Page 6 of Soul of Discretion

CHAPTER THREE

The knock on the door interrupted Simon’s reverie as he stared out of the window of his corner suite at the Hilton Toronto Airport. He blew out a breath of anticipation. His day had been a disaster, so having somebody to fuck might relieve him of his restlessness and frustration.

He strode over to the door, his active mind unable to let go of the day’s events.

Upon touchdown in Toronto, he’d been whisked to the hotel, where he’d been checked in remotely. The minute he hit his room he set his suitcase down, collapsed on the bed, and ordered a rare steak from room service, accompanied by a glass of bourbon. He’d woken up the next morning, a little refreshed after a good night’s sleep and made his way to the Breakforce offices only to be greeted by an attractive, dark-haired woman—Jack’s secretary, Lila Dermot.

“He’s been gone nearly four days now,” she’d said, the concern in her voice evident. Simon wondered whether Jack was screwing her. He’d always had a thing for shitting where he ate. “He rushed out of here late Monday afternoon looking upset and told me to cancel all his appointments. He said he had other affairs to take care of and he wasn’t sure when he’d be back.”

Monday, Simon had mused. The day before he’d received that strange phone call. He’d demanded access to Jack’s office and meetings with his senior staff, but he hadn’t turned up anything that might indicate where the man might have gone.

In hindsight, Simon’s plan to pay a surprise visit to his friend and betrayer appeared to have backfired. His plan tomorrow morning was to pay a visit to Jack’s condominium and hope the spare key was still waiting for him at the front desk.

Perhaps in the seclusion of Jack’s home, Simon might find some answers and trace to where his friend might have disappeared.

He battened down the twinge of worry that had assailed him since being told of Jack’s prolonged absence and opened the door to his hotel room, hoping the man on his doorstep lived up to the expectation his crUIzer profile had laid out.

Despite his experience at hook-ups and having sampled a wide range of the male population across the world, Simon’s jaw dropped on seeing the man in front of him.

Sweet Jesus. His profile picture didn’t do this man justice at all. He was, quite simply, stunning. And big. And muscled.

Crystal blue eyes stared at him from beneath short-cropped dark hair, and from the expression of appreciation on the hook-up’s face, he was finding Simon equally as tasty. Dressed in old comfortable jeans, a jacket that looked as if it had been rescued from a thrift shop, and large boots that were scuffed and worn, he was exactly what Simon needed.

Simon gestured the man in. “Come in, Northernsalute,” he murmured with a smile. “I have a feeling we’re going to get on fine.”

Northernsalute grinned as he came in, his blue eyes crinkling with laugh lines and the trimmed stubble around his jaw looking deliciously lickable.

“Yeah?” He reached out a calloused hand and stroked Simon’s jawline. “I think I might agree with you on that one, Aristocat sixty-nine. I’m a sucker for a man with an English accent.”

Simon rolled his eyes as he closed the door, and watched his guest—well, his guest’s extremely tight arse—stride across the room to stand by the cocktail cabinet Simon had already opened.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” he said. “I don’t know what it is about the accent that triggers horniness on this side of the pond, but I thank God for it. Perhaps someone should do a study on it.” He gestured to the bar. “Would you like a drink first? I know we’re here to fuck but there’s no point in not being civilised about it.” He noticed his “date’s” flinch at Simon’s choice of words. Oh God, he groaned inwardly. Please don’t let this guy be another needy bastard like the last one.

“Whisky, neat. No ice. Oh, and the name’s Nick. I can’t imagine calling you Aristocat sixty-nine all night so figured we might as well swap names now.” Nick raised an enquiring eyebrow as he shrugged out of his jacket and placed it on the back of the sofa.

Simon poured the drinks. Whisky for Nick, and a bourbon for himself. He’d developed a taste for it when he’d lived in New Orleans some years ago. “If you wish. Mine’s Simon. Please refrain from any cute ditties about ‘Simon Says’ because I’ve heard it all, and I’ll probably rearrange your face if you try it. Especially in bed.” He handed the whisky to Nick, marvelling at the way the man’s face lit up in laughter.

He really was an attractive chap, Simon mused. With a personality to match. He might be worth a repeat or two while Simon was here. Save him explaining his hook-up philosophy to a new man.

“Duly noted.” Nick’s twang was sexy and Simon wasn’t averse to hearing more of it. He walked over to the couch and sat down, patting the seat beside him.

“Let’s have a drink, then we can get down to business.” Again, there was discomfort on Nick’s face. Simon sighed.

Best get this out in the open.

He sipped his drink. “Your profile said you were in this for the sex. I didn’t notice anything about wanting a relationship, or anything like that. Is that true?”

Nick frowned. “Why would you think it wasn’t? I’m not in the habit of lying.” His voice had a bite.

Ah, the man has a tough side, thank God. I like that.

Simon raised his glass in a toast. “Merely checking. You seemed a little off at my frank statements of fucking and doing business. I wanted to make sure we were both mounting the same horse, so to speak.” He smirked.

Nick frowned and took another mouthful of his drink. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not here looking for anything more than a good night.”

Simon inclined his head. “Wonderful.” He shifted on the couch, which brought him closer to the Canadian. Nick smelt woodsy and warm, with a hint of citrus and vanilla. “That doesn’t mean I’m averse to hearing a bit more about you. Are you a native—” He paused in thought. “Torontoian?”

Nick’s hearty chuckle reverberated through Simon’s bones. He wasn’t sure why this particular man was having such an effect on him, but it was beginning to irk him.