Malcolm didn’t have a lot going for him. He wasn’t one of the blessed, or one of the beautiful. He didn’t have many talents. He was, however, a damn good chef. He worked hard and he insisted on perfection -- not just from himself but also from everyone else in his kitchen. And if that made others miserable, that was just too damn bad. If one couldn’t live up to expectations then one didn’t belong at Burgeon Manor.<br><br>Darien on the other hand, was everything Malcolm envied, hated, and secretly fantasized over. Lean, slim, with a smile that could melt ice and enough charm to woo demons, Darien surprised Malcolm by showing not only interest but also attraction. Which only meant one thing as far as Malcolm was concerned: Darien had to be playing some kind of game. There was no way that a rock god like Darien Flint could have honest feelings for someone like him.<br><br>Yet the more Darien tries to know him, the more Malcolm feels himself being drawn into the lie.

Rockabye

He wanted to sink into the floor. To curl into himself. To eat his own heart out.


He’d been so sure that Darien was going to fuck him over that he’d made it happen.


Darien’s eyes were dark; gray skies foretelling damaging winds and torrential downpour. His forehead was drawn into a frown between the well-shaped brows. “I kept waiting for you to call. They said you didn’t even ask. I thought you liked me. Why didn’t you ask, Mal?”


What could he say? Looking into Darien’s eyes and knowing that he’d beaten himself up for the last three days for no other reason than his own self-considered unimportance? And worse, seeing that Darien had worried over it as well? How could Malcolm say that he’d just assumed Darien had cared less? When admitting such a thing would be clear indication that Malcolm had lumped Darien in with all the assholes of the world? That he hadn’t even given the guy a chance.


Malcolm shook his head and cleared his throat. “I made a mistake.”


Chapter 24