Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

It had been after his first set of the evening, another napkin dropped in his hat, with a fifty and a room number—932. One of the conventioneers. Middle-aged, maybe a bit of a paunch, but otherwise well-muscled. Ugly as sin in the face, but, in the dark, who cares? All he'd wanted to do—at least then—was to suck Matt off and stroke himself as Matt gave him sounds that made him feel Matt was having a really good time. He said he'd like more later, but couldn't wait for at least this.

He'd wanted a kiss at the door as Matt left, too, though, while murmuring that they could do more later that night, after the businessman had attended his last session at the convention. Matt was noncommittal. After his last set, he'd do whatever was the most advantageous at that time.

Farther down the hall, the elevator door opened, and there he was. The hunk. A well-dressed, extremely well-put-together South American. Walking out of the elevator, his progress arrested as he saw the other man and Matt, close together, kissing, at the door of a room down the hall.

It was only a brief moment, but it had embarrassed Matt. The man at the elevator was so much more than the man who had pulled him close and surprised him with a kiss at the door to his room. Matt was still in the process of tucking his tux shirt into his trousers, so there wasn't much for the man at the elevator to misconstrue.

Maybe if the man hadn't smiled before he turned and walked the other way down the hall. Maybe then his image wouldn't have emblazoned itself in Matt's mind. Maybe also if the man hadn't been such a hunk—so much more so than the guy who paid fifty dollars to blow Matt and was angling for more later—at his convenience. Not bothering to ask Matt what would be convenient for him.

* * * *

The Hispanic hunk across the bar, maybe pushing forty-five, but not pushing it hard, and a beautiful man, with sensuous lips, was smiling the same smile. He inclined his head slightly to establish a connection with Matt from the smoky distance. Matt automatically acknowledged the salute and, with trembling fingers, began the refrain of "Strangers in the Night."

"Strangers in the night . . . exchanging glances, wondering in the night . . . what were the chances we'd be sharing love . . . before the night was through?"

Matt sensed a presence at the side of the piano. He raised his eyes a bit, permitting his fingers, their strength increasing, to do what they did on the piano by habit. The gold cufflinks with the diamond insets were the first things that caught his attention. Then the manicured hands, meaty and strong, but very well taken care of, came into view.

The man was leaning his elbows on the top of the piano, comfortably, like he belonged there, in full command.

"Strangers in the night . . . two lonely people we were. Strangers in the night . . . up to the moment when we said our first hello . . . little did we know . . ."

"My name is Enrique," he murmured, as their eyes met. "After your last set tonight."

Matt watched as a business card, with a hundred-dollar bill wrapped around it materialized in one of the hands and was deposited in the hat. Then the man—Enrique—was gone.

Matt, shuddering slightly, his fingers, on their own, shifting into "The Shadow of Your Smile."

"The shadow of your smile when you are gone . . . will color all my dreams . . ."

He didn't bother to check the hat. He knew that the business card would have a room number on it. It did. Room 1425. One of the hotel's junior suites.