“There you go, then,” he said with a nod instead of prying. “If Art has faith that you can get back into the industry with this show, even if you just do what you can instead of changing the world, then I think so, too.”
A slow smile spread over Ryan’s face. “Is that what the two of you were talking about in the garden? Are you tag-teaming me or something?”
Graeme’s imagination immediately assigned a dirty meaning to “tag-teaming”. He had no idea if it was a real thing or not, but he imagined himself and Art taking turns fucking Ryan until they all came.
He had to swallow and shake his head to chase the wildly inappropriate image away.
“What I mean is, instead of grinding away in search of perfection, why don’t you just pick some fabric that you love and start there?” he asked, voice rough.
Ryan’s smile turned almost but not quite condescending. “It doesn’t work that way, love,” he said.
“Oh.” Graeme felt suddenly awkward.
“Come on,” Ryan sighed, straightening, reaching for Graeme’s hand, and pulling him to his feet. “I’m due to meet with Gloria in fifteen minutes, and it’s a ten-minute walk from here.” He must have seen the emotion in Graeme’s eyes, because he took Graeme’s hand, squeezed it, and said, “Picking fabric I like and starting from there isn’t a half bad idea, really. Maybe that’s what I need at this point.”
He was just being nice. He didn’t really love the suggestion. But there was something lovely about saying that anyhow. It meant he was conscious of Graeme’s feelings, which was something Graeme had never been able to say about anyone in his life before. Except Art. It felt good that Ryan didn’t let go of his hand as they left the fabric shop as well.
It was definitely a day for Graeme to be exposed to things he didn’t know about and that had never touched his world. The converted warehouse Ryan took him to was a revelation about how clothing was made. Gloria, a woman who ran a bespoke sewing operation—Graeme wanted to call it a sweat-shop, but he had the feeling that the dozen or so women and two men who toiled away there were paid far, far more than maybe even he was—ran a tight ship. She was a short Asian woman who, Ryan explained, had a wealth of experience, not to mention an advanced degree, in textile design and construction.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Ryan said as he handed over the portfolio of designs he’d been working on. “Maybe you can make sense of some of this.”
Graeme stood aside and watched as Gloria hummed and pored through Ryan’s illustrations. She made suggestions about construction of certain elements, but she didn’t once try to impose her style or make design suggestions. Graeme thought that was incredibly professional of her, even though he also felt like Ryan was desperate for someone to give him direction.
They were just wrapping things up, and Graeme honestly couldn’t tell if the meeting had gone well or if Ryan was frustrated, when a stunningly attractive, silver-haired man in a perfect suit walked into the busy workshop. The man had such a powerful presence that Graeme immediately stood straight instead of leaning against the table where Ryan and Gloria were talking. He even smiled reflexively when the man looked his way.
It wasn’t until the man opened his mouth and said, “Well, well, what a lovely coincidence,” in a deep, Italian-accented voice that Graeme started to have a sense of looming disaster.
Ryan snapped straight so fast and turned to glare at the man with such emotion that Graeme knew at once he had to be Giorgio Esposito.
“You’re early,” Gloria told the man, more like she was irritated that he wasn’t keeping to a schedule than with any indication that she knew Giorgio and Ryan had a past.
“Only by twenty minutes,” Giorgio shrugged with typical Italian charm.
“Giorgio,” Ryan greeted the man frostily.
“Ryan Hawthorne,” Giorgio purred the name.
Graeme actually found himself stepping back to watch the two of them like they were on the telly as Giorgio reached the table. Giorgio hadn’t acknowledged him at all, and weirdly, Graeme was grateful for that.
“What are you doing here?” Ryan asked.
“The same question was on my lips,” Giorgio said, like he expected Ryan to answer first.
“I’m not going to have to turn the fire hose on the two of you, am I?” Gloria asked.
“Certainly not,” Ryan snapped, eyes still locked with Giorgio’s. “Never before and never now.”
Giorgio merely laughed, making it sound low and sexy, like he’d already won whatever battle the two of them had been engaged in.
Graeme’s mind filled in the blanks automatically. Filled them in with Art’s voice, as if Art stood just behind his shoulder, whispering lewd suggestions to him. There was heat between the two men, although most if not all of it seemed to be coming from Giorgio. Clearly, the older man wanted Ryan. The hunger was there in his face. But it was more like Ryan was a prize than a lover.
Graeme blinked and sucked in a breath. Giorgio was Damien. He would have bet a million pounds on it. He wanted to conquer Ryan, but he didn’t actually want him. Was that why Ryan hadn’t said anything about what had happened? And whathadhappened anyhow? Had Ryan been as foolish as he’d been, fallen for the sexy promises, and been dumped on his arse?
“If you’ll excuse me, Gloria and I are still talking about my collection,” Ryan said. “You can wait your turn.”
“What, like you waited yours?” Giorgio said, his grin turning derisive.
Graeme hated the man then. He was smug and gloating, not smooth and charming, like he’d first thought. He was a snake in snake’s clothing. Art would have hated him, too.
