A Guy for Christmas - K.C. Wells Page 0,18

“I should add that I knew you could ski before they turned up.”

“How?” Robin had done his level best to appear an amateur. Where did I go wrong?

Dean folded his arms. “I watched you. Do you know how difficult it is to fall over on purpose–and be convincing? Not to mention the way you use your legs when you ski. That comes with a lot of practice.”

Robin had one last try. “Maybe it’s because you’re such a good instructor?” he said hopefully.

“Bullshit,” Dean responded promptly. “You’ve been caught. Now tell me why you lied in the first place.”

Robin sighed. “I should have known better than to listen to my stupid brother,” he muttered.

Dean frowned. “What’s Ryan got to do with this?”

“I guess I’d better come clean. It was really good seeing you at the boatyard, and… I just want to spend more time with you, is all. The ski instruction was Ryan’s idea.”

Dean snorted. “Why does that not surprise me?” He gave Robin a reproachful glance. “You didn’t have to make up some story about wanting to learn to ski.”

“Yeah, well, I see that now.” He must have looked like a total loser. When Dean glanced at his watch, Robin’s heart sank. I really messed up.

“I’m going home for lunch.” Dean paused. “Why don’t you join me?”

Robin gaped. “You mean that?”

Another shrug. “Why not? Your bike is at my place anyway. Apart from that, you’re good company. But don’t get excited. It’s only mac and cheese.” Robin beamed at him, and Dean laughed. “Why do I get the feeling I just said the right thing?”

Robin grinned. “Mac and cheese is my favorite!”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Dean nodded toward Robin’s mug. “Finish your hot chocolate, and we’ll get out of here.”

Okay, maybe my brother has his uses. Score two for Ryan.

“You know we’re going to talk more about this, right?” Dean speared him with an intense gaze, and something in Robin’s belly quivered.

His elation suddenly seemed a little premature.

Dean finished loading the dishwasher, and went to find Robin. He was standing in the hallway, peering at the framed photos that covered the wall in one long line. Dean stood still, not wanting to disturb him. Except it was more than that.

Dean was enjoying the view.

When Robin wasn’t bundled up in his skiing gear, he was a gorgeous mix of tousled hair, narrow waist, slim hips and slender legs. It all added up to a beautiful young man. Dean watched as Robin peered at the photos, a finger held to his lips, lost in contemplation.

Those lips… Dean still wanted to know how they would feel against his, how it would feel to hold that slender body in his arms…

“Is that you?”

Dean broke off from his not-so-innocent thoughts. He knew exactly which photo Robin was referring to. He laughed. “Oh God. Yes, that’s me. It was an amateur dance production in Chicago.”

Robin turned to face him, smirking. “Nice… costume.”

Dean walked over to where he stood and peered at the photo. All the men had worn nothing but tights, and they’d danced barefoot. “What little there is of it. I only did it as a favor for a friend. He needed another dancer, and he knew me from college. I couldn’t say no.” He pointed to the figure on his right. “That’s Adrian. He’s now a professional dancer. Right now he’s rehearsing for a production in NYC. Actually, it’s his production.”

Robin let out a soft exhale. “He must be good.” A smile flickered. “Were you any good?”

Dean shrugged. “Adrian was happy enough. And it wasn’t as if I had a lead role. I was there to make up the numbers.” It had been a great experience, however, and Adrian had remained a good friend.

“I think it’s cool.” Robin bit his lip, and not for the first time the gesture sent a trickle of arousal through Dean. “When I was little I asked my mom if I could take ballet classes.”

“Seriously?”

Robin chuckled. “Thankfully, she said no.” When Dean gave him a puzzled glance, Robin sighed. “I forget what I’d seen on TV—it could have been a dance scene in that movie The Curious Case of Benjamin Button—but I loved watching it. The guys dancing looked so cool. But there was no way I was cut out to be a dancer.”

“Why not?” Dean imagined Robin as a lithe mover.

“Ryan says I have two left feet.” Robin laughed. “Although, we were eight at the time, and dancing at a wedding.”

Dean couldn’t help himself. “Why am