Emilio shrugged again. “Sure, you can do whatever you want. I realized a long time ago that what someone wants most is almost never the right thing for them.”
Rayne didn’t have to wonder if that barb was aimed at him or not. “I’m sorry if me being here upsets you, but do you think we could declare a truce for the sake of the playhouse?”
“For the playhouse? I can do that. After all, my livelihood and myfutureare dependent on it. That’s why I’ll fight to protect it. Holiday Pines is more than just a project to me, more than a place I’m using to escape something else. It’s my home, Rayne.” Emilio gave him an intense look. “Since it looks like you aren’t going to ruin it the way I feared, I’ll help.”
“I appreciate it,” Rayne said drily, and he couldn’t resist poking at Emilio a little. “You can keep an eye on the restoration and make sure I don’t turn the playhouse into a replica of a Vegas casino, flashing neon lights and all.”
Emilio huffed. It wasn’t quite amusement, yet it was the closest Emilio had come to it that Rayne had yet seen. “Trust me, if you’d presented something like that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. No doubt you’ve forgotten my favorite story from Mrs. Drummond’s English class, but it would work nicely.”
“Would you brick me up in the walls of the playhouse or the dance studio?” Rayne asked. He remembered how much Emilio had liked Poe—“The Cask of Amontillado” in particular—and he thought his guess was correct.
“Oh, it would have to be the studio,” Emilio replied, his voice becoming a silken purr. “After all, I would have to keep your tomb hidden. That’s probably the only way I could have kept you with me anyway.”
“Twelve years ago, sure,” Rayne said, trying to ignore how the throaty timbre of Emilio’s voice made his toes curl. “You could have spent all this time literally dancing on my grave. Now…” He shrugged slightly. “It might be a little harder to get rid of me.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be making any effort to make you stay.” Emilio stepped away, his lips twisting. “A truce, then. For the playhouse.”
“For the playhouse.” Rayne extended his hand, partly because he wanted to goad Emilio, but mostly because he wanted to see if the chemistry they’d once shared was still there.
Emilio looked at Rayne’s hand for a moment as though it was something dangerous, then he reluctantly took it. Emilio’s long, slender fingers were warm as they slid against Rayne’s, and his grip had surprising strength. “I’m warning you now, though -- if I see one bit of neon lighting, our agreement is off.”
Rayne instinctively tightened his fingers around Emilio’s as an old, familiar tingle rushed along his nerve endings, followed by the heat of rekindled attraction. “No neon,” he said, voice rough as he met and held Emilio’s gaze. “I promise.”
There might have been an answering flash of heat in Emilio’s brown eyes, but then he released Rayne’s hand. “Good. Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Yes,” Rayne said dryly, thinking about the long hours he’d be putting in at the playhouse over the next few weeks. “You will.”
“Well, until then.” Emilio once again ran his hand through his hair and then walked away.
Rayne watched him go, absently rubbing his palm where he felt phantom sparks from Emilio’s touch. The chemistry was still there, but the trust was gone. Rayne would have to work hard just to be able to call Emilio his friend once more. Anything further seemed almost impossible… but that didn’t stop Rayne from wanting to try.
