Easing the door open, Alex stared into what appeared to be a store room, judging from pedestals, racks, and packing crates haphazardly strewn about the cramped space. In a far corner, Paul stood with his back toward the door, body rigid and hands on his hips. About to intervene, Alex froze when another man stepped into view.
“Oh, babe, please stay,” a masculine and surprisingly smooth voice pleaded. “I’ve missed you so badly.”
The stranger turning entreating eyes on Paul was drop-dead gorgeous, with wheat-blond curls and dark, wide-set brown eyes. Dressed to perfection in an expensive tuxedo, he made an impressive sight. However, he couldn’t hold a candle to Paul, in Alex’s opinion.
“Don’t call me that,” Paul hissed from between clenched teeth, body trembling with barely controlled emotion. Alex hoped for righteous indignation.
“I made a mistake,” the faithless man whined, and Alex couldn’t agree more. “Please, Paul. Please give me another chance.”
The room grew quiet, and Alex waited for the words that would make one of Paul’s prospective suitors happy and leave the other disappointed. Tears dampening his cheeks, Paul turned and confronted his former lover, hands balled tightly into fists at his sides. “I told you before: I don’t believe in reruns. No matter how many times you watch the show, the characters never change, and neither does the ending.”
“Oh, Ihavechanged, really, and if you give me a chance….” The handsome snake in the grass stepped forward, arms spread wide. Alex tensed, ready for battle. He retreated into the shadows when Paul sidestepped the embrace.
“No, Jordan. I’m sorry, I can’t do this again.” Paul lifted his pointed chin defiantly. “I notice you’ve waited until now to talk to me. My uncle’s been dying for months. Did I even once receive a phone call asking about his health? No, you only tracked me down tonight because you think he left me money.”
“It’s not like that!” Jordan protested. Even from ten feet away Alex could tell the man lied.
“Please, just go,” Paul hissed, body trembling like a tightly wound spring. Alex knew from experience how hot Paul’s temper flared and hoped Jordan did too. Though he might despise Edmond personally, the man didn’t deserve to have his party interrupted by a fistfight.
Shoulders slumped in defeat, Jordan slunk away. “Well, you have my number if you change your mind. I really do love you, Paul.” Alex ducked behind a stack of canvases. Jordan cautiously opened the door and slipped through, bored expression and rolling eyes belying his words.
Creeping from the room moments later, Paul’s tear-streaked face proved he’d indeed loved Jordan, and possibly held lingering feelings for the jerk. Didn’t Alfred say the affair ended over a year ago? With the turmoil caused by Byron’s illness and the subsequent upset of the Anderson household, quite possibly Paul hadn’t the time or energy for closure, and a year wasn’t actually a long time.
Easing back into the crowded gallery, Alex located Edmond and confirmed that, as a commissioned piece, the painting of the two boys had been sold to Byron Sinclair as a gift for his lover. Recalling his uncle’s words, “You’ll know it when you see it,” he realized he’d been set up. The matter had already been taken care of, confirmed by Edmond’s offhand remark, “… when I talked to your uncle last week to arrange delivery.” Why, the sly rascal. It seemed his uncle provided an opportunity to make up with Paul. Well, there was certainly one thing Alex believed might help.
After much discussion about pigments and hues, Edmond named a price, and Alex pulled out his checkbook. He paid for the storm scene, suspecting he’d been given a discount due to his uncle and because he asked the artist not to tell Paul, implying the painting would be a gift. Paul’s obvious adoration of the work insured that Alex couldn’t let the painting go to anyone else, “special meaning to the family” notwithstanding. If Paul liked the painting, he’d have it, even if Alex had to be sneaky in giving it to him. However, Alex swore to himself to pay Edmond back in full for naming such a low price, even if not monetarily. Connections within the artistic communities of Houston and Boston would make it well worth the artist’s sacrifice.
After shaking hands and promising to attend the gallery’s next event, Alex headed off in search of Paul, hoping to prevent another run-in with Jordan. Alex found him in front of the commissioned painting. “Can we go home now?” Paul asked without meeting Alex’s eyes.
“If you’d like,” Alex replied, though it was exactly what he’d wanted to ask.
Paul face appeared red and blotchy. “I’d like,” he said, rushing past on his way to the door, calling over his shoulder, “Would you say goodbye to Edmond for me?”
Wanting nothing more than to simply leave and save Paul from unpleasant memories, Alex felt obliged to accomplish one final task. “Certainly. You go out to the car. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Having already said their goodbyes to Edmond, he used the excuse to seek out the sleaze from the storeroom, needing to prove the man a slut with no true feelings for Paul. Alex found Jordan, as artfully arranged and as much on display as any of Edmond’s creations. He carefully pushed back his sleeve to reveal his Rolex, pasted on his most beguiling smile, and sauntered over, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing tray. “Mind if I ask you a question?” he began, presenting the glass to his quarry. His fingertips caressed Jordan’s palm.
Assessing eyes raked over him, measuring his worth, widening appreciatively at the expensive watch. Alex must have passed inspection, for Jordan accepted the champagne with a playful grin. One long, elegant finger circled the rim of glass. “Thanks,” he said with a seductive purr. “I’m Jordan.” Stepping close enough to rub his body against Alex, Jordan leaned in and whispered, “What’s your question?”
“You’ve already answered it.” The blatant display and hand groping Alex’s ass left little doubt about what Jordan assumed the question would be. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Alex said, forcibly removing the hand from his posterior, “I have someone waiting who’d never offer himself to the highest bidder.” Ignoring Jordan’s stuttering outrage, he spun on his heel and followed Paul out the door, winking at the sniggering waiter who’d borne witness to the exchange.
His smug triumph lasted until he climbed into the waiting car. Paul huddled sullenly in the far corner of the backseat, and Alex fought the urge to go back inside and give the fickle asshole a piece of his mind. Fortunately for Jordan, getting Paul home took priority.
His heart sank when Paul slid farther away, distancing himself. That wouldn’t do. Paul needed comfort right now, not solitude. Unable to stand the man’s obvious discomfort any longer, Alex wrapped an arm around Paul and pulled him close, ignoring the indignant “Hey!” and halfhearted resistance.
“Shh…,” Alex murmured. “You need it, take it.” Paul stopped protesting and snuggled into the embrace, relaxing against Alex with a heavy sigh. Buckling them both in, Alex met Isaac’s eyes in the rearview mirror, commenting, “Traffic’s a bit heavy tonight.”
Understanding his meaning, Isaac nodded. “Yes, it is. Maybe I should try another route.” He took a right at the next traffic light to take the long way home.
If holding Paul was all Alex could hope for, he’d make it last for as long as he could.
15
“HE’Ssleeping pretty soundly,” Paul observed, gazing down at Alfred’s peacefully slumbering form. “I was hoping to say good night.”
“We can’t wake him,” Alex replied, “he needs his rest.” He and Paul stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the steady rise and fall of the blankets. His rational mind told him to say good night, but he hesitated. Paul still appeared unhinged by the encounter with Jordan. An idea sprang to life. Though he anticipated Paul shooting him down, he asked, “How about a cup of tea?”
Paul’s eyes clouded with suspicion. Then his wary expression softened, and with a barely perceptible nod, he agreed.
