Robert Fenwick has successfully banished all thoughts of passion from his life—or so it would appear until a chance encounter with handsome, young Marc Prentice turns his world upside down. Despite the gap in their ages, they seem perfectly matched. However, in order to experience the freedom and sexual fulfillment that Marc offers, Robert must first break away from everything that currently defines his outwardly successful life.
In order to avoid traffic that humid August afternoon—and in all honesty, to avoid arriving at home too early—I had chosen to drive sparsely traveled back roads from the city to my suburban enclave. When I rounded a corner obscured by a grove of trees, I slammed on my brakes and wrenched the steering wheel hard to the left to avoid a collision. I registered my displeasure with a series of blasts on my horn and prepared to drive on when I looked in my rearview mirror and saw the other driver signaling me to stop. I didn't make it a practice to stop for motorists in distress, but there was something about this one that caused me to brake and back up to where he stood. In retrospect, I realize that the something I responded to was his tight, lean, perfectly proportioned body, clad only in a pair of baggy white tennis shorts and his classically handsome face, framed by thick blond curls. He was a perfect exemplar of young manhood.
“You should put out flares,” I grumbled testily when I stepped out of the car. “I almost rear-ended you.”
“I’m really sorry, but I don’t have any in the car.”
“You should plan ahead and be prepared.” Christ, but I sounded like a pompous ass.
“I do plan ahead. I just didn’t plan on getting a flat tire.” The young man looked directly at me, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“Obviously.” I shook my head and walked around the front of the stranded automobile. “I assume you don’t know how to change a tire?”
“Oh, I think I could figure it out if I could just loosen the nuts.” He shrugged his shoulders expressively. “I’ve given it all I’ve got and I can’t get them to budge for me.”
“Where’s your lug wrench?”
“Right here, sir.” He held up the tool I requested.
I shed my suit coat, threw it into my car, tucked my tie ends between the buttons of my shirt and rolled up my sleeves. “Hand it over.” When he passed it to me, I noticed the bloody smear on the back of his hand. “Bark your knuckles?”
“I did.” He nodded ruefully. “I was leaning down with all my weight and that thing slipped. It stings.”
“I think you’ll live.”
“You’re sure?” He studied his knuckles doubtfully. “I could’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“I’m fairly sure you’ll survive another day.”
“I guess you could always attempt to staunch the flow of blood. Your tie would make a nifty tourniquet.”
“I’d rather not sacrifice my tie. I’m quite fond of it.” I smiled at him in spite of myself. His cheerfulness was infectious. I knelt beside the flat and tried the ends of the lug wrench until I found the proper fit.
“Each of those four ends is a different size?” I looked up at him and nodded. “I guess I should have read the instructions. Of course, there weren’t any instructions included. I think the car company was rather remiss, don’t you?”
“Maybe you should write them a stern letter.”
“Maybe I will.” He watched while I loosened the lug nuts and laid them one by one in the hubcap.
“You do have a jack, don’t you?”
“If one came with the car, I’m sure I do.” He wandered back and peered into the trunk. “I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for.”
“Never mind.” I stood and came around to him. I released the fastener that secured the jack at the side of the trunk and held it out to him. “Take this. I’ll get the tire.” I lifted the carpet and exposed the spare.
“I was wondering where that was.”
“You’re fairly helpless, aren’t you?”
“I play tennis, I swim competitively and I’ve been told I have a very pleasant singing voice. I can also make my way through a formal dinner without picking up the wrong fork even once. I am definitely not helpless.”
“My mistake.” I knelt again, positioned the jack under the rear bumper and raised the car so I could remove the flat. I pulled it off and fit the spare into place.
“Careful.”
“Excuse me?” I glanced up at the young man expectantly.
“You’re going to ruin that beautiful watch if you’re not careful.” I glanced at my arm. Two thick streaks of grime from the wheel well banded my wrist, dangerously close to my vintage Piaget timepiece. I unbuckled the band and held the watch up to him. “This is beautiful. Understated and classic. My father has one that he tells me I’ll inherit someday if I’m very good.” He shrugged. “The trouble is I’m usually not very good.”
“You’ll have to work on that.”
“I probably should just plan on buying my own watch.”
“Overall, that sounds like the best idea.” I finished tightening the nuts, popped on the hubcap and lowered the jack. I stowed it along with the flat and closed the trunk. “You wouldn’t happen to have a rag, would you?” I held my filthy hands out, palms up.
“Here, use this. It’s a little damp. I was playing tennis and…well, you know.”
“I doubt if it’ll poison me.” I took the towel from him and wiped off the worst of the grime. When I was done, I tossed it back on the floor of his car on the passenger side.
“You’re good to go.”
“Thank you so much. I really appreciate this.”
“I was glad to help out.” I started to return to my car.
“Wait! Your watch.” He held it out to me. I looked at my grease-stained fingers and frowned. “If you’ll allow me?” I held out my arm to him. He slipped the leather band around my wrist and fastened the buckle. The pressure of his fingers against my skin was disturbingly pleasant. “There you go.” I watched him return to his car and drive away before I walked back to my own vehicle.