Quinn's Hart Read Free

himself.
    "I'm Josh Hart. I'm thirty-one, and I'm a pediatrician." Josh grinned and added, "And I'm starving. Can we eat?"
    Everyone laughed. The travel company employee reminded them of breakfast at nine in the morning and directed them to the buffet line. Quinn took his time getting there. He picked up a plate and selected a few things that looked good, hoping his appetite would return when his nerves let up a bit.
    He dawdled so long he had to take the last seat at one of the two large tables. Josh was at the other table, as was Damien. Their table laughed and talked like old friends. The table Quinn joined had a more subdued atmosphere, for which he was grateful. He pushed his food around and listened to the talk around him, trying to get up the courage to make eye contact with someone, or contribute to the conversation.
    He could almost hear his father yelling, "Speak up! Be a man. What the hell is wrong with you?" Of course an abusive drunk who had died young wasn't the best person to take advice from. None of his father's "lessons" had ever taken, anyway. No amount of yelling or beating had knocked the shyness out of him.
    Laughter from the other table caught Quinn's attention, and he raised his eyes to find Josh saying something that must have been funny, gesturing with his long, slim hands as he spoke. From the rapt attention and amusement on the faces of the other men at his table, it was obvious Josh had them all in the palm of his hand. But who wouldn't be enthralled? The man was gorgeous and funny, and he seemed kind as well, judging from the way he'd diverted the women's attention from Quinn in the shuttle earlier. Or maybe he'd done that for his own reasons and not to help Quinn at all.
    Quinn sighed and lowered his gaze back to his plate. There was no point in even looking. He wasn't going to talk to the man. If he tried he would turn into a shy, bumbling idiot and make a fool out of himself. Even at his age, he still froze up every time he tried to talk to a man he found attractive. Flashbacks of being taunted or ignored in high school and of being too scared to try in college paralyzed him. Afterward, when the moment passed, he always ended up berating himself for missing an opportunity yet again.
    Dessert arrived. After the plates of chocolate cake were delivered, the travel agency employee announced, "Anyone who got a black plate needs to get up and switch tables."
    A quick glance at his plate revealed he would have to switch. Quinn stood and carried his dessert to the other table. He sat beside a small man with dyed black hair and the tightest shirt he'd ever seen.
    The man grinned at him and tossed his long bangs out of his face. "You're a big one, aren't you? I like that. I'm Clay, in case you forgot." He pointed to his name tag as if trying to draw attention to his chest. Then he held out his hand to shake, eyeing Quinn up and down avidly.
    "Quinn." Quinn had no choice but to take the offered hand. He shook and tried to let go, but Clay wouldn't let him. For such a little thing, he had quite a grip, and Quinn didn't want to hurt him.
    He managed to extract his hand after a long moment. Heat crept into his cheeks. He'd never been comfortable with being stared at, and Clay was definitely staring.
    The smaller man leaned closer to him. "Do you have plans for tonight?"
    Not jerking back took up most of his concentration. He muttered, "Um, no."
    Clay's voice lowered to a near-purr. He ran his hand up Quinn's bicep. "Good. Want to come up to my room, tie me up, and spank me 'til I come?"
    The other men at the table stopped their conversations and turned to stare at Clay and Quinn. Quinn's mouth dropped open. At first, he was certain he couldn't have heard what he thought he'd heard. Tie up a total stranger and spank him? Not likely.
    Did Clay think because Quinn was large he liked to hurt people? He got that reaction a lot, and hated it. He didn't want to hurt people, or have meaningless sex with someone who