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She rose to her feet and led him out of the room to the next door. She paused outside. “Adam is in here, and in the circumstances, I feel it important that you meet him without my presence.” Paul swore he saw pity in her eyes. She patted his arm. “I will be in the next room when you have finished.” And with that she smiled and left him standing outside the closed door.

Paul stared at it, heart pounding.
For God’s sake, just get in there
. Adam wasn’t an ogre.

No, he’s a cantankerous, obstinate bastard who doesn’t want a companion.

Heart quaking, he raised his hand and rapped on the wooden surface.

Nothing.

Paul knocked again, louder this time. Still no sound came from the room.

There was nothing for it but to enter. Paul pushed open the door and walked into the room, facing straight ahead. When he saw the figure by the window, he caught his breath. He’d built up a picture in his mind of Adam, conjured up by Mrs. Lambton’s description and his own preconceptions of what an author looked like. The reality bore no resemblance to his imaginings.

Adam sat in a wide armchair by the window, facing away from Paul, a white cane leaning against the arm. His curly, black hair almost reached his shoulders, the light glinting off it. There were hints of silver at the temples. His beard was thick, his long legs encased in sweatpants, stretched out in front of him, his feet bare. Adam had wide shoulders, his arms toned, a black T-shirt hugging his contours, from what Paul could see at any rate, from his angle.

Paul cleared his throat. Adam’s only response was a slight stiffening of his posture. He continued to stare toward the window. Paul walked quickly across to Adam’s chair. “Good afternoon, sir. My name is Paul Vaughan. Mrs Lambton has just hired me as your companion, so I thought I’d introduce myself.”

Adam didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. It was only the steady rise and fall of his chest that told Paul he was indeed breathing.

Paul cleared his throat once more. “I thought you might have some questions for me.”

Adam’s steady silence was disconcerting. After waiting for a minute with no response from him, Paul’s heart sank. It was obvious his new employer had no intention of speaking to him. He turned around and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. As he reached for the handle to return to Mrs Lambton, he caught the unmistakable sound of a key turning in a lock, coming from behind him.

Shit. Couldn’t be much clearer, could it?

Adam Kent did not want a companion.

Sighing inwardly, Paul knocked on the door to the previous room and entered. Mrs. Lambton was standing by the window, looking out over the bay. She turned as he entered.

“How did it go?”

Paul resisted the urge to snort. “As well as you’d led me to expect.”

“Why, what did he say to you?” She crossed the room, closed the door gently behind him and stared, drawing her mouth into a straight line and biting her bottom lip.

Paul’s cheeks burned. “He wouldn’t speak to me. In fact, as soon as I’d left the room, he locked it from the inside.”

Her expression betrayed nothing of her feelings. “I am so sorry, Paul. I’m sure the situation will change. It’s not the first time he’s done this, although I had hoped he’d grown accustomed to the idea. Apparently not.” She patted his arm, an unexpectedly warm gesture. “I have your details here, and I’ll sort out payment details next week.” She walked over to the desk and picked up a keyring with several keys attached. “These will be yours. The one with the yellow tag is the front door key.” She handed them to him and he shoved them into the pockets of his pants. “Now let me show you where you will be staying.”

Paul followed her out of the room and into the huge hallway with its high ceilings and ornate balustrades. The room they’d left was one of several leading off from the hall, which was dominated by the wide front door, bordered on both sides by beautiful stained glass panels. She led him up the thickly-carpeted staircase to the first landing, where more rooms awaited them.

Mrs. Lambton opened the door straight ahead. “This is the bathroom, with a connecting door to Adam’s bedroom. I wanted him to convert one of the rooms downstairs into a bedroom, but Adam being Adam, he refused.” She sighed. “My brother is as immovable as a mountain.” She pointed to the right. “That is Adam’s room. You will be next to it.” She walked up to the cream painted door that was to be his room and pushed it open.

Paul had just enough time to peer inside and get a glimpse of the room before she was pulling it shut and leading him away. At the foot of the stairs she faced him.

“I don’t expect we shall see much of each other, so I will take this opportunity to wish you luck.” Her eyes gleamed. “You’re going to need it.”

Paul had had enough for one day. He gave her a polite nod. “Thank you, Mrs. Lambton. I’ll see myself out.”

He turned and left the room, his back straight, chin high. Once he was outside, however, his shoulders hunched over and he forced out all the tension of the afternoon in a long exhale of air.

God, I need a drink.

Chapter Two

Mark held out his pint glass and both Sam and Paul clinked theirs against it. “Cheers. Here’s to your new job. May it bring you everything you wish for.” Sam murmured in agreement. Around them was the usual noise of Wetherspoons on a Friday night. The pub was packed, everyone celebrating the start of the weekend with alcohol. The TV screens were silent, but a football game was playing on one, while another showed a news channel. It was a warm night, and the hinged windows at the front of the pub were open, letting in a slight breeze.

Paul leaned back against the padded bench with a sigh. “Nice thought, but I’m not gonna hold my breath. I can’t see this one lasting too long.”

Mark lifted his eyebrows. “Why not?” He gazed intently at Paul. “That doesn’t sound like you, mate.”

Paul stared into the dark contents of his glass. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “It’s just that I was feeling so good when she gave me the job and then
he
made me feel like shit, first when he flat out ignored me, and then when he locked that door.”

“So you don’t even know what this Adam is like?” Sam asked, his fingers lacing through Mark’s on the table. Paul liked that they weren’t afraid to be affectionate in public, not that they’d have done much more than hold hands. The island was still behind the rest of the country when it came to acceptance of gay PDAs.

“Apart from being a rude bastard, y’mean?” Paul took a long drink of his beer before continuing. He brought up an image of Adam in his mind. “Not that he looked once in my direction, you understand. But actually, from what I saw of him, I
might
consider him good looking.” Those black curls, fair, creamy complexion, the toned arms… Paul had found himself wanting to see the eyes behind those dark glasses.

“Oh, do I detect a hint of attraction?” Mark was smirking. “C’mon, you can tell us. Is he sexy?”

Paul nearly spluttered his beer all over the table. He coughed vigorously.

Sam grinned. “I think that’s a yes, love.” He leaned against Mark’s shoulder, his eyes dancing with amusement. Mark chuckled.

Paul wiped his mouth and watering eyes, and stared at them both, shaking his head. “Will you two stop it? I swear, you’re always trying to hook me up with someone.”

“That’s ’cause you need a man,” Sam told him in earnest. His fingers tightened around Mark’s. “And besides, it would make working for him all the more interesting if there was a little… spark between you.”

Paul regarded them with affection. He’d become friends with Mark when he’d come back to the island after college. He’d been looking for a decent hairdresser, and someone had recommended a new salon that had opened in Ryde, Make Your Mark. Paul had gone to investigate and had met one of the owners. At twenty-two, Mark Horrocks had seemed very young to have his own salon, but once they’d got talking, all had become clear. His partner Sam was a computer games designer and a very successful one. The salon was a joint venture with another hairdresser, Sonia, and the business was doing well.

It hadn’t taken long during Paul’s first visit to work out that Mark was gay, though the sight of Sam coming in at lunchtime and kissing Mark on the cheek might have had something to do with it. None of the customers batted an eyelid, and it quickly became evident that the ladies who frequented the salon were very fond of the couple. And after a few visits, Paul and Mark had become good friends.

He sighed. “Not everyone is as lucky as you two, you know that, right?” He envied them. Sam and Mark were a good fit and obviously in love. “And as for making my job more interesting, I think I’m gonna have more than enough to cope with, without complicating things further.” He relayed what Adam’s sister had told him.

Mark’s eyes widened. “Whoa. You
sure
you want to work for this bloke? He sounds like he’s gonna go out of his way to make things difficult for you.”

“I’m with Mark,” Sam said, his voice soft, his brow creased. “And the way you were talking just now, you seem to have already accepted that you’re going to fail at this.”

That gave him pause. “You’re right,” he said after a moment. “I’m letting him get the better of me before I’ve even begun.” That wasn’t him.

“That’s better.” A note of satisfaction crept into Mark’s voice. “You need to go in there on Monday, determined to take all this guy can throw at you, and
then
some.” He grinned. “You show this Adam what you’re made of.”

“Where is the house again?” Sam asked, taking a drink of his beer.

“You know Steephill Cove, right?”

They both nodded. “We go there quite often,” Mark said. “Sam and I like to have lunch at the Beach Shack.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, even if Andy complains that the café is overrun with gays.” When Paul quirked an eyebrow, he explained. “Well, there’s us, and then there’s Taylor and his hubby David. Ever since David wrote one of his gay romance novels set in Steephill, Andy says more and more gays are turning up.”

Paul nodded. He’d known Taylor Monroe and his tight-knit group of friends vaguely from high school, but he’d become close friends with the owner of Cove Kayaks when he’d started using its services a few summers ago. David Hannon, Taylor’s husband, was an American author who’d come on a visit to Steephill a couple of years ago. He’d fallen in love with the horseshoe bay—and with Taylor. Once he’d made the move permanently to the UK, it hadn’t taken long before he and Taylor had announced their plans to marry. Paul had been a guest at their wedding. They lived in the bay and Paul knew David liked to sit and write in the café.
Yet another loved-up couple. Must be something in the air.
Or maybe in the cove itself.
Whatever it was, Paul seemed to have missed out on it. He shrugged off the thought. Right then he had no time for romance.

“You know the big house up on the cliff that overlooks the bay?”

Mark frowned for a second or two and then his forehead smoothed out. “Yeah, Cliffside.” He snorted. “Now
there’s
a name that took some imagination to come up with.”

“It’s a lovely house,” Sam said with a sigh. “The views from up there must be spectacular.”

“Oh, they are,” Paul agreed. When both men gazed at him, he smiled. “That’s where Adam lives.”

“Wow.” Sam gave a slow nod. “That sure beats living with your parents in Binstead. I can see why you want the job.”

Paul snorted again. “I’d have taken the job if it would have meant moving to a council house in Ryde, guys. You have
no
idea what it’s been like recently at home.”

“Aww, you been finding it tough living with the parents again after being a student and having your freedom?” Mark teased.

“My dad got pissed off having me under his feet all the time, and he kept telling me to find a job,
any
job. Okay, so I made the decision to wait until a job turned up that was more related to my studies,” he said defensively. Only thing was, jobs on the island were mostly seasonal. “He saw the ad for this position before I did, and basically threw the newspaper at me, with a big red circle around it.” The message had been crystal clear—‘apply for it. Yesterday.’

Both Mark and Sam laughed. Mark leaned forward. “Sam’s right, y’know. You need a man.” Then he chuckled. “Well, specifically, you need to get laid.”

Paul heaved a sigh. “We’ve had this conversation.”

“And we’re gonna have it again,” Mark said, a stubborn glint in his eyes. “You’re twenty-three, Paul. It’s not normal.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Sam interjected. “Have you forgotten something? I was the same age as Paul when you and I met, and
I
was a virgin.” He grinned. “And
someone
not a million miles away was really wary of bottoming, because—”

“Hush, you.” Mark put his hand over Sam’s mouth. “This is not the place to be talking about that.” Slowly he removed his hand. Sam’s grin was still in evidence. “Okay,” he conceded, “so it’s not
totally
unheard of to get to Paul’s age and—”

“Can you
not
talk about me as if I’m not sitting here?” Paul said with a huff. He lowered his voice. “And for your information, I’m
not
a virgin.”

“Hand-jobs in the toilets of a gay bar don’t count,” Mark responded promptly.

Damn Mark and his memory. “Do you
ever
forget a conversation?”

“Nope.” Mark sat back with a smug expression on his face. “Blow jobs don’t count either. And before
you
say a word,” he said, digging Sam in the ribs with his elbow, “yes, I
know
blow jobs are sex, but I seem to recall
someone
around here saying that in his mind, sex was actual… penetration.” If possible, his smile grew even more smug as he turned back to Paul. “So in my mind, you’re still a virgin.”

“Mark is right, but for all the wrong reasons as usual,” Sam said. Paul peered at him inquiringly and Sam blushed. He took a glance at the surrounding tables and their occupants before leaning forward, his gaze focused on Paul. “It’s not like when a girl loses her virginity. I mean, there’s no barrier, or anything. But joining yourself to someone like that, it’s… it’s an emotional experience, and yes, there’s an emotional barrier to overcome, in my mind. You’re connected, as deeply connected as it’s possible for two people to be.” He nudged his partner. “And if Paul feels he wants to wait until he’s ready to make that connection, then it’s his choice. It may well be that he doesn’t
want
that connection, and that’s fine too.”