Counting Down Read online

  Counting Down

  By Kelly Jensen

  Counting: Book Two

  It’s been a week since a Christmas Eve blizzard changed the course of Marcus Winnamore’s life. Plan A is now Plan B, and the first item on his new agenda is taking Henry Auttenberg on a date. They’ve been invited to a New Year’s Eve party, and Marc is counting down the hours until midnight… until he can kiss Henry in front of his colleagues and friends.

  Things don’t quite work out to plan. Finding the elevator out of service, Marc and Henry check the stairs, only to choose the wrong door and become locked in the basement. Close quarters once again make for close conversation, and as they explore every avenue of escape, they also explore the deepening attraction between them. For Marc, this isn’t an experiment. Will he still feel that way when he has to admit to someone other than Henry that he’s gay?

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  More from Kelly Jensen

  About the Author

  By Kelly Jensen

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  For Marc

  Acknowledgments

  COUNTING FENCE Posts garnered so many lovely reviews and requests for more that I was delighted to be able to announce I’d already written a sequel. What I left out of that announcement was the fact that I wrote Counting Down months and months before submitting it, then sat on it for a while, unsure if it was worthwhile. For Marc and Henry, surely it was—Counting Down gave them the opportunity to get closer and explore their tentative romance. For me, it certainly was, because I enjoy writing for my guys. But would anyone else want to read it?

  I owe thanks to my early readers, Jenn and Eileen, for convincing me that someone would. I’d also like to thank the readers of Counting Fence Posts who wished for more—and extend my hope that your regard for Henry and Marc doesn’t end here. Finally, I’d like to express my gratitude to the team at Dreamspinner Press for encouraging me to continue, and for helping me shape Counting Down into the best possible addition to Henry and Marc’s story.

  Chapter One

  HE HAD his hand on another man’s leg. He, Marcus Winnamore, had his hand on another man’s thigh, and if he moved it up a little, he could graze something else he never thought he’d touch—willingly, longingly—another man’s junk. Not just anyone’s either. Next to him sat Henry Auttenberg—the guy who had fascinated him for six months. Mostly, it had been his mouth. His sinfully full lips. His eyes too, with their mutable color. Were they gray or green? Then there was Henry’s laugh, so rare and precious.

  A week ago, Marc’s life had been following Plan A. But after spending the Christmas Eve blizzard trapped in a car with Henry—where he’d given in to the lure of Henry’s mouth and more—Marc had to formulate a new plan. For consistency, he called it Plan B.

  He liked Plan B. It felt right. It felt damned good when he wasn’t questioning the fact this new plan had been formed over a kiss.

  At least he had a plan.

  Floating free and reckless, under the spell of the mouth and eyes of the guy he’d been secretly fantasizing over for six months, might work in a snowstorm. Under threat of frozen death. Now they were back in the real world. About to attend a New Year’s Eve party given by one of the firm’s partners. Their first date.

  It was okay to be nervous, wasn’t it?

  Marc moved his hand a little higher.

  He felt rather than saw Henry turn his attention from the passing vista of Boston at night. “Any higher and I’m going to have difficulty getting out of the cab.”

  Marc’s gut tightened. His jeans did too. Just the thought of Henry hard at his touch. “We should have skipped the party.” The light tone he’d tried for didn’t come off. Marc cleared his throat. “We could have stayed at your place.”

  “It was your idea to go to this party.”

  “Right.” Marc resisted the urge to clear his throat again. Anxious wasn’t his thing. Onward, upward! Attending this party—with Henry—was a necessary step.

  Henry nudged his shoulder. “Have you got a plan?”

  “What? No. Why would I—”

  “Marcus Winnamore always has a plan.” Henry offered one of his sly smiles.

  “Forward momentum requires forward movement.” Honestly, he didn’t know where he found this shit sometimes.

  Henry’s smile widened. “You’re going to use this party to announce us to the office, aren’t you? That we’re more than colleagues, and that you’re into kissing guys.”

  Marc huffed in annoyance. Was he that transparent? Probably. Either way, kissing Henry at midnight in front of friends and coworkers from Beck and Meyer would be as good as issuing a memo. It’d be done. “I thought a social situation would be preferable to someone finding us in the copy room.”

  Henry chuckled, the sound disturbingly low and sexy—probably because they’d already violated the copy room. The offices of Beck and Meyer were very quiet between Christmas and New Year’s. Marc twitched his hand away from Henry’s crotch. Henry captured his fingers before he could get too far. “You’re cute when you’re anxious.”

  “I’m not anxious.”

  “Of course not.”

  Marc straightened his spine. “And you can keep your cute comments to yourself.”

  “Yeah, wouldn’t want to soften the image.”

  Henry’s smile might have had an ironic twist, but his tone conveyed nothing but warmth. Marc was unused to seeing him like this. Relaxed and making jokes. Henry came across as the quiet type. Marc had always sensed there was a lot more going on beneath the staid exterior, however.

  The cab coasted to a stop outside the apartment building of senior partner Shelly Flores. Marc had visited twice before, for previous parties. The apartment occupied the entire top floor, including a patio that would not be usable tonight—unless you liked pretending you were visiting the Arctic Circle. Either way, the endless windows would offer up a good view of the fireworks over the harbor.

  Marc paid the fare, and they tumbled out into the remains of the blizzard that had brought them together. Banked snow three feet high hid the sidewalk, with gaps every twelve feet or so allowing access to the buildings behind. Marc reached back for Henry and clasped his fingers before picking his way through the short and icy tunnel.

  When he got to the other side, Henry leaned in close. “Now that we’re safely out of the cab and at no risk of spending New Year’s Eve stuck in a snowbank, I’m going to comment on the fact neither of us is wearing gloves. Again. What is it with us and not dressing for the weather?”

  “I’ve got gloves in the pocket of my coat.”

  “Of course you have.” Henry grinned, the shoulders of his wool coat hitching up beneath his ears. Yep, Henry was adorable when he smiled, especially when he grinned. His whole face changed. A switch got flipped inside him. He morphed from serious, possibly shy, and somewhat aloof, into someone eminently approachable.

  Marc pressed a quick kiss to Henry’s cold lips, delighting in the thrill of kissing a man—kissing Henry—and doing so openly. “Let’s get inside before someone abducts us. I am not spending our first date locked in the trunk of a car with you.”

  Henry’s hand tucked securely in his, Marc led the way inside the building. The style of the lobby belied the wealth required to own one of the apartments above. The tenants probably preferred it that way. Not everyone liked to advertise. The lack of a doorman made Marc a little uneasy—they were in the city after all—but the marble floor shone beneath muted lig
hting, and there were no bums lurking in the corners. Place didn’t smell like a bus terminal.

  A sheet of paper taped to the buffed brass elevator doors stood out against the otherwise tidy space. Marc peered at it while Henry read the message. “Elevator out. Use the stairs.”

  As if to confirm the irritability of systems within the building, the lights in the lobby chose that moment to flicker.

  Marc looked up and around, trying to follow the direction of the bent arrow on the sign. “Over here,” he said.

  Henry tugged his hand. “Not this way?” He nodded toward the front of the building.

  “Stairs will be back here somewhere.” Marc led the way behind the square wall of the elevator housing to the rear of the lobby where they met with two doors, neither of which was marked stairs. One did have a sign. Maintenance. Marc pushed the other door open. The lights dimmed again. “Not going to be much of a party if the lights go out,” he remarked.

  “I dunno.” Henry moved up close behind him, his breath tickling the back of Marc’s neck. “After that tease in the cab, I kinda like the idea of finding a dark corner.”

  Marc’s pulse kicked up, sending his blood zinging throughout his veins. First the cab, now this. Every time he got close to Henry, he lost the ability to think and breathe and function like a rational being. Plans got changed.

  He half turned, keeping the door open with his shoulder. “We could still get a cab back to your place. Mulligan’s would have been a public enough venue to announce us.”

  “Me at Mulligan’s?” Henry had the crazy idea he needed a personal invitation to the weekly office outing at the nearby pub. Just one of his idiosyncrasies.

  Marc smiled. “Your attendance is required from now on.”

  “Required, huh?” Henry pushed him through the door and into a dark hall. “Maybe we should negotiate terms before going upstairs.”

  The door shut behind them, plunging them into darkness. Pulse hammering, Marc allowed himself to be nudged back against a wall, already lifting his chin as Henry coasted along his jaw. A hand—presumably Henry’s—snuck around behind his neck, warm fingers angling his head forward as lips captured his. Marc fell into the kiss, the taste of another man’s mouth. Henry’s mouth again, and as exciting as the feel of Henry’s thigh beneath his palm.

  A moan built up in his throat. He released it and shivered as he felt it returned, Henry trembling against him. Marc caught Henry’s lower lip and sucked. He tucked his hands inside Henry’s coat, seeking skin. Layers of clothing frustrated him. Marc rocked his hips forward, needing the pressure of something against his constrained erection. Another moan from Henry evidenced a similar need.

  Then Henry was pulling back, his hands to either side of Marc’s face, palms cool against Marc’s cheeks. “Fuck.”

  As a rule, Henry didn’t curse. Neither of them did. His use of that single word nudged Marc’s temperature a little higher. “You said it.”

  Henry leaned in to kiss him again, quickly, almost chastely, before he backed away entirely. “We should go upstairs.”

  “Yeah, we should.”

  “To the party.”

  “Right. The party.”

  Snorting softly, Henry moved back another step and tipped his head toward the dimly lit end of the hall. “C’mon.”

  There were stairs back there, but instead of leading up they dropped down into the basement and the only source of light. Frowning, Marc poked his head into the stairwell. “Do you think we have to go down before we go up?”

  “Maybe?”

  Henry withdrew, leaving a cool space beside Marc, and went back to the lobby door. A flat click echoed down the dark hall. “Um….” Another click and rattle. A thud, a mutter. “I think it’s locked.”

  Chapter Two

  “WHAT?”

  “The door is locked,” Henry said. “It’s like a security door. We can’t unlock it from this side without a card.” He pointed out the small black card reader neither of them had noticed before.

  “How did we even get it open?”

  “Dunno. Maybe someone else tried to come this way and didn’t pull it closed properly.” Or let it slam behind them as they focused on a kiss. “Let’s just go see if there’s another staircase at the bottom of the other one. Sometimes these old buildings have crazy architecture.”

  Marc licked his lips. “Okay.”

  An awful tight feeling low in his gut hinted they’d find nothing at the bottom of the stairs but the bottom of the stairs. Still, it was worth a try. Every plan had a backup. Henry was already angling past him. Marc stepped ahead. He was a take-charge kinda guy. A locked door wasn’t going to be the end of his night.

  The stairs terminated in another hallway lined by four doors.

  Henry issued a choky sort of chuckle. “We’re going to spend our first date locked in a basement on New Year’s Eve, after spending Christmas Eve stuck in a car during a blizzard.”

  It wasn’t time to panic. Not yet. “Nah, we’re still coming up with ideas for a new reality show. First one was called The Freezer, right? Survivors get shunted to The Basement for season two.”

  Henry tried one of the doors. When it opened, he stuck his head in. “Or The Laundry. Where all dirty secrets come clean.”

  Marc groaned. “That is so bad.”

  “Yep.” Henry let the door close and wrapped his arms around himself.

  “Cold?”

  “No, just….” Henry shook his head. “Let’s try the other doors.”

  Two were locked. The last opened to the odor of wet cardboard and old banana skins. Marc fumbled for a light switch and found it. A rusted trash compactor the size of a Dumpster took up half the concrete room. Stacked boxes vied for the rest of the space, leaving just enough for the door to swing open.

  Marc shut off the light and closed the door. “Okay, we’re not going to be the only guests who make this mistake. We’ll just camp out up by the lobby door and wait for someone else to open it.”

  Henry produced his cell phone. “Or we could call for help.” His brow furrowed. “Except I have no signal.”

  A deepening sense of déjà vu enveloped Marc as he pulled his cell phone out. He noted the time first. Just after nine o’clock. Three hours until midnight. Maybe their first public kiss wouldn’t be public at all. “No signal here either.” He resisted the urge to tap the screen. “Must be all the marble in the foyer or just being in an old building. We might have better luck up by the door.”

  Getting back to the door suddenly felt imperative. It could have been opened three or four times while they’d been poking around down in the basement. Without a key? Probably not, or there would be more contestants for The Laundry clomping down the stairs.

  They returned to the hall where the lobby door remained locked despite several attempts to toggle the handle. It did not give to a gentle touch or a rough rattle. Marc pressed his forehead to the painted metal and breathed in and out slowly. He was tempted to count, but that was Henry’s thing. Guy had apparently counted the fence posts between Syracuse and Boston. Who did that?

  In the back of his mind, a digital display blinked into the darkness, showing the time ticking away toward midnight. Marc accepted the image with a mental smile. Everyone counted down the hours to midnight on New Year’s Eve.

  Henry touched his back firmly enough for Marc to feel the pressure through his coat. “Someone will come. What time was the party supposed to start?”

  “E-mail said eight.”

  “Okay, so we’re only an hour late. Bessler will be later than we were. He has no sense of time whatsoever.”

  True enough, but Luke Bessler wasn’t at last year’s party. Marc turned around. “You weren’t at the party last year.”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever socialized with anyone from the firm?”

  “I spent Christmas Eve trapped in a car with Marcus Winnamore.”

  One side of Marc’s mouth lifted in a sideways grin. “Ass.” He pulled hi
s phone out and checked for a signal. Nothing. “Dammit. Check your phone.”

  Light flashed across Henry’s face as he woke his cell. “One bar. Who should I call?”

  “Shelly Flores. It’s her building and her stupid sign on the elevator. She can send someone down to rescue us.”

  “What’s her number?”

  Digits related and entered, Henry dialed and pressed the phone to his ear. His expression brightened, then dimmed in the low light. He pulled the phone away and peered at the screen again. “Lost my bar.”

  They messed with both phones for ten minutes, each minute measured by an ominous tick in Marc’s head. The phantom display read nine thirty in big, creepy luminous digits by the time they were done. Two and a half hours until midnight, and no one had tried the door.

  With a short sigh, Henry slid down the wall to a seated position on one side of the hall. Marc copied him, sitting on the other side. Their legs intersected in the middle. Henry closed his ankles around one of Marc’s for a second before letting go.

  “So,” he said.

  “So.” Marc played with his phone. Lighting the screen, shuffling through his apps, staring through all of it.

  “Not going to say this is my worst first date ever. It’s not over yet.”

  Marc looked up with another smile. What was it about Henry? He was as unassuming as they came. Good-looking, but not showy with it. He had the wholesome thing going, and having met his family over Christmas, Marc could see why. The Auttenbergs were all like Henry. Quiet, but in a warm and cozy way. Any lack of conversation was due to an ability to exist comfortably in one another’s presence.

  “You’ve had a worse date than this?” he asked.

  Henry made a small noise in his throat. “Heck yeah. I told you about the guy who nearly broke my jaw, right?”

  “You mentioned it. Someone who wasn’t quite straight, but not ready to be gay?”

  Sighing, Henry rubbed the side of his face. “Tell me about your worst date.”