Chapter 4
“Excuse me…aren’t you the…handyman? I need some help in my room,” Michael looked up at the guest lounging in the doorway of the dining room, and the man visibly leered at him. He sighed silently, rising to his feet from where he’d been checking the electrical outlet along the baseboard.
The guest’s eyes widened. “Wow, you’re a tall one, aren’t you?” he said appreciatively. “And so strong, too. That’s good. It’s always nice to have a strong man around to…help you.”
Michael’s face remained still and blank during this entire come-on. “What do you need me to do?” he asked quietly.
“Well, the lamp in my room is shorted out. I need you to take a look at it,” the man said, batting his eyes coquettishly.
“All right,” Michael replied. “Which room is it?”
“Number seven. Lucky number seven…I hope,” the guest said, smiling lasciviously.
Michael didn’t say anything to this. He simply walked past the guest and headed for the stairs, also ignoring the appreciative looks and cat calls from some of the other guests in the lobby and sitting room. His mouth was a thin line, but otherwise he showed no emotion whatsoever as. he began to climb the stairs.
Behind him, at the desk, Molly shook her head. “Poor, poor Michael,” she sighed. “Now he knows how a pretty woman feels.”
“Yeah,” her new assistant Jenny remarked. “That used to happen to me when I worked at a Marriot. Guys were always checking me out and making nasty comments and trying to feel me up. Actually, that’s why I like working here. The lesbians still check me out, but they’re not as nasty as guys are for the most part.”
Molly lifted her shoulders. “I like the fact that we’re always busy now,” she said. “Especially the extra pay. But this has to be hell for poor Michael, what with the guests always hitting on him. And him not interested in the least.”
Jenny gave her a puzzled look. “But isn’t he…gay?” she asked tentatively.
Molly sighed. “Yes. But something happened to him,” she explained softly to Jenny, “When he was overseas. In the Army. He won’t talk about it, but Karlie and I think…that he…can’t…anymore,” she said, making an eloquent gesture with one hand.
“Oh,” Jenny said. “Poor guy indeed. That has to suck, especially working in a bed and breakfast full of hot gay guys all the time. What? Just because they don’t like girls doesn’t mean that they’re not hot,” she said defensively when Molly threw her a startled look. “That WOULD be my definition of Hell, being surrounded by hot guys and not being able to do anything about it.”
“Yes. But please don’t say anything to him about it,” Molly begged. “It’s obviously a sensitive issue for him.”
“I’ll bet it is,” Jenny muttered, then held up her hands defensively. “I won’t say anything, I swear,” she added.
Michael moved along the hallway toward Room 7. As he did so, the door at the end of the hall that led up to Damien’s apartment opened, and a tousled but still handsome young man stepped out. There were buttons missing from his shirt, and a visible love bite darkening on his neck. He stopped when he saw Michael standing there. “Oh, hey,” he said. “err…”
Michael said nothing to get him out of his predicament, but fortunately for him Damien strolled out into the hallway in a silk bathrobe. “Don’t mind him, Brent, he’s just the handyman,” Damien said dismissively. He stood on tiptoe and kissed the man in a leisurely fashion on the mouth. “Tell the girls down at the desk that you’re getting the ’manager’s special’,” he said as he finally pulled back. “They’ll give you thirty-per-cent off your bill.”
“Thanks,” the guest said.
Damien patted his ass. “No, thank you. Please come again, anytime,” he went on with an evil smirk.
The guest looked from him to Michael, then walked away toward his unused room. Damien put his hand on his hip and leveled a cool glance at his handyman. “Fixing something else for one of the guests?” he remarked dryly. “Bet you won’t be giving them any ‘special service’, either. Really, Michael. You must be made of stone to be surrounded by all of these sexy, eligible men and refuse every one when they come onto you. This could be a definite special perk for you, but apparently you have no sex drive at all. What happened? Are you a eunuch or something?”
Michael lifted a single brow. “Maybe I’m just not a slut, like you,” he said stonily.
“Ouch,” Damien commented, running his fingers through his mussed hair, “That really hurt. I should definitely feel bad about having sex with so many hot guys…oh, wait a minute…” he shook his head pityingly. “What? Should I be a dried-up stick like you? I think not, Michael,” he drawled. “You keep starving yourself while surrounded by a buffet, but don’t expect me to follow suit. Now you run along and do your job, and when you’re finished turning yet another guy who wants into your pants down, could you go down to the kitchen and ask Franny to have her new assistant bring me up a breakfast tray? I’m feeling lazy today. Must be all the exercise I got last night,” he winked and blew Michael an air kiss, before departing back up the stairs to his apartment with an insouciant swish of his narrow hips.
The handyman stood in the hallway for a moment, frowning slightly to himself. Then he shrugged off whatever he was thinking, and walked along to Room 7 to fix the broken lamp - or determine that it wasn’t broken at all, and fend off the proposals of the horny guest as he’d done with so many others in the last few weeks.
Franny’s new assistant carried a tray of food up to the attic apartment. She was used to this by now; Damien seldom ate breakfast with his guests. That would probably be because he spent all night every night up in his apartment with whichever of the good-looking male guests who caught his eyes. Whoever he picked almost never said no, and it was clear from the way they looked when they departed that Damien had definitely made their stay a pleasant one. She knocked on the door, and heard the manager’s voice call: “Come in,” from inside the room.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The attic apartment looked almost the same as it had when Damien had moved in; the renovations that had gutted the rest of the Sweet Springs B&B had barely touched the open, airy apartment. Damien was lounging on the couch, his legs stretched out so that his bare feet were resting on the coffee table. “Good morning, Cyndi,” he remarked.
“Good morning, Damien,” she replied. He’d told them all to call him Damien rather than being more formal. “I’ve brought your breakfast.”
“Thank you, darling. Just bring it over here,” he waved a hand at the coffee table negligently. “I don’t think I can move a muscle,” he told her easily.
She lifted her brows. “Oh? Was he that good?”
Damien laughed, tilting his head back to rest it on the back of the couch. “He was pretty good,” he conceded as she set the tray down on the coffee table in front of him. “Although not as imaginative as I might have hoped,” he added.
Cyndi eyed him. “I don’t want to know,” she said.
Damien grinned whitely at her. “No, you probably don’t. Anyway, here’s your tip for being such a doll and bringing me breakfast,” he handed her a fifty-dollar-bill, which she didn’t object to since he always gave her that much each morning. She always halved it with Franny, so neither of them objected to giving Damien personal service where his breakfast was concerned.
“Off with you now. I’m starving,” he waved her away, leaning forward to look over his food. Cyndi retreated, trying not to look at the rumpled bed or various things lying on and around it. She had no objections to gay people, but seeing the aftermath of gay sex up close and personal just wasn’t her bag. She left quickly, as Damien cut a piece off of the egg-white omelet that Franny had made especially for him.
Damien ate his breakfast in peace, savoring each bite. Franny was an excellent cook, and he was ravenous after last night. He smiled a little to himself. Running this bed and breakfast had turned out to be the best job that he’d ever had. Never mind that it was the ONLY job that he’d ever had; that was beside the point. Now he had a constant stream of hot, sexy men coming through, so he could take his pick. And he got laid every single night, not something that he would have imagined would happen when his father had exiled him to the backwoods.
He thought idly about his conversation with Michael downstairs earlier. The handyman was an enigma to him - a gay man who turned down the advances of not one hot gay guy, but dozens?! There had to be something severely wrong with him. Damien wondered what. Perhaps he could find out? He was as curious as a cat about the reticent, withdrawn Michael. What went on in the man’s head? He seldom talked, but his voice was wonderfully deep and sort of gravelly when he did…it sent shivers up his spine. If he could find out why Michael turned down all of the guests’ propositions, perhaps he could figure out how to get the handyman in his bed.
Ah, well. You’d think getting laid every night by a variety of hot, sexy guys would be enough for him. But maybe it had something to do with the one you couldn’t have…he’d only been refused a handful of times before this in his entire life. He knew that he was pretty and sexy, and when he turned on the seductive charm most men fell into his bed without a fight. Michael was definitely different…and he wanted to know why. Just what secrets was that handyman hiding? And how could he discover what those secrets were? He frowned a little in thought. He was a resourceful sort. Surely he could figure out something?
Michael, unaware that he was the center of Damien’s thoughts, finished checking the lamp in Room 7 and fended off the advances of its occupant. After he escaped from the room unscathed, he headed down to the kitchen to have some breakfast. Franny always made him biscuits and gravy and kept it warm for him, so that he could eat in peace without being interrupted by guests wanting him to do things…mostly themselves, actually. He sighed as he went downstairs and took the back way into the kitchen. Life had become somewhat hard for him of late. Damien’s turning the bed and breakfast into a gay mecca had stolen all of his peace and quiet and was briskly driving him to distraction. If there had been any other jobs that he could do anywhere around here, he’d quit tomorrow. But unfortunately, this was an economically depressed area. So he had to keep this job, especially since it paid pretty well and had good benefits. He’d just have to endure, that was all. Summer would end eventually…
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“Excuse me…aren’t you the…handyman? I need some help in my room,” Michael looked up at the guest lounging in the doorway of the dining room, and the man visibly leered at him. He sighed silently, rising to his feet from where he’d been checking the electrical outlet along the baseboard.
The guest’s eyes widened. “Wow, you’re a tall one, aren’t you?” he said appreciatively. “And so strong, too. That’s good. It’s always nice to have a strong man around to…help you.”
Michael’s face remained still and blank during this entire come-on. “What do you need me to do?” he asked quietly.
“Well, the lamp in my room is shorted out. I need you to take a look at it,” the man said, batting his eyes coquettishly.
“All right,” Michael replied. “Which room is it?”
“Number seven. Lucky number seven…I hope,” the guest said, smiling lasciviously.
Michael didn’t say anything to this. He simply walked past the guest and headed for the stairs, also ignoring the appreciative looks and cat calls from some of the other guests in the lobby and sitting room. His mouth was a thin line, but otherwise he showed no emotion whatsoever as. he began to climb the stairs.
Behind him, at the desk, Molly shook her head. “Poor, poor Michael,” she sighed. “Now he knows how a pretty woman feels.”
“Yeah,” her new assistant Jenny remarked. “That used to happen to me when I worked at a Marriot. Guys were always checking me out and making nasty comments and trying to feel me up. Actually, that’s why I like working here. The lesbians still check me out, but they’re not as nasty as guys are for the most part.”
Molly lifted her shoulders. “I like the fact that we’re always busy now,” she said. “Especially the extra pay. But this has to be hell for poor Michael, what with the guests always hitting on him. And him not interested in the least.”
Jenny gave her a puzzled look. “But isn’t he…gay?” she asked tentatively.
Molly sighed. “Yes. But something happened to him,” she explained softly to Jenny, “When he was overseas. In the Army. He won’t talk about it, but Karlie and I think…that he…can’t…anymore,” she said, making an eloquent gesture with one hand.
“Oh,” Jenny said. “Poor guy indeed. That has to suck, especially working in a bed and breakfast full of hot gay guys all the time. What? Just because they don’t like girls doesn’t mean that they’re not hot,” she said defensively when Molly threw her a startled look. “That WOULD be my definition of Hell, being surrounded by hot guys and not being able to do anything about it.”
“Yes. But please don’t say anything to him about it,” Molly begged. “It’s obviously a sensitive issue for him.”
“I’ll bet it is,” Jenny muttered, then held up her hands defensively. “I won’t say anything, I swear,” she added.
Michael moved along the hallway toward Room 7. As he did so, the door at the end of the hall that led up to Damien’s apartment opened, and a tousled but still handsome young man stepped out. There were buttons missing from his shirt, and a visible love bite darkening on his neck. He stopped when he saw Michael standing there. “Oh, hey,” he said. “err…”
Michael said nothing to get him out of his predicament, but fortunately for him Damien strolled out into the hallway in a silk bathrobe. “Don’t mind him, Brent, he’s just the handyman,” Damien said dismissively. He stood on tiptoe and kissed the man in a leisurely fashion on the mouth. “Tell the girls down at the desk that you’re getting the ’manager’s special’,” he said as he finally pulled back. “They’ll give you thirty-per-cent off your bill.”
“Thanks,” the guest said.
Damien patted his ass. “No, thank you. Please come again, anytime,” he went on with an evil smirk.
The guest looked from him to Michael, then walked away toward his unused room. Damien put his hand on his hip and leveled a cool glance at his handyman. “Fixing something else for one of the guests?” he remarked dryly. “Bet you won’t be giving them any ‘special service’, either. Really, Michael. You must be made of stone to be surrounded by all of these sexy, eligible men and refuse every one when they come onto you. This could be a definite special perk for you, but apparently you have no sex drive at all. What happened? Are you a eunuch or something?”
Michael lifted a single brow. “Maybe I’m just not a slut, like you,” he said stonily.
“Ouch,” Damien commented, running his fingers through his mussed hair, “That really hurt. I should definitely feel bad about having sex with so many hot guys…oh, wait a minute…” he shook his head pityingly. “What? Should I be a dried-up stick like you? I think not, Michael,” he drawled. “You keep starving yourself while surrounded by a buffet, but don’t expect me to follow suit. Now you run along and do your job, and when you’re finished turning yet another guy who wants into your pants down, could you go down to the kitchen and ask Franny to have her new assistant bring me up a breakfast tray? I’m feeling lazy today. Must be all the exercise I got last night,” he winked and blew Michael an air kiss, before departing back up the stairs to his apartment with an insouciant swish of his narrow hips.
The handyman stood in the hallway for a moment, frowning slightly to himself. Then he shrugged off whatever he was thinking, and walked along to Room 7 to fix the broken lamp - or determine that it wasn’t broken at all, and fend off the proposals of the horny guest as he’d done with so many others in the last few weeks.
Franny’s new assistant carried a tray of food up to the attic apartment. She was used to this by now; Damien seldom ate breakfast with his guests. That would probably be because he spent all night every night up in his apartment with whichever of the good-looking male guests who caught his eyes. Whoever he picked almost never said no, and it was clear from the way they looked when they departed that Damien had definitely made their stay a pleasant one. She knocked on the door, and heard the manager’s voice call: “Come in,” from inside the room.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The attic apartment looked almost the same as it had when Damien had moved in; the renovations that had gutted the rest of the Sweet Springs B&B had barely touched the open, airy apartment. Damien was lounging on the couch, his legs stretched out so that his bare feet were resting on the coffee table. “Good morning, Cyndi,” he remarked.
“Good morning, Damien,” she replied. He’d told them all to call him Damien rather than being more formal. “I’ve brought your breakfast.”
“Thank you, darling. Just bring it over here,” he waved a hand at the coffee table negligently. “I don’t think I can move a muscle,” he told her easily.
She lifted her brows. “Oh? Was he that good?”
Damien laughed, tilting his head back to rest it on the back of the couch. “He was pretty good,” he conceded as she set the tray down on the coffee table in front of him. “Although not as imaginative as I might have hoped,” he added.
Cyndi eyed him. “I don’t want to know,” she said.
Damien grinned whitely at her. “No, you probably don’t. Anyway, here’s your tip for being such a doll and bringing me breakfast,” he handed her a fifty-dollar-bill, which she didn’t object to since he always gave her that much each morning. She always halved it with Franny, so neither of them objected to giving Damien personal service where his breakfast was concerned.
“Off with you now. I’m starving,” he waved her away, leaning forward to look over his food. Cyndi retreated, trying not to look at the rumpled bed or various things lying on and around it. She had no objections to gay people, but seeing the aftermath of gay sex up close and personal just wasn’t her bag. She left quickly, as Damien cut a piece off of the egg-white omelet that Franny had made especially for him.
Damien ate his breakfast in peace, savoring each bite. Franny was an excellent cook, and he was ravenous after last night. He smiled a little to himself. Running this bed and breakfast had turned out to be the best job that he’d ever had. Never mind that it was the ONLY job that he’d ever had; that was beside the point. Now he had a constant stream of hot, sexy men coming through, so he could take his pick. And he got laid every single night, not something that he would have imagined would happen when his father had exiled him to the backwoods.
He thought idly about his conversation with Michael downstairs earlier. The handyman was an enigma to him - a gay man who turned down the advances of not one hot gay guy, but dozens?! There had to be something severely wrong with him. Damien wondered what. Perhaps he could find out? He was as curious as a cat about the reticent, withdrawn Michael. What went on in the man’s head? He seldom talked, but his voice was wonderfully deep and sort of gravelly when he did…it sent shivers up his spine. If he could find out why Michael turned down all of the guests’ propositions, perhaps he could figure out how to get the handyman in his bed.
Ah, well. You’d think getting laid every night by a variety of hot, sexy guys would be enough for him. But maybe it had something to do with the one you couldn’t have…he’d only been refused a handful of times before this in his entire life. He knew that he was pretty and sexy, and when he turned on the seductive charm most men fell into his bed without a fight. Michael was definitely different…and he wanted to know why. Just what secrets was that handyman hiding? And how could he discover what those secrets were? He frowned a little in thought. He was a resourceful sort. Surely he could figure out something?
Michael, unaware that he was the center of Damien’s thoughts, finished checking the lamp in Room 7 and fended off the advances of its occupant. After he escaped from the room unscathed, he headed down to the kitchen to have some breakfast. Franny always made him biscuits and gravy and kept it warm for him, so that he could eat in peace without being interrupted by guests wanting him to do things…mostly themselves, actually. He sighed as he went downstairs and took the back way into the kitchen. Life had become somewhat hard for him of late. Damien’s turning the bed and breakfast into a gay mecca had stolen all of his peace and quiet and was briskly driving him to distraction. If there had been any other jobs that he could do anywhere around here, he’d quit tomorrow. But unfortunately, this was an economically depressed area. So he had to keep this job, especially since it paid pretty well and had good benefits. He’d just have to endure, that was all. Summer would end eventually…
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