Page 28 of Snow Storm

To…beseduced?

The logical part of his brain said no. The desperate, horny part of his brain said that he still had a prescription of Viagra that wasn’t out of date yet, a bottle of lube that was unopened, and a promise of no strings because just after the holidays, Harley would be out of Claude’s life and back to his own.

Claude had been waiting a long, long time to be able to reclaim that part of him with someone he trusted, and for as much as he didn’t know Harley, the man made him feel safe. He felt like he could give in and let go and allow himself to be both sexual and vulnerable for the first time since his ex.

So why did knowing Harley wasn’t going to be around long make him feel worse?

He didn’t think he was reading any of the signs wrong. Harley wanted him. He’d blushed and seemed flustered that Claude was inviting him over. He seemed to understand that there was some innuendo with the offer of dinner—not thatClaude was skimping on the wining and dining part of the evening.

The cassoulet was already in the last stages of the simmer, and by the time he got to Harley’s room and back, it would be ready to serve. He had a crusty baguette he’d swiped from the kitchens, a bottle of wine that he wasn’t sure he should open, and hope sitting in his chest heavier than any weight he’d ever carried.

Claude had never done this. Not once. He’d never even looked twice at a guest unless the person was yelling at him and threatening to sue—which had only happened a handful of times since he took over Wrought Iron. So why now?

Why this man?

What was so special about him?

The eyes, Claude’s traitorous brain supplied. His eyes weresobeautiful—dark and kind of endless pools of earth-brown. They were always watching, his face curious, like he was taking everything in and hoarding it like a dragon.

And his smile. It was small and a little shy, like he was unused to wearing one.

He kept his cards close to his chest much like Claude did—and he knew what kind of trauma created that defense. He felt an uncontrollable urge to pull Harley close, wrap his arms around him, and never let the sharp edges of the world touch him again.

There was also something lurking beneath the surface that Claude knew he could draw out. That he could play with—have fun with. It would be hot and powerful, and he could almost picture Harley writhing beneath his hands, whimpering.

Begging.

Fuck.

He wasn’t hard—he rarely got hard on his own these days, but he was definitely hot and bothered. He swiped his handacross his brow, then turned and walked to the living room. His orthotics felt a little too tight, pinching at his skin, but after his fall that afternoon, he needed them.

It was a reminder he was probably going to need to go in for another exam.

Another surgery, maybe, or just his borrowed time walking had finally run out. He didn’t much care apart from the pain in the ass it was to deal with. He flexed his toes in his socks before reaching for his boots, and he slid them on over the molded plastic.

He pulled his chair close next. He’d walk around his house when Harley got there, but he wasn’t going to spend all of his energy at the hotel. And now that Harley knew everything, there was no point in trying to hide who he was.

The guilt was still eating at him for that one. Harley had looked so betrayed. And, before he heard the whole story, he’d seemed frightened. Claude had never wanted to put that look on someone’s face. Ever. And it killed him that Harley was the first person to be truly scared of him, even if it was just for a moment.

He wondered if that was part of his past too. He knew about the public incident, but he had a feeling Harley was dealing with a lot more than that. He wanted to lay him out and gently peel back all of his layers, kissing his tender scars until he forgot the names of the people who hurt him.

But he didn’t have that kind of time. If tonight went well, he might have two weeks. Maybe a little longer if the storm was unkind and the universe favored him a little.

But nothing more. That was it.

He let out a ragged sigh, then grabbed his coat before pushing himself out the door and doing his best not to get high centered on the fluffy banks of snow that lined the walkway. He made it to the connecting tunnels in a few pushes, and he shookhis arms out, trying to release the chill from his bones as he made his way up the ramp and into the lobby.

It was empty, holiday music playing on low, and over that, he could just make out typing from the office. Aminah was probably doing the last of the books before shutting everything down for Christmas, and he knew she and Lyric were going to take a few days for themselves, which he was happy about.

They were both hard workers and absolutely family to him, but he knew they’d given up a lot to be out there. Their house was being built, but it was slow going, and they refused to take any help from him, which he understood. He knew that feeling of pride.

He was overwhelmed with the need to regain his own after his divorce. But he hoped they knew he would give them the shirt off his back in the middle of a blizzard if it meant they could finally create their home.

It didn’t much feel like the holidays either. But then again, it rarely did. The staff worked hard to keep it festive, but all the joy had drained out of Claude years ago, and he wasn’t sure how to get it back. The difference this year was Harley. He couldn’t necessarily say he was feeling the Christmas spirit, but he was certainly feelingsomething.

His body was still thrumming with a strange kind of need as he pushed his way through the hall and eventually came to a stop in front of Harley’s room. He couldn’t hear anything beyond the door, and a small part of him was terrified that the man had changed his mind.

It wasn’t like he didn’t have reason to. Claude had deceived him.

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