Dreamspinner Press Year Three Greatest Hits

by Jenna Hilary Sinclair

  “Guess it just comes from getting old.” David laughed quietly, relaxing even further into the incredible touch, ignoring that it brought him that much closer to Trace. “When I was younger I fell a lot harder than that while stumbling around drunk and never got hurt once.”

  “I told you before. You’re not old,” Trace insisted, kneading the softening muscles. “How you can be so self-deprecating and self-confident at the same time is a mystery to me.”

  David sighed. “I think it was the birthday.” Trace had taken him to a weekend series of baseball games, and they’d had a great time. But the birthday itself….

  “This past birthday?” Trace asked, frowning. He’d thought David had really enjoyed the weekend at the ballpark.

  “None of my other birthdays have bothered me, but forty-five? That was the year my dad had his heart attack. He lived another ten years, but he was never the same.”

  Trace was quiet for a long moment. “That’s not going to happen to you. Not as long as I’m around,” he said seriously. “I’ll make you exercise with me and eat better.” He was determined. “Gotta take care of my best buddy, right?”

  “Yeah.” David grinned. “In the meantime, you’ve got to get to work, and I need to placate Lloyd with something printable. I promise, I’ll be good and wear my sling,” he said, sitting back, moving away from the soothing touch reluctantly.

  Stepping back, Trace smiled at him. “All right. I hope to be home by ten tonight, although I’ll need a forklift to move.” He turned and walked out, back to the office where he’d taken to hanging his dry cleaning every few days. David had even cleaned some shelves off inside it for him.

  David refilled his coffee cup and sat back down at the table to wait for his sling to dry. Pulling his laptop closer, he stared at the screen, trying to recapture where he’d been going with his column.

  IT WAS later than he’d intended when Trace dragged himself out of the car and walked up to the house, leather case hanging from one shoulder, jacket slung over it, a small box in the other hand. He juggled it all to lift his keys and get the back door open, entering the kitchen quietly just in case David was asleep. The kitchen was dark, so he set his stuff on the table and put the box in the fridge before moving to stand in the doorway to the living room. As he walked he dragged a hand through his hair—it was hanging loose around his face. His shirt was open, with a triangle of his white undershirt showing, the tie hanging loose from the collar.

  David was sitting on the couch with his laptop. “Hey,” Trace greeted, leaning against the door frame.

  David looked over his shoulder. “Oh, hey,” he answered in a slightly dazed voice that showed he’d been deeply engrossed in something. “How was dinner?” Rubbing his eyes, he looked up at the clock. “Damn, it’s late.”

  “Filling. Very, very filling,” Trace answered, wrapping his arms around his midsection. “I brought you a piece of the richest cheesecake in creation,” he added, knowing it was one of David’s favorite treats.

  “Really?” David asked, perking up. He’d been half-asleep, telling himself that he wasn’t waiting up for Trace, but at the mention of cheesecake, he was wide awake. “Guess I have to make coffee, then,” David added. “Can’t have a good cheesecake without French roast.”

  Trace made a face. “No more food or liquids of any kind for at least twelve hours,” he muttered, turning back into the kitchen and going to start the coffeemaker. It occurred to him that he hadn’t even thought about bringing the cheesecake back; he’d just done it, knowing David would enjoy it. It was just a little thing—nothing like upsetting his whole life and moving in here to babysit him. Which honestly hadn’t been upsetting at all, now that he thought about it.

  David looked at the retreating back and grinned. It was the little things Trace did that made him so special. He remembered lots of times when Trace had brought him a bottle of wine or something local back from a business trip or called him when they’d both been busy and hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks. Trace was just a great friend. And now, cheesecake!

  “Come in here and talk to me,” Trace called out as he measured the coffee. “I spent all night being stared at by wait staff.”

  “You got it.” David strolled in and pulled a dessert plate off one of the shelves.

  Trace frowned while watching him. Why bother with a plate?

  Apparently David could read his mind. “What?” David said defensively. “A good dessert deserves first-class treatment, not to be shoveled out of a Styrofoam container.”

  Trace snorted. “I ate off fine Limoges china tonight, and believe me, sometimes it doesn’t help.” He shook his head, hitting the button to start the coffee brewing before turning and flopping in a chair at the table. “Oh God. Kill me now.”

  “You want some antacid?”

  “I want a stomach pump,” Trace muttered, head tilted against the back of the chair. “The food was pretty good, really. There was just way too much of it.”

  “You don’t have to eat all of it, you know. Most critics just sample a few mouthfuls of each dish.” David checked the coffeemaker. The cheesecake sitting in front of him was so tempting that it occurred to him he hadn’t really eaten dinner. No wonder he was starved.

  “Oh, believe me, that’s all I do. Thing is, with these fancy restaurants, they bring you course after course after course—and even two or three bites adds up.” Trace shifted on the chair. “I think I’ll just explode right here. It’ll be easier to clean the tile than the carpet.”

  “I’d rather you not explode anywhere in my house if it’s just the same with you.” David sighed as the light on the coffeemaker lit up. “Finally.”

  Trace looked over, amused. It hadn’t even been five minutes. “I swear, I think you love that coffee more than the cheesecake.”

  David grinned. “It’s a mutual love affair. Each makes the other better.” Slipping the first forkful of cheesecake into his mouth, he closed his lips around it, his eyes shut in orgasmic bliss. “Mmmmm….”

  Trace chuckled. “See, I know how to turn you into a big pussy cat,” he said with a smile. “Who else knows that?”

  “Might be better than sex,” David murmured, taking a sip of his coffee. “Will you marry me?”

  “I don’t know. You’re awful difficult to live with,” Trace said with a wink. “Although I like your house a hell of a lot more than my apartment.” He toed out of his shoes, leaving them under the table, and got up to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge.

  “Well, you know, high-maintenance partners are the best lovers,” David teased back.

  Trace turned around and leered at him. “High maintenance, are we?” he drawled. “My, my, really opening up now, aren’t we? I’ll have you know I have never had any complaints.”

  David chuckled, a low seductive sound, one Trace suspected was prompted by the late hour and really choice cheesecake. “If we were playing poker, I’d call.”

  Trace grinned, amazed at the sex just dripping from David’s voice. It was like nothing he’d ever heard from his friend, and he surprised himself by shivering as a shot of heat buzzed through him. “Good thing we’re not, ’cause I suck at bluffing,” he said, screwing the top off the water bottle and taking a drink before sighing gustily. “No food until three p.m. tomorrow, I swear to God,” he muttered.

  “Poor baby,” David purred before laughing. “How many restaurants do you have tomorrow night?”

  Trace covered his face with both hands and moaned. “Three more.” He made a mock-sobbing noise, only to look up and not see any sympathy from David. In fact, David was going at the cheesecake like a starving man. “Hey, I know you love cheesecake, but you eat that much sugar that fast, you’ll be the one who’s sick.”

  “I might have forgotten to eat dinner,” David admitted, putting the fork down long enough to take a sip of coffee.

  Trace’s eyes narrowed. “Might have forgotten? I’m betting you remember one way or the other.”

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sp; David’s eyes shifted guiltily to the floor. “I ate lunch,” he justified.

  Glancing at the clock, Trace closed his eyes for a moment and restrained himself. Why can’t David take better care of himself? He leaned back on the counter, hands clenching on the edge as he swallowed the urge to get angry, and made a decision. “Okay. Well, you just solved one of my problems,” he said, keeping his voice deceptively casual despite the unhappy bent to his shoulders.

  Confused, David stared at Trace, brows drawn together. “Huh?”

  Trace pushed himself away from the counter and walked over to David, setting one hand on the table and one on the back of David’s chair. He leaned down close to meet David’s eyes. “I’m taking you out and wining and dining you tomorrow night.”

  A shiver traveled up David’s spine, even though he knew that Trace didn’t mean it the way it sounded. An unexpected pang that Trace wasn’t actually asking him out shot through David’s gut. To regain his balance, he teased back. “Sure you can afford me?”

  “Oh, tomorrow night, money is no object. Caviar and champagne, filet mignon and crusted Australian bass, lobster bisque and duck salad, scallop crostini, French vanilla crème brûlée…. Whatever your little heart desires, you can have,” Trace said, his voice smooth and dark, like velvet. Trace knew he was having an effect when David swallowed audibly and nodded.

  David shivered again. Cheesecake and a seductive Trace were more than his system could handle. Unable to tear his eyes away from the chocolate gaze, he gulped, nodding because he didn’t trust his voice.

  “Oh yeah, baby,” Trace crooned, leaning closer. “You are going to all three restaurants with me. I’ll make sure you eat. And you’ll love every… single… succulent… moment of it.”

  “Enough, Trace. I’ll go. Now go sit down like a good little straight boy before I jump you,” David warned, his tone dark, but still teasing.

  Trace grinned and leaned just enough to playfully kiss the very tip of David’s nose before standing up and moving back to the other side of the table, water bottle in hand. He sat down, smug and very pleased with himself. And he was: This meant that not only would he have David’s wonderful company instead of nervous waiters, but he’d only have to eat half as much food! Why didn’t I think of this before?

  Chapter 5

  DAVID LOOKED at himself in the mirror. His black linen pants were drawn up over his hips but not fastened. He’d gotten his undershirt on and his shirt over his shoulders without too much trouble, although it had hurt to move his shoulder around that much. Of course, the buttons weren’t done. He could do them up, but one-handed it would take the next hour at least, and it still hurt a lot when he tried hold his right arm up long enough to use it. So, he was as ready as he was going to get. Taking a deep breath, he called, “Oh, Trace, I need my valet!”

  He heard a bark of laughter from the bathroom, and, rolling his eyes, David fixed his glare on the bathroom door so that Trace would feel its full impact when he walked through. The glare, and his breathing, faltered when Trace appeared.

  Fuck. Trace was good-looking at his worst, but dressed to kill, he was breathtaking. Unable to form a coherent comment, David just stared as his friend walked toward him. It was a similar feeling to sitting at the table last night, Trace’s voice rubbing him silkily in all the right places, leaving him aching.

  Trace had broken out more than the run-of-the-mill everyday dress clothes, choosing a silvery-gray suit of lighter material that emphasized the long, lean lines of his body, and his hair was loose and on his shoulders, styled in that popular windblown look and held in place with judicious use of mousse. He’d even shaved again this evening.

  Looking over at David, Trace raised a brow. “Oh Master, I heed thy summons,” he said with a chuckle.

  David’s glare didn’t faze Trace one bit; he’d seen it before and would see it again, he was sure. He sauntered over and stopped in front of David, starting to button his shirt from the top down, smoothing the fine white fabric as he went. It was hard to miss the lightly muscled body underneath, and Trace was quietly appreciative. He knew it took a lot to stay in shape. He could certainly appreciate the effect on David’s body.

  Trace tucked the shirttails into David’s slacks, hands coasting over his hips to make sure the material didn’t bunch. Trace looked up as he pulled the pants up slightly and folded the placket together. “What’s up? You look like you forgot something,” he said as he buttoned the trousers.

  Yeah, my brain. David wished he knew what had possessed him to think that Trace moving in with him while he recovered was a good idea. Of course, Trace hadn’t really given him a choice in the matter. The corners of his mouth drew up slightly at how pigheaded and stubborn Trace could be when he set his mind to it. David bit his cheek, willing his body to behave as Trace’s long-fingered hands skimmed his body.

  David really needed to get laid. But he couldn’t see having a conversation with Trace about needing a night alone when Trace had done so much for him. He was quite sure, though, that his thoroughly straight friend wasn’t going to want to do what David really needed at the moment.

  He shook his head in answer to Trace’s question and looked down to watch as Trace buttoned, zipped, and buckled him up.

  “There you go,” Trace said as he slid his hand along David’s belly to make sure the shirt lay down properly.

  David swallowed hard, not sure how much more of this he could take. It was becoming torture.

  Trace lifted his hands to fasten the top button under his chin. “Wearing a tie?” he asked. His own was the same silver as the suit, and it caught the light when he moved.

  “Yeah. If you’re gonna button me up like a priest, I’d better,” David managed to say drolly.

  Trace chuckled. “You can go without one; no one’s going to say anything. Will look nicer if your gossip columnist catches us, though. Did you know Matt’s been haunting the high-class places for Katherine’s celebrity column? He got a shot of me last night talking with the deputy mayor and her husband. I hope he doesn’t use it, or at least crops me out. I probably looked like shit after twelve hours on the job.”

  “You could never look like shit, fashion plate that you are. Fine. Just for you, I’ll try and look my best,” David teased—but not really—and looked at Trace coyly through lowered eyelashes.

  With an appraising look, Trace stepped back and deliberately looked David up and down. There was no doubt, David was a fine-looking man. Trace supposed he had no problem finding companionship when he went out. “Well, I’m no expert—about men, anyway—but you look incredible to me,” he admitted as he tilted his head and started to fix the tie David laid over his shoulder.

  Trace’s plain brown eyes were sparkling unusually as he stepped to one side to playfully peek at David’s ass. The tease on top of the “incredible” comment was the ice water David needed to get his rampaging libido under control. Trace wasn’t gay, and David hadn’t actively lusted after straight men in almost two decades; it was far too frustrating. “Thank you,” he said stiffly, slipping the sling over the top of his suit coat and fiddling with the strap to lengthen it to accommodate the extra bulk. “I don’t suppose you’d let me out without the leash just for one night?” he grumbled.

  Stepping back to let David move, Trace slid one hand into a pocket. David had stiffened a bit, and Trace realized maybe he’d teased a little too much. He’d have to pick it apart in his head later, try and figure it out. As for the sling…. “I won’t give you grief about it, not tonight. I’m just afraid you’ll be hurting if you don’t wear it,” he said quietly.

  David sighed over the thought of a few hours without the frustrating contraption. “How about a compromise? I’ll take it, leave it in the car, and if I get to hurting, I’ll let you go get it for me.”

  Trace chuckled. “I suppose I can live with that.” He shrugged into his jacket and glanced at his watch. “Ready to go? We’ve got half an hour to get to the restaurant.”

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sp; Pulling aside his suit coat to slip his wallet into his back pocket, and his money clip and a small tin of mints into his front pocket, David motioned to the door. “All set. After you.”

  DAVID GRITTED his teeth. The hostess at San Angelo hadn’t stopped flirting, fawning, and gushing over Trace since he and David had walked in the door. She currently had her hand wrapped around Trace’s bicep, squeezing like she was testing the condition of the body beneath the expensive suit. Judging by her smile, she liked what she’d found. David wondered if restaurant staff thought they could use sex to influence the overall rating of a restaurant in the Sun-Herald reviews. He was so caught up in his inner grumbling that he reached to pull out the heavy mahogany chair with his right hand without thinking, yanking it back from the table and unable to completely stifle the cry of pain.

  Trace’s head shot around, and he was at David’s side in an instant, leaving the hostess gaping. “David, what did you do?” he asked, looking at how David was cradling his arm to prop up his shoulder.

  David stared at a fixed point, trying to keep his balance as the room swayed. “Just being stupid. How about being a gentleman and pulling out my chair for me? I don’t seem to be capable of it at the moment.”

  Concerned, Trace did pull out the heavy wooden chair, immediately aware of how it must have hurt David to move it. He totally ignored the hostess and wait staff staring. Once David was seated, he asked, “Okay?” and when David nodded, he pushed the chair in some. “You can probably prop your elbow on that armrest,” he suggested, moving to the chair across the two-person table.

  David was watching the befuddled young woman hover with two heavy, leather-bound menus and an even fatter wine list, backed up by two nervous-looking servers. “I’m fine. Just give me a sec,” he whispered. “Do something about them hovering, will you? I feel like a wounded gazelle being eyed by a leopard.”

  Trace accepted the menus and the wine list and made a blatant shooing motion at the wait staff. Scared to death of damaging his opinion, they all vamoosed. He set down the menus on the table, one in front of each of them, and looked at David with concern.