Chocolate and Power Tools II Read online

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  Torquere Press

  www.torquerepress.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Torquere Press

  First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2008

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  The Handyman Can

  The Simple Life

  V-Day

  Contributors

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  The Handyman Can

  By Cassidy Ryan

  With a soul-deep sigh of relief, Brady Lang turned the key in the lock and flipped the sign on the door so that it read “Closed". He turned and leaned back tiredly against the door, blue eyes surveying the scene before him.

  The carefully tied pink satin bows and glittering hearts his assistant Amy had set lovingly around the store were either askew, lying crumpled on the floor or just missing. The formerly artistic displays of chocolates and candies now lay in tatters, baskets overturned, bags burst, dark chocolate cupids and white chocolate roses broken and crushed under foot.

  Valentine's Day. Brady grimaced. It looked more like a whirlwind had torn through his small chocolate boutique.

  He pushed away from the door and set about putting things to rights, refusing to feel bitter or disheartened by the fact that, for the third year in a row, he had nothing better to do on the holiday than work.

  With Amy gone for the day, the store was quiet. He turned on the radio, only to turn it back off when he realized that the local station was playing non-stop love songs in honor of the day.

  As he tore down the remaining hearts and bows and stuffed them into a trash bag, Brady could hear Amy's voice in his head. “You could have had a date tonight, if you would just stop being so damn picky. Elliot Rayne was in here three times today. Three, Brady. What has the guy got to do to get you to notice him? Strip off and tattoo your name on his dick?"

  He cringed as he swept up the detritus of the last urgent flurry of the day.

  Elliot Rayne. Was that the only option left open to him? A mouth breather who always had a hand moving suspiciously in the pocket of his pants? Granted, this was not a big town, so choices were always going to be limited, but ... Elliot Rayne? Brady shuddered at the thought.

  He gathered up the now-empty serving platters from the glass display cases, and took them through to the kitchen where he loaded them into the washer.

  A quick scan of the storage area lifted his spirits a little. Supplies of his handmade treats were seriously depleted, so, if nothing else, at least his bank balance would be that much healthier.

  After an hour he decided that the shop was looking more acceptable. He thought about heading back to the kitchen to start making up a few batches of his more regular favorites—peppermint creams, caramel cups and praline swirls—but when a yawn forced its way onto his face, he decided that it could wait until the morning. February 15th was usually graveyard quiet anyway. He would have plenty of opportunity to catch up.

  With another weary sigh, and trying not to let himself get too maudlin at the prospect of returning to an empty house, he grabbed his coat and scarf from the closet, turned off the lights and locked the door behind him.

  * * * *

  The drive from the shop to his home was not a long one, but Brady drove slower than usual. Snow was already falling thickly and steadily. Winter's last hoorah.

  The minute he turned onto his street, Brady's eyes were drawn to the light shining from his living room window, and the black pickup truck parked out front of his house.

  "Aw, crap.” He drew up behind the pickup and sat there, looking up at the house, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He didn't need this tonight. He really didn't.

  Muttering under his breath, he got out of the car and trudged slowly, reluctantly up the path to the front door. Inside, he shed his coat and scarf and followed the high-pitched screech of a power drill down the hall. A siren call. At the doorway to the living room, his footsteps halted and his breath caught in his throat at the sight that greeted his eyes.

  Rob MacKenzie was nothing short of god-like in his beauty: six foot three, a veritable wall of toned, sculpted muscle, shoulder-length jet black hair—currently held in a ponytail at his nape by a leather tie—and eyes the color of slate. Dressed in low-slung jeans, a leather tool belt resting on narrow hips and a tight black wife-beater, the man was an invitation to sin.

  In the four weeks since he had hired Rob to do some much-needed work around the house, Brady had become accustomed to coming home to find Rob there, and he usually enjoyed their conversations as Rob packed up to leave for the day. But tonight, he really could have done without having to face the personification of everything that would never be available to him.

  He freely admitted—to himself at least—that he found Rob intensely attractive, and had indulged in several very pleasant fantasies about him in the privacy of his bedroom. Normally he could deal with this very one-sided infatuation, but having spent the day catering to the needs of people buying gifts for their lovers, he felt just a little too raw.

  Surely Rob had something better to do on Valentine's night than putting up shelves in Brady's living room?

  When the drill whirred to a halt, Brady cleared his throat and entered the room.

  Rob's head turned at the sound and he smiled widely, teeth a flash of white behind a neatly trimmed goatee. Brady felt his body stir to life under the smile, a reaction that was becoming achingly familiar.

  "Hey, Bossman.” Rob put down the drill, picked up a piece of two-by-four and dug into the front pocket of his tool belt to fish out a handful of screws. “Nearly done here, then I'll get out of your hair."

  Brady watched as Rob fixed the two-by-four to one side of the alcove by the fireplace, then picked up another and fixed it to the opposite side before laying a maple shelf on top and screwing it into place. Brady swallowed convulsively, and his mouth was suddenly dry as dust as he watched the pull and flex of Rob's biceps and shoulders, the bunch of his back and buttock muscles as he put pressure on the screwdriver. A bead of sweat trickled out from under Rob's ponytail and wound its way down to be absorbed by the cotton of his shirt.

  Desire flared hot and strong in Brady, and he had to look away, focus his attention, instead, on Rob's tools lying around him on the recently sanded floor. But Brady's interest in things like drills, sanders and routers was limited—hence the reason for hiring Rob in the first place. So, before long his eyes drifted inexorably back to Rob, moved over his tight body. He wondered if Rob's skin was as smooth as it looked. Did it taste salty from a day's honest labor?

  A part of Brady reveled in his reaction to Rob; proof that even after three arid years he was still capable of feeling physical desire.

  The very notion of him and Rob was absurd, of course. He, Brady, was fast approaching the wrong side of forty, and while he wasn't exactly deformed—he'd had his share of admirers—he was hardly the kind of guy who would show up on the radar of someone like Rob: twenty-five, buff and hotter than Hades.

  No, he usually acted like a magnet to guys like Jack, his last boyfriend. He of the angelic smile and morals of an alley cat. Brady pushed that thought resolutely from his mind. He'd beaten himself up quite enough over Jack Heaton.

  Brady raised his eyes and flushed bright red when he met Rob's eyes and realized that he had been caught in the act of ogling. Brady cou
ghed to cover his embarrassment. “I, uh, don't ... don't you have somewhere better to be tonight?” His voice was higher than normal, his eyes looking everywhere but at Rob.

  "Nah, not really,” Rob said brightly, putting down the screwdriver and tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  Brady's gulp was almost audible as his eyes were drawn to Rob's groin where the denim material was now pulled that much tighter over a very appealing bulge. There was a faint edge of hysteria in the laugh that escaped Brady.

  "You mean there isn't some little hottie waiting eagerly to share the evening with you?"

  A snicker brought Brady's eyes back up to Rob's face.

  "What's waiting for me is a flatulent hound, a takeaway pizza and a beer in front of the television."

  "I guess you haven't been in town long enough to meet many people?"

  Rob's eyes caught Brady's and Brady found it almost impossible to look away. Heat flooded his body and his chest felt tight.

  "I'm doing okay.” Rob's voice sounded low and a little husky to Brady.

  There was an unfamiliar tension in the air, an indefinable something that had never been there between them before. Usually their interaction was light and easy. Rob would regale him with stories of the old lady who lived next door to him, who goosed him every time they met, or his dog Molly's war of wills with the old lady's cat.

  Brady in turn would tell Rob about the hardware store owner's pregnant wife who had placed a special order for chocolate-covered olives, or the high school kids who thought they could get drunk on brandy liqueurs.

  But tonight the air seemed heavy.

  Brady took a step forward before he even realized what he was doing. The second it dawned on him, panic rose and he moved back so fast that he stumbled over a tool chest. Rob reached out and grabbed his arm before he could fall on his ass.

  Brady smiled sheepishly, face hot with embarrassment. “Thanks."

  "No problem.” Rob's hand remained on Brady's arm for a couple of beats, and then fell to his side. He bent down to begin putting away his tools. “I guess I should be getting home."

  Brady nodded dumbly and moved over to stand in front of the window. “Snow's really coming down now."

  The only sounds were of Rob tidying up behind him.

  For a moment Brady considered asking Rob if he wanted to stay for a beer, maybe something to eat, but he quickly discarded the idea. A couple of beers and he might say more than was good for either of them.

  "Well, I'll uh, I'll see you in the morning?” Rob asked. In the window Brady could see Rob's reflection. Rob was watching him, waiting for his response.

  Brady put on his best smile and turned to face Rob, the urge to touch making his fingers twitch. “Probably not. I should really get to the store early. The ravening hordes just about cleaned me out today."

  Rob nodded, his lips turned up in a small smile. “Okay, right, well ... I'll uh, I'll finish the shelves tomorrow and make a start on the banisters. I should be finished by the weekend."

  The words settled like a stone in Brady's stomach. “Great. You've done some really good work. Thanks. I'll have a check for you on Friday."

  Rob nodded again and collected his heavy winter jacket from where it hung on the door handle. “Well, goodnight, then.” He zipped up the jacket and dug some gloves out of the pockets.

  "'Night, Rob. Enjoy your pizza.” Brady's smile felt stiff and false.

  Rob paused at the door, and for a second Brady thought he was going to say something, but he simply raised his hand and left.

  When he heard the front door close, Brady's shoulders slumped and he looked down at Rob's tools, stacked neatly in the alcove under the new shelves. “Well fuck.” His voice echoed in the empty room.

  * * * *

  The rumble of the pickup's engine faded as Brady made his way upstairs, where he took a long, hot shower, dressed in sweats and wandered down to the kitchen.

  He stood in front of the refrigerator for an age, staring blankly at the contents before grabbing a beer and closing the door with more force than was necessary. He was popping the top on the bottle when the doorbell rang.

  He put the bottle on the counter with a muttered curse and headed for the front door, sock-clad feet silent on the carpeted floor. He yanked the door open ... and froze.

  Rob was standing on the other side, snow melting on his dark hair, twisting his gloves in his big hands.

  "Rob? Did you forget something?” Brady barely even noticed the chill wind swirling around him.

  "Uh, kinda. Do you mind if I come in?” It seemed like an odd question to Brady, considering Rob had his spare key so that he could come and go as he needed during the day.

  He nodded and opened the door further. Rob kicked the snow from his boots and entered the house. But instead of going through to the living room, he stopped and waited while Brady closed the door.

  Brady turned to face Rob and found the intensity of the gray eyes watching him disconcerting. He raised an eyebrow in question.

  "I just ... I have a question I wanted to ask you.” Rob unzipped his jacket in a jerky movement.

  "Oh. Okay.” Brady waited, puzzled.

  "Okay. Good. Good.” Rob stuffed his gloves into the pockets of his jacket. “Okay, so here's the thing. I was wondering...” He stopped, took a breath. “Do you ... could you ... you know, in any way, I mean...” He seemed unable to meet Brady's eyes for more than a split second.

  For some reason Rob's nervousness had the effect of calming Brady. “Rob, why don't you just ask me?” His voice was gentle, coaxing.

  A fleeting look of panic crossed Rob's face. He took another deep breath and finally gathered himself enough to ask “Do you, in any way, like me? I mean like me?” He seemed to hold his breath waiting for Brady's reply.

  Brady felt hope unfurl in his stomach and his pulse kicked up a notch.

  "Sometimes I think you do.” Rob's eyes flicked back to meet Brady's, then quickly away again. “Then you'll suddenly get all distant, like you don't want to be around me."

  The raw vulnerability in Rob's eyes touched something in Brady. Rob looked so unsure of himself that Brady wanted nothing more than to wrap him in his arms.

  This was not the happy-go-lucky guy who had made Brady laugh more in the last month than he had in the preceding three years. This was a man taking his courage in both hands and laying it on the line.

  Brady took the three steps necessary to bring them together. He raised his hands to Rob's face, smiling when the bristles of Rob's goatee tickled his palms, and looked right into troubled gray eyes.

  "I like you.” Tugging gently he pulled Rob's head down so that their lips could touch.

  It was a light kiss, a barely-there touch, but when Brady pulled back, Rob's eyes had drooped and a smile curled up one corner of his mouth.

  "Nice.” Rob's voice was a little huskier than before.

  Brady ran his thumb over Rob's full lower lip and grinned. “I thought so. But with some practice I think we could do better."

  Rob moved forward a couple of inches until they were standing toe to toe. “And when do you suggest we start this practice?” His eyes sparkled playfully as his arms came up to wrap around Brady's waist. “Should we set up a schedule?"

  Brady's grin deepened and he rose up on his toes so that their lips were almost touching again, until they were sharing air. “Why don't we just wing it?"

  This seemed acceptable to Rob. He leaned in and brought their mouths together.

  Brady sighed and parted his lips. He flicked out his tongue to run the tip over the seam of Rob's lips. Rob's mouth opened and he caught Brady's tongue between his teeth with a huff of laughter. Brady moved his hands to Rob's shoulders and pushed at his jacket. Rob dropped his arms from Brady's waist long enough to let the jacket slide to the floor.

  Rob had exchanged his wife-beater for a soft sweater the exact color of his eyes.

  Brady shivered with pleasure when he felt Rob's hard should
ers under his hands. “Can you stay the night?” His hand slid down Rob's chest, cock shifting in his pants at the feel of solid muscle. Inadvertently, Brady rubbed his hand over Rob's nipple and heard him gasp.

  "Yes.” Rob's reply was little more than a hiss, and his hands clasped tightly around Brady's hips.

  "What about Molly?” Brady couldn't resist the strong column of Rob's neck. He leaned forward and stroked the tip of his tongue from Rob's earlobe to the collar of his sweater.

  Rob's head fell to the side. “Oh, God.” The words sounded like they had been torn from his throat. “She ... I ... Oh, shit, do that again."

  Brady smiled and complied, sucking on Rob's earlobe before dipping his tongue inside.

  Rob practically purred. “I fed her when I went home and ... Oh, yeah ... she has her dog door if she wants to go out."

  Suddenly, Rob let go of Brady's hips and raised his hands to Brady's head. He speared his fingers into Brady's sandy blond hair, dragged him close and sealed their mouths together. The kiss was almost frantic. Rob plundered Brady's mouth, tongue digging deep, running over Brady's teeth, the roof of his mouth, tangling their tongues together. Brady groaned and his hands clenched into the front of Rob's sweater, surrendering willingly to the onslaught, legs parting when Rob pushed a knee between them.

  Brady tore his mouth away to drag in air, rubbing his rapidly hardening cock against Rob's powerful thigh.

  Brady gasped in shock when Rob slipped a snow-chilled hand under his sweater. He laughed a little breathlessly. “Cold hands, warm heart?"

  Rob's eyes sparkled. “I'm sure you can come up with some way to warm me up."

  Doing something he had been itching to do for weeks, Brady reached up and tugged the leather tie from Rob's hair, watching as Rob's hair fell around his face and shoulders. It felt soft and cool, just a bit damp from the snow.

  "I could make you some hot chocolate.” Brady raised an eyebrow. “My own recipe."

  Rob smiled and his eyes narrowed. “I'd rather try some of that chocolate-flavored lube you keep in the bathroom. That your own recipe, too?"