“I wouldn’t mind that at all,” Cole responded.
“But first.” Spencer turned just as he felt Lyndon’s warm body close against his back. His assistant stood there with a Lexington snifter glass atop of his tray with exactly two fingers of the finest cognac they served already poured inside. Spencer remembered what Cole said he’d be drinking if he was alone in his hotel room. “A Remy Martin Black Pearl for you.” Spencer slid the short stem of the glass between his middle and index finger and placed it Cole’s waiting hand, their fingertips grazing purposely along each other’s.
It took some effort, but he cocked his head toward Gerald and examined him as if he had a secret talent of reading men. Business men. “And for you, Mr.…”
“Paddock, Gerald Paddock, store manager of Burbank Jewelers,” the man finished assertively.
Cole rolled his eyes and grumbled something Spencer couldn’t make out, but he didn’t have the luxury of being that rude to a paying guest. Instead he nodded and extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m going to treat you like my VIP tonight since you brought me such a fine gift this Christmas.” Spencer cut his eyes toward Cole, and he liked the faint blush he wore just about his collar and low on his firm jaw.
Gerald laughed loudly, drawing the attention of few nearby customers. “You’re welcome. But don’t put all the special attention on me. I’m just trying to be a good friend. No one should be alone on Christmas.”
Spencer swallowed as he hid his true feelings about that powerful statement. He didn’t want to think about how silent his nights were this week or how sad his Christmas would be tomorrow while he was alone and so many others were with friends and loved ones. Instead Spencer pivoted and placed his hand on Lyndon’s small waist and pulled him close enough to whisper in his ear. Lyndon nodded and turned his face into Spencer’s neck as he listened to his orders like he’d been instructed to do. It appeared as if he and Lyndon had more going on, but it was all visual stimulation. Spencer slowly inched his hand up the center of Lyndon’s lithe chest until he got to his throat. He brushed some nonexistent lint from his assistant’s collar while he chuckled softly in his ear. Once they were finished, Lyndon sauntered off, and multiple men’s eyes followed his movements… except Cole’s.
“He forgot to take my drink order,” Gerald noted.
“No, he didn’t. He’ll be right back with your glass of Macallan. If memory serves me correctly, you’re an aged whisky man, Mr. Paddock.” Spencer smirked at Gerald’s surprised expression.
“You remembered my order from the last time I was here? That had to be about three months ago.”
“I know.”
“But you weren’t even my server before.”
“I know,” Spencer repeated mysteriously and left it at that. He knew his job, it was that simple. Most nights he performed his act with little thought, choosing to leave his heart outside of this place in fear of it getting shattered again.
He’d promised himself he’d never date another customer.
Four
Cole
He remembered my drink. Cole hid his pleased smile behind his sip of cognac and tried not to appear as flattered as he was. Call it a hunch, but he had a feeling that Spencer Underwood wasn’t a man who was easily impressed with wealth, and that was a rare quality he found very intriguing. It’s what Cole had been looking for, hoping to find a man interested in only him, not his inheritance. But, in such a greedy world, he’d given up on that years ago. As he watched Gerald and this remarkable enigma of a man he’d met less than a couple hours ago interact, he didn’t ignore the opportunity to get a more thorough inspection.
Spencer looked different than he had in the store. He’d been dressed down earlier, in worn denim and a bulky, light blue sweater under his winter coat. It was a shame Spencer had disguised such an amazing form. Tonight, tailored slacks covered his long legs that he’d matched with the softest-looking, formfitting black sweater he’d ever seen. If he didn’t have more control, he would’ve already attempted to run the flat of his palm down the center of Spencer’s lithe pecs. His coal-black hair was cut close at his temples, and the messy length on top seemed to be styled in that “I don’t have to exhibit much effort to achieve this look” kind of way. There must’ve been some gel or product in it, however it still appeared delicate enough to want to sift his fingers through. When he’d completed his inspection, he was amused and slightly embarrassed to find those pretty blue eyes lasered on him.
“Should I stand here a little longer, or have you seen enough?” Spencer leaned over until his mouth was next to Cole’s ear, causing a welcome warmth to travel toward his groin. He stayed composed because this was all a part of Spencer’s job. To entertain and schmooze the elitist that could afford this kind of establishment. But damn did he smell good. Like clean cotton and warm summers, another show of his defiance for this season.
“I apologize if I’ve offended you. I didn’t mean to be so obvious,” Cole answered, instinctually turning his nose toward the delectable scent that lingered around Spencer’s collar. “You’re a beautiful man.”
“Thank you.” Spencer’s voice was husky, his breath sweet and inviting from whatever mint he’d recently sucked on.
Cole noticed a few of the other servers were watching their exchange as if it was unique, but in his opinion, Spencer wasn’t doing near as much as the other servers. There was an older waiter, handsome in a distinguished sort of way, who appeared to be working only one man in the VIP area, and from the looks of it, he was happy to do so. No one was doing anything improper; the men there were too self-important to engage in such irreputable behavior. But it was clear that these servers were paid well to show a man a nice gentlemanly time. So, Cole wouldn’t read too much into what Spencer was doing.
Lyndon—Cole believed that was Spencer’s assistant’s name—returned quickly with Gerald’s eight-year-old single malt, and Spencer presented it to him along with a selection of cigars his assistant had also added to the tray. Cole watched as Spencer made another show of faintly touching his aide as he expressed his appreciation for his attention to detail. Lyndon batted his long lashes, and as Cole watched the two of them together, heat began to form in his gut. He wanted Spencer to touch him like that, to keep whispering in his ear and to lavish him with affection and attention.
Jesus. Calm down. Cole wasn’t a needy man. He’d long ago gotten used to being alone, so he couldn’t quite understand this sudden urge to get to know more about the man in front of him—the man that was his for the evening. And if he wanted to extend getting to know him beyond tonight, then he needed to make an effort. Maybe he could turn Spencer’s act into the real thing.
“I took the liberty of having Lyndon bring a few brands of Cubans that we have available tonight.” Spencer graced them with another gorgeous smile. “I believe you prefer a bold flavor, Mr. Paddock. You had the Bolivar Petit last time, correct? I think you’ll find the Double Corona more to your taste.”