...There is no such thing as a guide to being gay. The fact that you don’t know this worries me.
Skye McCord’s best friend’s voice rang in his head as he sat and stared at the hotel room door, glancing at his watch every so often. Lindy meant well, but what did a girl know about being gay? About as much as Skye did. But that was about to change.
If his male escort ever showed up, that is.
He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, annoyed to find that he was sweating a little and they kept slipping down. It was foolish to be nervous. He was paying this man for his time, he was in charge, he didn’t have to impress anyone. He just kept telling himself that. Maybe the nerves would listen eventually.
Finally, an entire ten minutes past the agreed-upon nine o’clock, there was a knock on the door and Skye’s pulse went from zero to sixty. He was beginning to wonder if Lindy might have been right after all.
Too late now, the guy was here and Skye couldn’t just ignore him. So he put on his best “You do not intimidate me” face and went to open the door. Halfway there, he wondered if he ought to have chosen a different outfit. It wasn’t as if he’d ever met a sex worker before. Was there a dress code, for goodness’ sake? Finally, he shook his head, shoving aside all the mundane nonsense thoughts and took a deep breath before opening the door.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph.
The man standing in front of him wasn’t at all what he’d expected. Instead of some kind of muscle-bound Greek god, he got lean, rugged and whipcord strong. Instead of chiseled features and hard lips, he got warm hazel eyes and a sexy smirk that made his stomach flip. And instead of cookie-cutter, porn-star material, he got real-world good looks and a dangerous level of sex appeal.
Skye was suddenly very, very glad he hadn’t gotten what he’d expected because this was so much better.
“I’m Liam. I’m here for our date.”
Skye blinked, then shook his head, stepping back and gesturing. “Come in. And please, don’t call it that. I prefer honesty, not code words.”
Liam smiled—and Lord, that was a pretty smile, all flashing white teeth—and stepped inside, one brow lifting as Skye shut the door behind them. “Okay. What should I call it then?”
Skye shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, shrugging. “Business?”
The other man chuckled. “Business. Cool.” He shrugged out of the leather coat he wore, draping it over one of the stools at the breakfast nook. Amused hazel-green eyes met Skye’s. “Well, if we’re going to talk business, it’d be good to know your name. I’m Liam, and you are…”
Skye cringed, sticking out his hand. “Sorry. Skye.” Liam took his hand and maybe it was a cliché, but there really was a sizzle, like he’d shocked himself in his stocking feet or something. Odd. He pulled his hand away and rubbed it against his thigh. “Did you want something to drink?”
Liam shook his head, glancing around as he moved farther into the suite. “No, thanks. Hazard of the job, you know.” He met Skye’s gaze and smiled. “So, Skye, what can I do for you?”
The way he said it was shockingly suggestive. How did he manage that when he hadn’t even changed his tone much? Just a slight lowering of his voice, a faint narrowing of his eyes. The scientific part of Skye’s brain was fascinated by the subtle ability. Oh, he was very good. Skye felt much more confident now.
“You can teach me how to do that.” That second-nature sexy thing. It couldn’t be purely natural talent. It had to be at least partially learned. And if it was something that could be learned, then Skye could master it. He’d mastered everything else he’d ever set his mind to and being gay was no different...