the once lifelong residents left for New York, abandoning homes and small businesses.
A pick-up truck speeding by George along Main Street didn’t bother to stop at the flashing traffic light. With rusted red panels and a missing tailgate, the truck missed George by inches. Three police officers in town and none of them near the intersection. George waited a moment, heart pounding before he kicked off the sidewalk. He started the slow ascent uphill. Gears changed and George waved to other town folk. He’d made the climb so many times that his muscular legs remembered the uneven wide sidewalk and patchy cement segments under the tires.
At the crest of the hill, overlooking Vergennes, the Comfort Hill Hotel rose like a blunt yet once-stylish point. Over eighty years old, the majestic hotel saw better days. Its faded façade was a visual reminder that the town was tired and needed reinvigorating if it survived the next decade.
While the historical value of the Comfort Hill Hotel was priceless, some of its rakish past needed resurfacing. From brothels and bootlegging to murder, the hotel had been a stopping point during the logging years. The hotel once catered to President Arthur and his peculiar tastes in erotic practices, submission, and sadomasochism. While his wife Ellen wasn’t a fan of Chester’s codified applications, he borrowed heavily from his collection of Marquis de Sade books. The professionals
at the established brothel were willing candidates.
George read the history of the Comfort Hill Hotel and knew every inch of the building and its rich history. Mary once suggested he was a product of the building, birthed from its many rooms, and a living extension of its being. He found every available archive at the Bixby Memorial Library, and made several in-depth searches across the internet for tales of the old building.
Now that it was available for sale, with the current owners looking to unload the burden in the dwindling real estate market, it was possible new life would breathe into the worn foundation.
As George coasted his mountain bike toward the foyer of the Comfort Hill Hotel, he heard the familiar cries of the dreaded harpy. A creature so hideous to look upon, George made every attempt to avoid its fiery gaze. The harpy audibly sighed when George wheeled the mountain bike through the small swinging door aside the front desk and parked it in the open space of the storage room.
“Evening Ashley,” George addressed the manager as he made his way to the men’s room to change into his uniform. The reflection in the mirror showed the consummate professional. The mirror demonstrated short feathery brown hair, brown eyes, a tapered chin and a look that greeted guests with professionalism and flare.
He returned to the front desk where the hunter green eyes dart from his direction to the clock on the wall. He felt her stare burn into the back of his head once more. He smiled with a sense of satisfaction. George was consistently punctual and had never been late for work.
Chapter Two
Ashley McNichol had a Bachelor of Science in hotel and restaurant management. It was something she prided herself on and anyone under her thumb at the hotel heard almost once a month. The woman threw around the accomplishment like a weapon whenever someone on the staff challenged her authority. Anyone who had a spine and stood up to Ashley soon found themselves without a job. George learned to keep his mouth shut when it came to running the hotel.
“We’re having a meeting with the entire staff in a few weeks.” Ashley tended to speak at people and not to them. She hovered in the doorway to her office. A sacred place where George had only ventured once, long before Ashley took over as manager. “We need to make sure everything is in order if the sale goes through.”
“Do you know when that will be?” he asked respectfully. George buttoned the two buttons on the black vest and smoothed the material. It was the standard uniform of the night auditor, and he wore it proudly. He knew to keep it pressed and clean. The local dry cleaners gave him a discount and continued to beg him from the hospitality contract for the hotel. Ashley was not interested in sending laundry out when the industrial machines at the hotel still had life in their long miles.
George waited for a long moment while Ashley scanned her extensive nightly list. She appeared to miss his question about the sale or chose to ignore him.
Ashley’s hunter green eyes peered over the edge of the clipboard. A predator sizing up its prey, she held George’s quizzical gaze for a moment. She shrugged and finally replied. “It could be by the end of the month. It could be in six months. When I get information from the owners about the sale I feel is relevant to share with the rest of the staff, I’ll let you know.”
She looked up from her nightly list. “I wanted to talk to you about what’s going on with the hotel.” It was first real news Ashley shared. She put down the clipboard. “We’re expecting a VIP within the week.”
“Okay.” George tried to sound professional. But stepping into Ashley’s office was like prey willingly entering the creature’s den.
“According to a phone call I had this morning from corporate, we’re due for a visit from the prospective buyer this week. Shortly after that call, a gentleman made reservations for Wednesday to stay for three weeks. Do you know what that means?”
Ashley was a lot of things; bigotry and racism went into the vast melting pot that made up the plus-sized frame. George heard a lot of insulting dialogue from the woman whenever she rambled on about guests she found unappealing. It was impossible to please a manager who was miserable with her life so much that she wanted others to share her misery. She was short on imagination but this new revelation gave her a confident smile.
“Do you think the new reservation is the prospective owner?” He asked.
“Of course he is,” she responded with a snap. As if the possibility of someone other than the new buyer of the hotel wanted to make reservations in a town of three thousand residents.
George bit his cheek. It was a well-worn scar on the inside of his mouth. Ashley had said things over the years that made him cringe. She refused guests for any number of reasons—sometimes for effect only privy to her. In her tenure at the hotel, she’d never made any extra effort for anyone.
She smiled as sweetly as her demeanor allowed. “Who else would make a reservation in this dump?” The statement contradicted her position in the hotel.
“Do you know what his name is?” George asked. He considered himself a secret concierge and provided a stable and fulfilling experience without allowing emotions to denigrate the experience of the guest.
Ashley shook her head. “I put his information in the guest ledger already. I know he’s supposed to arrive on Wednesday. I put him in an upgraded suite at no extra charge.”
“Anything else you need me to do for him?” There was a list of ideas swirling around George’s head.
He prided himself on his ability to anticipate what guests needed. While more extravagant hotels afforded concierge services, George’s official title as ‘Night Auditor’ meant he had truncated duties, limiting anything that resembled anything prestigious. He did more than his share at the hotel for very little money. He made enough money to get by in the little town. It wasn’t out of respect for Ashley that entitled George to do more. He had a profound appreciation for the hotel. Doing extra for guests made him feel good in return.
“Also, room 212 has a backed-up toilet. You may need to snake the line.”
Ashley deflated George’s sense of pride in one fell swoop. “And I don’t want you bringing your bike into the hotel anymore. It doesn’t look good for the new owners.”
“I’ve been bringing my bike into the hotel for five years, Ashley. It’s never been a problem before.”
The beast wearing Ashley’s skin looked down on George but said nothing in retort. He backed away from the doorway to the office. It moved to the door of its lair. The door closed quietly behind.
Over the next hour, George went through the routine of the night auditor. He reconciled the cash drawer and checked the guest ledger. There were no new guests during the day. No one due to check out anytime soon. The computerized management system helped streamline the responsibilities for George. He just had to bide his time until the harpy left for the day.
Chapter Three
After seven-thirty that evening, George habitually took a walk around the Comfort Hill Hotel. He had a mental clipboard stacked full guest-friendly intended for revitalizing the hotel. Only those ideas never flourished because Ashley’s strict fist and chokehold on the hotel came from an unseen overseer.
She took orders from a corporation that ruled with a tight fist on financials. The upgrades to the hotel George had in mind would cost more than his annual salary. And even that was a meager amount that hadn’t changed in five years.
“Evening George,” Elizabeth Hutchinson said with a sad smile as he passed her on the stairs. He had a bucket with a plunger and a plumber snake. The bathroom on the second floor was a favorite secondary nest location for Ashley. She used the guest bathroom as a private office. She usually went no further into the hotel. Since it was early, he wanted to get the plumbing out of the way.
“Hello, Elizabeth. How are you this evening?”
A waitress for the last ten years, she once was a sous-chef at an extravagant restaurant in New York. She had confessed to George. Her romance with the master chef had abruptly ended her career when the woman who o
wned the restaurant found out her husband was cheating on her with the help. She’d left New York in disgrace and now served generic food in the last restaurant within the town limits.
They paused on the second-floor platform of the stairwell. George took the stairs when he patrolled the hotel. Sometimes it was faster than the elevator. Elizabeth took the stairs because sampling too much of the restaurant confections demanded more exercise.
“I got a note from Ashley today in my mailbox,” she said. “I didn’t know the hotel was raising the rent.”
George made a face. It was the first he’d heard of it. “I’m sorry.” Apologizing for Ashley’s malfeasance was as routine as unclogging her abnormally large bowel movements in room 212’s bathroom.
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do,” she said disheartened.
“Did the letter say anything about the percentage your rent is increasing?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I just know I can barely afford this now. I might have to find a place in Montpelier or Burlington.”
“I understand.” It was the best he could offer. Ashley’s directives came from the all-knowing, omniscient overseers that commanded every aspect of the hotel.
“Can you find out how much the rent is going up?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” George made a habit of following through with requests. He wanted to find out what changes happened at the hotel while he slumbered during the day. “Maybe there’s something we can do to make it a little easier.” While it was not open to guests, the sale of the hotel might make the rates remain stable.
His statement gave Elizabeth a smile and she continued on her way.
On the second floor, he was surprised to encounter another long-term guest. Duncan Chambers arrived on Sunday night and George made sure to review any new guests that arrived whenever he wasn’t around. Ashley checked in Chambers and George reviewed and corrected the guest ledger of Ashley’s continued mistakes.