Read Online The One That Got Away by Madeleine Urban, Rhianne Aile - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Madeleine Urban, Rhianne Aile
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gonna button me up like a priest, I’d better.”
Trace chuckled. “You can go without one; no one’s going to say anything. Will look nicer if your gossip columnist catches us, though. Did you know Matt’s been haunting the high-class places for Katherine’s celebrity column? He got a shot of me last night talking with the deputy mayor and her husband. I hope he doesn’t use it or at least crops me out. I probably looked like shit after twelve hours on the job.”
“Fine. Just for you, I’ll try and look my best,” David teased, looking up at Trace coyly through lowered eyelashes.
With an appraising look, Trace stepped back and deliberately looked David up and down. There was no doubt, David was a fine-looking man.
Trace supposed he had no problem finding companionship—male or female—when he went out. “Well, I’m no expert—about men, anyway— but you look incredible to me,” he admitted as he tilted his head and started to fix the tie David laid over his shoulder. Eyes sparkling playfully, he stepped to one side to peek at David’s ass.
The comment was the ice water David needed to get his rampaging libido under control. Trace wasn’t gay, and David hadn’t actively lusted after straight men in almost two decades—too frustrating. “Thank you,” he said, slipping the sling over the top of his suit coat and fiddling with the strap to lengthen it to accommodate the extra bulk. “I don’t suppose you’d let me out without the leash just for one night?”
Stepping back to let David move, Trace slid one hand into a pocket.
David had stiffened a bit, and Trace realized maybe he’d teased a little too much. He’d have to pick it apart in his head later to try to figure it out. As for the sling…. “I won’t give you grief about it, not tonight. I’m just afraid you’ll be hurting if you don’t wear it,” he said quietly.
David smiled at the thought of a few hours without the frustrating contraption. “How about a compromise? I’ll take it, leave it in the car, and if I get to hurting, I’ll even let you go get it for me.”
Trace chuckled. “I suppose I can live with that.” He shrugged into his jacket and glanced at his watch. “Ready to go? We’ve got half an hour to get to the restaurant.”
Pulling aside his suit coat to slip his wallet into his back pocket, and his money clip and a small tin of mints into his front pocket, David motioned to the door. “All set. After you.”
DAVID gritted his teeth. The hostess at San Angelo hadn’t stopped flirting, fawning and gushing over Trace since they walked in the door.
She currently had her hand wrapped around the restaurant critic’s bicep, squeezing like she was testing the condition of the body beneath the expensive suit. Judging by her smile, she liked what she’d found. The blond was beginning to wonder if sex with the staff was included in the overall rating of a restaurant at the Sun-Herald . He was so caught up in his inner grumbling that he reached to pull out the heavy mahogany chair with his right hand without thinking, yanking it back from the table and unable to completely stifle the cry of pain.
Trace’s head shot around, and he was at David’s side in an instant, leaving the hostess gaping. “David, what did you do?” he asked, looking at how the other man was cradling his arm to prop up his shoulder.
David stared at a fixed point, trying to keep his balance as the room swayed. “Just stupidity. How ’bout being a gentleman and pulling out my chair for me? I don’t seem to be capable of it at the moment.”
Concerned, Trace did so, totally unaware of the hostess and wait staff staring. Once David was seated, he asked, “Okay?” and when David nodded, he pushed the chair in some. “You can probably prop your elbow on that armrest,” he suggested, moving to the chair across the two-person table.
David watched the befuddled young woman hover with two heavy leather-bound menus and an even bigger
Trace chuckled. “You can go without one; no one’s going to say anything. Will look nicer if your gossip columnist catches us, though. Did you know Matt’s been haunting the high-class places for Katherine’s celebrity column? He got a shot of me last night talking with the deputy mayor and her husband. I hope he doesn’t use it or at least crops me out. I probably looked like shit after twelve hours on the job.”
“Fine. Just for you, I’ll try and look my best,” David teased, looking up at Trace coyly through lowered eyelashes.
With an appraising look, Trace stepped back and deliberately looked David up and down. There was no doubt, David was a fine-looking man.
Trace supposed he had no problem finding companionship—male or female—when he went out. “Well, I’m no expert—about men, anyway— but you look incredible to me,” he admitted as he tilted his head and started to fix the tie David laid over his shoulder. Eyes sparkling playfully, he stepped to one side to peek at David’s ass.
The comment was the ice water David needed to get his rampaging libido under control. Trace wasn’t gay, and David hadn’t actively lusted after straight men in almost two decades—too frustrating. “Thank you,” he said, slipping the sling over the top of his suit coat and fiddling with the strap to lengthen it to accommodate the extra bulk. “I don’t suppose you’d let me out without the leash just for one night?”
Stepping back to let David move, Trace slid one hand into a pocket.
David had stiffened a bit, and Trace realized maybe he’d teased a little too much. He’d have to pick it apart in his head later to try to figure it out. As for the sling…. “I won’t give you grief about it, not tonight. I’m just afraid you’ll be hurting if you don’t wear it,” he said quietly.
David smiled at the thought of a few hours without the frustrating contraption. “How about a compromise? I’ll take it, leave it in the car, and if I get to hurting, I’ll even let you go get it for me.”
Trace chuckled. “I suppose I can live with that.” He shrugged into his jacket and glanced at his watch. “Ready to go? We’ve got half an hour to get to the restaurant.”
Pulling aside his suit coat to slip his wallet into his back pocket, and his money clip and a small tin of mints into his front pocket, David motioned to the door. “All set. After you.”
DAVID gritted his teeth. The hostess at San Angelo hadn’t stopped flirting, fawning and gushing over Trace since they walked in the door.
She currently had her hand wrapped around the restaurant critic’s bicep, squeezing like she was testing the condition of the body beneath the expensive suit. Judging by her smile, she liked what she’d found. The blond was beginning to wonder if sex with the staff was included in the overall rating of a restaurant at the Sun-Herald . He was so caught up in his inner grumbling that he reached to pull out the heavy mahogany chair with his right hand without thinking, yanking it back from the table and unable to completely stifle the cry of pain.
Trace’s head shot around, and he was at David’s side in an instant, leaving the hostess gaping. “David, what did you do?” he asked, looking at how the other man was cradling his arm to prop up his shoulder.
David stared at a fixed point, trying to keep his balance as the room swayed. “Just stupidity. How ’bout being a gentleman and pulling out my chair for me? I don’t seem to be capable of it at the moment.”
Concerned, Trace did so, totally unaware of the hostess and wait staff staring. Once David was seated, he asked, “Okay?” and when David nodded, he pushed the chair in some. “You can probably prop your elbow on that armrest,” he suggested, moving to the chair across the two-person table.
David watched the befuddled young woman hover with two heavy leather-bound menus and an even bigger
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