Page 1 of Waiting for a Prince (Island Tales #1)

Chapter One

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Mark Horrocks wasn’t sure where he’d gotten the impression life as a hair stylist was fabulous, with customers beating down his door just to get an appointment with him, but his present situation was as far from that fantasy as it was possible to get.

Let’s face it, I was lucky to get this job.

The salon was in Ryde, one of the major dropping-off points on the Isle of Wight.

Not that visitors would actually see it.

Union Street was the place to be seen, the steep road that led down to the Esplanade train station and the long pier, at the end of which was the FastCat, one of a few ways of accessing the island.

The salon where Mark worked?

Arse end of nowhere.

His dream job would be working in a swanky salon, with lackeys who did nothing all day but make tea and coffee for clients, while ladies reclined in chairs, enjoying a head massage.

Mark would swan around in elegant, expensive clothes, conversing with his adoring patrons, a snip here, a snip there, and voila, every woman left the place looking like one of the Kardashians, or that woman who was in all the L’Oréal adverts, the one who kept telling women they were worth it.

The reality?

A poky little salon with three chairs, two hairdryers, two sinks, a kitchen so tiny he had to step outside it to change his mind, and an even tinier back room for those rare moments when he wasn’t working.

Not forgetting the red leather couch for customers, that had seen better days. And as for the lackeys?

That would be Mark.

“I really feel sorry for that poor bloke.”

Mark paused momentarily in his task of dying the new hair extension pieces.

“Which bloke?” Not that he was about to let anything distract him for more than a second or two.

Marie had already given him the evil eye twice that morning, and if he didn’t get this finished, there was every possibility her next words would be the ‘ there are loads of wannabe hairdressers out there just clamouring to get into your shoes ’ talk—again.

Why do I put up with it?

That was easy. Mark hoped it would get better.

He gave a cursory glance around the salon.

What the hell is Wendy talking about?

“We haven’t got any male customers in here at the moment,” he muttered, irritated that she’d spoiled his concentration. Hopefully she’d take the hint and leave him to it.

Wendy’s huff a moment later dashed that hope.

“He’s not a customer, silly. I think his girlfriend or wife has dragged him here with her.

Poor fella.” She nudged his arm and almost sent the bowl containing the hair dye into a dive over the unit.

She made a noise of insincere apology. Mark scowled and ignored her as he carefully sponged the dye over each tress, taking extra pains to ensure it got an even coverage.

“Look over there,” she whispered. “On the couch in the window.”

Oh, for God’s sake, woman, leave me alone .

Mark dropped the sponge into the bowl and straightened, about to tell Wendy where to go, when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and the skin on his arms erupted into a heavy dose of goosebumps. He twisted around, half-knowing what he was about to see.

Marie was there all right, her eyes boring into him.

Oh hell.

That was all he needed. He winced, preparing himself for the inevitable request for ‘ a word, please, Mark .’ Christ, he was hearing that more and more these days.

“Mark, can you come over here a minute please, sweetie?”

Sonia’s melodic voice carried above the chatter and the low, unobtrusive music playing in the background.

Mark could have kissed her. He hung up the hairpiece and crossed the salon floor to where Sonia had just finished speaking with her client, all the while doing his best to avoid Marie’s steely gaze.

He mouthed Thank you .

Sonia’s eyes twinkled. “Mark, would you make my lady a cup of tea, please?” It was sweet of her, stepping into the fray like that, but Mark knew Marie would still have her pound of flesh at the end of the day. Sonia leaned lower to speak to her client. “Milk and sugar?”

The woman in the chair gave a bored nod.

“Just milk, please.” Mark met her gaze in the mirror and smiled politely.

With nothing more than a slight stretching of her lips, she went back to reading the celebrity magazine on her lap while Sonia readied the shiny strips of foil required for the hair colour.

Mark studied the client. She was quite pretty but there was a permanent crease between her eyes.

Her lips were thin, reminding Mark of his mum.

He couldn’t tell what she was wearing due to the black salon cape which pretty much covered her entirely, but he glanced down at her feet.

Expensive-looking shoes. Jimmy Choos, if I’m not mistaken.

Aha . Comes from money. Mark didn’t recall seeing her in the salon before.

Most of Hair Today’s clientele were down-to-earth ladies who always had a kind word and a smile for the staff.

He sent her a silent message. Smile, lady. It won’t break your face.

Then he reconsidered. Maybe she’s just having a bad day. Everyone has them, right?

And if Marie caught up with him, he’d be having one right now.

Sonia moved to the red leather couch by the window. Mark followed her movement, and his heart gave a jolt.

Oh yeah, baby …

The man reclining awkwardly on the couch was tall, maybe over six feet, judging by those long legs stretched out in front of him.

I love me a tall man.

Mark bit his lip as he took in the diamond stud in the guy’s left ear. His gaze travelled lower, and he caught his breath at the sight of the man’s nipple rings, pressed against his white long-sleeved shirt. Not to mention the dark swirls of a tattoo hidden from view but visible, nonetheless.

Mark’s body reacted in a heartbeat—the sight went straight to his dick.

Oh honey, you are my idea of heaven . Tending toward the skinny side of lean, with short brown hair.

Just how Mark liked his men. Not that he often got the chance to hook up with such men.

Often? My neighbour’s cat gets more action than I do.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Sonia offered kindly. “While you’re waiting?”

Mark’s future husband opened his mouth to speak but the woman cut him off.

“He doesn’t want a drink.” She swivelled in her chair to stare at him. “Do you, Sam? I mean, I’m not even sure why you’re still here.” She arched her eyebrows. “You don’t have to wait for me, not if there’s something more important you need to be doing.”

Sam lowered his gaze to the floor. “No, everything’s done for the day.

” God, even his voice was dreamy. “I’ll just sit here, if that’s okay, and wait till you’re done.

” And then a pair of blue eyes came into view and Mark went weak at the knees.

“But actually, I would like a cup of tea, if it’s no trouble. Milk with two sugars.”

It took a second or two for it to register that Sam was addressing Mark.

“Sure.” Mark knew his cheeks were red. They always heated up when he got flustered.

Why the hell do I have to blush so easily?

He escaped into the little kitchen behind the reception desk and set about making two cups of tea.

While he waited for the kettle to boil, he had a surreptitious glance through the open door at the gorgeous specimen.

Dear God, he has long legs . They were lean, encased in a sinfully tight pair of fashionably worn jeans.

Mark couldn’t help taking a sneaky peek at Sam’s package.

He let out a quiet whimper. And it looks as if he’s hung .

That was all it took for Mark’s imagination to take him on a little trip.

Those long, lean legs wrapped around his waist while he fucked Sam through the mattress, those blue eyes staring wildly up at him as Mark nailed him repeatedly, that sexy voice begging Mark not to stop, to fuck him deeper…

Then reality bit hard. It’s not gonna happen, babe. One, the guy is straight, and two, even if he were gay by some miracle — Please God — no way would that Adonis be a bottom . Mark let out a heavy sigh.

Reality really sucked. And not in a good way.

Mark carried one cup into the salon, and placed it in front of the woman, then returned to the kitchen to pick up Sam’s cup. He set it down on the low table in front of the couch. Sam glanced up at him and gave a brief tight smile. God, those eyes were even more heavenly up close.

“Thanks.” The word was almost a whisper.

Mark flashed a quick smile. “No problem, hon.” His cheeks flamed as Sam arched his eyebrows and he scooted out of there as fast as his legs could carry him, back to the sanctuary of the tiny kitchen.

Hidden from view, Mark leaned against the wall, expelling the air from his lungs in a long, shaky breath.

Way to go, Mark. Could you have seemed any more gay ? He gave himself a mental kick up the backside, his cheeks finally cooling.

“Why are you hiding in here?”

Mark almost hit the ceiling. “Fuck, Sonia, don’t do that. I’ve warned you about sneaking up on me like that.” He clutched his chest.

Sonia rolled her eyes, grinning. “Get over it, stop being a drama queen,” she snickered. She poked a slim finger at his chest. “You hiding from Marie or what?” That grin was pure evil.

“Not exactly.” He peered around her to see if Sam was looking his way. OMG, he was staring toward the kitchen. Mark ducked his head back in. Sonia’s eyes danced with amusement, and she peered into the salon. “Sonia! Don’t look,” he implored her.

Sonia’s face lit up. “Ah, it’s like that , is it?” There was that evil grin again. “Does he push your buttons, sweetie?”

Mark groaned. “Every single fucking one of them. What could only make him more perfect would be if he happened to be gay.”