Scorched Edges Read Free Page A

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    In Beau’s opinion, blackout blinds were one of the best inventions ever. Whoever thought them up deserved a Nobel Prize. He’d gotten a quizzical reaction from the shop assistant on the day he’d ordered them as she was more used to expectant mothers buying them for nursery installation. Beau was male, not pregnant, and therefore a curiosity. When he’d explained that he worked odd shifts as a firefighter and needed to sleep during the day sometimes she not only gave him a hefty discount but slipped him her phone number as well.
    Beau’s home was a loft-style apartment in a converted grain warehouse. The landlord, an ex-cop lottery winner, rented the spacious units out to service personnel at peppercorn rents. Beau’s neighbors consisted of policemen, other firemen, nurses, a couple of paramedics… There was even a guy who worked river rescue on the Thames. Beau was incredibly fortunate to have such a luxurious place to live so close to the center of the city and an easy walk from work. His unit was in a prime position on the top floor. The windows were huge and in the morning the sunlight poured through them. The blinds had been his first purchase after he’d moved in and a lot of his friends had followed suit, taking their business to the kind young lady who’d treated Beau well. He’d heard that she was now dating a police sergeant who lived on the first floor.
    Beau lay on his second major purchase—a supremely comfortable king-sized bed—and tried to decide whether or not he could be bothered to drag his lazy ass out of it to make coffee. The whole getting-up dilemma was solved for him when his phone rang. Instead of putting it on the bedside table, within easy reach, Beau had left it on the dresser along with his wallet and loose change and keys.
    “Fuck.” He kicked back the duvet then rolled out of bed and reached the phone before the third ring. He didn’t recognize the number. “Beauman,” he answered the call.
    “Um, hello?”
    Beau’s morning grumpiness instantly disappeared when he recognized the hesitant voice. “Marty, why are you asking me a question? Didn’t Becket give you this number?”
    “He did, and he told me I had to call you…ordered me actually. But I wasn’t sure if you really wanted me to…”
    Beau could just imagine Becket issuing instructions. “I’m very glad he did and delighted that you called. I’ve been meaning to get in touch for a while. What are you doing this evening, Marty?”
    “I… um… Well, I was planning on reading a new book I’ve got on Fermat’s Last Theorem and ordering takeout… Why do you want to know?” He sounded adorably confused.
    “How about trading that for a date with me?” Beau asked. “I don’t know who this bloke Fermat is, but I’d hope to be more stimulating company.” The silence that followed was long enough that Beau began to wonder if he’d been cut off.
    “Fermatwas a French mathematician who’s given credit for early developments that led to infinitesimal calculus, including the technique of adequality. He researched number theory, analytic geometry, probability and optics. But you don’t care about that… Sorry. You really want to go out with me?”
    “Why do you sound so surprised?” Beau grinned at the receiver.
    “But you’re so… And I’m just… And I don’t, I mean…”
    “Marty… I’ll pick you up at seven. What’s your address?” Beau let a little of his inner Dom filter into his voice. Marty immediately reeled off the details. He responds so well to orders. One hundred percent sub…definitely. Beau listened to Marty’s short, fast breaths.
    “I have your number now, so if I’m delayed for any reason, I’ll give you a call. I’ll look forward to our evening very much, Marty… See you later.”
    “Yes… This evening. Thank you!” There was a thump and the line went dead. Beau guessed that Marty had dropped his phone.
    Beau made himself a coffee and crawled back into bed with