Again, it was probably nothing more than projection. I felt the attraction to him when we’d been in the bookshop. Fought against it as Harrison was in the room.
As I’d alluded to Jasper, most of my clients over the years had been women. And while I felt protective of them, cared for them, there was no worry or fear about crossed boundaries or blurred lines. It worked well for them too. Once they were aware I was gay, I wasn’t a man they had to worry about. I could simply protect them, and at times be a friend during a hard moment in their lives.
I hadn’t done much self-talk in preparing to meet Harrison’s brother. I’d assumed Jasper was going to be another incarnation of Harrison Getty. The American definition of male perfection. Tall, muscle-bound, model-perfect face, windswept blond hair, porn-worthy body, yada, yada, yada. Sure, I’d had that type many times. It was enjoyable and always good when you needed to hook up. But it wasn’t my first choice and wouldn’t even be the slightest temptation when I was on a job where I needed to stay professional.
Then I met Jasper Getty. It was nearly enough to make me turn around and walk out the door. Not only was this a job, but one for a friend, or at least a friendly acquaintance. Two extremely good reasons to keep the boundaries of professionalism firmly intact.
But there he’d been, as if Harrison was offering up my kryptonite on a silver platter.
Jasper’s close-cropped red hair was like a coppery halo over his delicately handsome features. Shorter than me, and I could tell from his fitted clothes that bordered on hipster style, he was solid and muscled, though he lacked my bulk and mass. He was almost elegant in form. Even his thin black glasses added some appeal. The totality of him not only sparked my protective nature, but ignited the heat of lust.
There’d also been an initial recognition, as if I’d met the man before. Stupid really, and somewhat embarrassing, even in my own mind. I had a type. A type I’d indulged in more times than I could count. A type that bled together from one adorably geeky ginger to the next.
That was all it had been. Not recognition of the man, simply of his type. But… what a gloriously delicious example of his type Jasper was.
Jasper was the pinnacle of all that geeky gingerdom had to offer. And there he stood, the two bedrooms we’d occupy side by side only a few feet away, and him once more radiating the desire I thought I’d felt from him downstairs.
I supposed it could still simply be me, but I didn’t think it was. I wished I were wrong. Hoped I was wrong. Nearly prayed I was imagining Jasper’s arousal. I’d never used my profession as a way to get laid, and I wasn’t about to start.
That was easy to say, though, as I’d never had the opportunity either.
I cleared my throat, trying to cut the moment. “Sorry, what were we saying?”
“Um… I’m not….” Jasper swallowed, then blinked. And though he broke contact, a blush rose to his cheeks. “Oh. Books. Right… nothing important. Just that I… like books.”
Not my imagination. Fuck. Whatever else he was feeling, Jasper was experiencing lust, just like me. Maybe not to the same level, but it was there.
That made this dangerous. Or stupid.
The silence dragged on for so long there was no way to save the moment or pretend we weren’t both awkward messes. “So… I know you’re needing to open up the bookshop.” I motioned toward the smaller of the bedrooms that led off the narrow living room—Jasper had mentioned they were above the coffee shop that was next door to Lavender Pages. “You said that’s the guest room, right? When things get busy, I’ll use that opportunity and grab all my stuff to bring up here. Does that work?”
Jasper looked at the guest room, then at his own as he shifted from foot to foot, his cheeks nearly scarlet. “Yeah. That’s fine.” Despite his expression, his voice sounded irritated once more. Maybe that wasn’t directed at me specifically as I’d thought earlier. Perhaps it was just how he dealt with being embarrassed. There was no way either of us could pretend we weren’t feeling whatever this was.
“Are you comfortable with me being here, Jasper?” I had to ask. Though I couldn’t decide if I wanted him to say he was so I had a reason to be near him, or to give me an out so I could escape.
Those blue eyes cast my way again, and it was like he was searching for answers in mine. As he didn’t answer, I doubted he found whatever he was looking for.
“It’s okay if you aren’t. Sometimes that happens. I can tell Harrison that it’s not working out, and he can be with you tonight. I know a couple of others in my line of work who I trust. I can get someone to replace me by tomorrow.”
Jasper’s obvious relief stung. But it was gone quickly as he shook his head. “No. I appreciate the offer, but no. Harrison and Adrian have their anniversary tonight. I don’t want to interrupt that.” He flinched at his own words and partially stretched out a hand toward me. “Not that I don’t feel comfortable. Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that.” His tone was all business suddenly, as were his eyes. “I’m sure you’re exceptional at your job. This will be just fine. Thank you for… helping out.”
Three
Jasper
“Lavender Leaves has started a delivery service now?” I took the steaming hot drink Pete handed me over my counter. “I’m not complaining, but we’ve shared a wall for six years. I didn’t know all I had to do was knock and my caramel mocha would magically appear.”
“You can get your own damn drink, young man.” Pete scowled, unimpressed. “I didn’t make it to my eighties by being a delivery boy.”
I took a sip of the mocha, then tilted it in his direction. “If you’ve been half as busy at the coffee shop as I’ve been in here this morning, I don’t think you came over because you’re lonely.”
“No. Not the least bit lonely, not today. But I heard rumors you got yourself a bodyguard. I’ve never seen one of those. Thought I’d check him out.” Pete’s stern expression turned playful as his dark gaze flitted to where Russell stood at the front corner of the store where bookshelf met window, before he turned back to me. “And from the looks of him, I think I might need to remind you about that solitary wall between us that you just mentioned. I stay open later than you. And we both know that if I hear something fun going on, I’m lowering the music so every overly caffeinated patron and I can sit back and listen to exactly how that hunk of man meat over there guards your body. I’m betting the inspections he gives are fun.”
“Hush up.” I swatted at him as I checked to see if the nearby customers overheard, and then, worse yet, if Russell had. As ever, his attention stayed focused outside, but I couldn’t shake the feeling he was completely aware of everything that happened around him. “Good grief, Pete. Don’t turn the whole thing dirty. He’s here to make sure things stay safe. That’s all.” It was a reminder as much for me as an admonition to Pete. I’d been repeating the mantra incessantly since I’d opened the bookstore that morning. It had been unusually busy, which had been nice, needed—kept my mind occupied. At least it should have. Even as I helped customers, it seemed I couldn’t keep my gaze from wandering over to my statue-like sentinel.
Pete waved me off, unconcerned, and didn’t bother lowering his voice. “You’ll figure it out one day, Jasper. But if the good Lord gives you enough years to turn you into an old man, might as well be a dirty old man.” He chuckled softly, pleased at his joke.
Though gruff at times, Pete had been my first friend when I moved to Lavender Shores. He’d made me feel welcome when I’d opened the bookshop. He’d also laid down a few rules about what he expected with us sharing a wall and my bedrooms being over his shop, but nothing unreasonable. It had been an odd pairing—me in my mid-twenties and him in his late seventies—but he’d been an added sense of security, and part of the laying down of a solid foundation when I’d hit reset on my life.
Though there was still a twinkle in his eyes, his tone grew serious, and thankfully lowered in volume. “The other thing you learn by my age, my little bookworm, is to never look a gift horse in the mo
uth.” He gestured subtly toward Russell with his chin. “And that stallion is most definitely a gift horse. One you need to ride hard until he bucks you off. Then get back on again.”
“Pete!” I felt my cheeks burn instantly as I whispered a reproach to him.
Once more, he was undeterred. “You can’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it.”
I opened my mouth to protest but couldn’t quite pull it off. I’d done little else besides think about it. The memory of our few moments together so many years before had been on constant replay in my mind. Recalling how Russell had felt inside of me. How his strength and his kiss had given me so much at such a crucial moment in my life. Of course, each time the memory replayed, it was followed by him running away as if I’d transformed into a demon immediately following orgasm.
“You okay, boy?” This time Pete’s voice was barely a whisper and held only concern.
I met his gaze and nodded.
He narrowed his eyes, searching, and whether it was his years of wisdom or that he knew me so well, he clearly saw too much. “Be careful. I was just saying have a good time. But he’s only been here for a few hours, and it’s clear you already have feelings.”
My heart skipped a beat, and once more I started to deny, but again I found I had no words. I couldn’t have feeling for Russell. Although, I’d thought of him many, many times over the years. Replayed our brief moments together to the point they were crystal clear in my memory.
“Everything okay here?”
Pete and I both jumped a little as Russell stepped up behind Pete’s shoulder. I hadn’t even noticed him crossing the store.
Pete swiveled around and almost looked comical as he shoved a finger up into Russell’s massive chest. “What are you trying to do? Give an old man a heart attack?” He looked like a mouse reprimanding a lion. “I was going to offer to bring you over a coffee in thanks for taking care of my boy Jasper here. But now you can just get it yourself.” He shoved his finger again, and knowing Pete, I was certain he was enjoying the feel of Russell’s brawn more than actually being offended. “In fact, I’m going to expect to see you every morning, bright and early. You’ll bring Jasper his caramel mocha, you can order whatever concoction you like best, and while you’re at it, you’ll also buy two pastries from me.” A third jab before he looked back at me with a kind, fatherly smile. “Remember what I said. You be careful.”
Russell took a step back, clearing a path for Pete as he made a dramatic exit. The previous winter, Pete had suffered a stroke, and while he was fine, his left leg now shuffled a little. But even so, he left in his usual Pete flair.
Russell watched until Pete disappeared from view as he rounded the corner to his coffee shop. Chuckling, he looked back at me. “Seems like I got my marching orders.”
“That you did. You’ll want to keep Pete on your good side.”
“I can tell.” His grin faded as his gaze met mine, and for the billionth time that day, I tried to read behind their warm brown depths. “Are you okay? You looked… rattled.”
It was the first time he’d interrupted me with a customer. Even when we had sandwiches delivered from the Daily Deli, he’d stood at his post, observing as he ate.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Pete is a dear friend. I promise you he’s safe.” I forced myself not to look away in the moments of silence that followed. It was like earlier that morning in the apartment. There was no doubt Russell was attracted to me. And for all his formality and professionalism, I could practically see the things Russell wanted to do to me in his eyes. Things that would most definitely be heard through the wall and into Lavender Leaves. But even in that moment, there was no spark of recognition. I thought I’d noticed once, but then it was gone and apparently wasn’t returning. But that had to be intentional on Russell’s part for some reason. Clearly the expectation was to leave it unspoken between us.
I wasn’t clear on the point of that, but if it was how he needed to be, that was fine.
“I will, you know, be more than happy to get our coffees and pastries every morning. Like Pete commanded.” He swallowed. “If you want.”
Whatever his reason for not bringing up our past, it didn’t look like he was able to fully conceal his desire. “You don’t have to do that. You’re not here to be a delivery boy.”
He took a step closer. No matter that the counter was between us, I could practically feel his body pressed against mine. “I’m here to keep you safe. And if morning coffee from Lavender Leaves adds to that for you, then that’s what I’ll do.” He cocked his head. “Wait a minute. He said a mocha, didn’t he?” He cast a quick glance at the cup. “You don’t like regular coffee?”
I shook my head. “No. I am an embarrassment to fellow booksellers everywhere. I only like coffee if it comes in the form of a mocha and is practically drowned in drizzled caramel.”
He grinned, an expression that almost made him look boyish. “That’s not an embarrassment. I actually think it’s kind of—” His eyes widened as his words fell away. He cleared his throat and gestured back toward the corner. “Holler if you need anything.”
Cute. He was going to say cute. I’d like to pretend he was going to say sexy, but he hadn’t been. But still. He found me cute. I studied his back as he walked to his self-proclaimed post. I couldn’t figure him out. We weren’t labeling the elephant in the room, or bookshop as it were, not acknowledging we’d had quick yet amazing sex in the bathhouse years before. Yet every other interaction was nearly reduced to ashes by the heat between us, but then the walls shot up and we pretended even the attraction wasn’t happening.
Russell had only been in my life for a matter of hours, and I was already exhausted. Exhausted and wound so tight sexually, I was certain my balls were already a deep and painful shade of blue.
“Excuse me….” I flinched and looked over to see a woman standing with a stack of three books in her hands. I’d completely forgotten the customers in the store. “I was hoping I could pay for these?”
The tourists were plentiful enough that I kept Lavender Pages open a couple of extra hours. By the time early evening arrived, most of the customers were doing little more than meandering through the aisles in a relaxed state of contentment as opposed to spending any real money, but that was okay. It kept me from figuring out what to do with Russell once we were alone.
I hadn’t really considered that when Harrison forced the idea on me. It had crossed my mind, but more in an annoyance sort of way. Someone in my space, never being alone. But more like an ever-present roommate than anything else. The thought of someone I had a sexual history with, albeit brief, hadn’t entered my mind. Nor the possibility of having a man by my side twenty-four hours a day who I was attracted to. One minute I wanted to rip off his clothes and ride him just like Pete Marks suggested, and the next demand answers to why he was pretending not to remember me—and, even worse, why he’d run away so quickly that night.
I knew that last bit was unfair. Even unreasonable. It had been a question I’d let go of fairly quickly after the bathhouse. After all, that was exactly what a bathhouse was. It wasn’t a place for feelings or relationships or anything lasting. By design it offered a brief sexual connection and release. Nothing more. Russell hadn’t broken the rules, and neither had I. Our minutes together had given me exactly what I’d hoped for but feared I wouldn’t find that evening. I had no right to be irritated about it all these years later or even need a reason. It was what it was.
Our time together that night had been the title page in a book, the kind that separated sections, letting the reader know everything they’d read until that point was about to change. The marking of one aspect of my life thankfully coming to a close while making me feel desirable… alive… and giving me the courage to turn the page and start my next adventure.
I hadn’t felt bad about how our time had ended, at least not past that initial sting as Russell ran from the sauna. At least I hadn’t thought I had. But as we sat on opposite sides of
the table sharing chicken fajitas I’d picked up from Charlie’s Tavern, I couldn’t deny I had some resentment, justified or not. Maybe it was simply resentment over the fact that we were pretending it hadn’t happened.
The solution was easy, obvious. All I needed to do was bring it up. Swallow my bite of fajita and say, “There’s no reason to feel awkward about us hooking up seven years ago. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Doesn’t mean we have to feel weird together.”
Okay, maybe the solution was obvious, but it most definitely wasn’t easy, as demonstrated by me taking bite after bite of my fajita as the resolve to bring it up slipped further away.
Russell occupied the side of the table that looked out over the apartment and the window to downtown. So far, our dinner had been tense, growing more so every moment.
“What is it about books you love so much? It’s like you have a little shrine over there.” As he gestured with his fajita toward the opposite wall, it felt like he was more desperate to simply find something to say than actual curiosity.
As if I didn’t know exactly where he was pointing, I swiveled in my chair and inspected my little alcove. My favorite books from childhood up until present day were crowded on the shelves, along with some of the copies of my mother’s favorites as well. Nearly every shelf was cluttered with photos and little mementos from over the years. Things that belonged to her—a curling metal candleholder, a porcelain iris from her funeral. There were a couple of small toys from Harrison’s and my childhood. Items that made me feel safe or held memories.
If Russell had been nothing more than a hired bodyguard, like he was supposed to be, I wouldn’t have thought much about the question and could’ve passed the alcove off as nothing more than bookshelves. But he wasn’t just a hired bodyguard. Even though we were pretending it hadn’t happened, we’d shared a pivotal moment in my life. And part of the reason dinner had been so stressful and awkward was the constant flaring of attraction and then both of us pretending for the billionth time that it wasn’t there.
The Alcove (Lavender Shores Book 7) Page 5