“Yes,” Paul replied, nodding, “like them. Don’t you want something more than meaningless sex?”
Alex decided he had nothing to lose by telling the truth. “Of course I want something more.” Bitterness crept into his voice. “I’ve never found anyone who saw past the money to who I really am.”
“What?” Paul shouted, eyes widening. “All you’ve ever known were poor excuses for lovers like Jordan? Someone who’d walk away for the right price?”
Judging from his reaction, Paul definitely didn’t travel in the same circles Alex did, where such behavior wasn’t only accepted, but expected. Maybe Alex hung out with the wrong people. “Pretty much,” he replied.
“How awful for you. Have you never had anyone to love you for you?”
The answer was a resounding “No” even if Alex chose not to voice it. The truth was, even in bed with another living, breathing human being or two—hell, even in the middle of a crowded club with his so-called friends—Alex felt alone. He didn’t like solitude nearly as much as he pretended to.
Capturing Paul’s angular face between his hands, he forced Paul’s head up until their eyes met. “What do you see when you look at me?” Alex leaned in, lips inches away from Paul’s. He wanted badly to close the distance. Hearing Alfred’s words replaying themselves in his head stopped him. He’d sworn to take responsibility for his actions, and he’d made a promise he intended to keep.
Glistening eyes, grieving now for someone else’s loneliness and not because of a manipulative ex-lover, studied him intently. Paul took a deep breath and then answered, “I see someone who was given everything he wanted and nothing he needed.”
“What do you think I need, Paul?” Given the man’s unique insight, Alex genuinely anticipated the answer.
It didn’t disappoint; Paul kissed him. Though merely a brief meeting of lips, it meant more than Alex could ever explain.
“Do you still want me?” Paul murmured as he withdrew.
The question was even more unexpected than the kiss, and when Alex hesitated, Paul asked again, “You still want to sleep with me, right?”
Part of Alex yelled“Yes!”but no way would he accept the offer, not under the circumstances. Though it killed him to do so, he shook his head. “How’s a pity fuck from you different from what I have now? I don’t want you to sleep with me because you feel sorry for me, or so I can wipe away the memory of another man.
“You don’t want me, Paul. I don’t know what you want, but I’m certain it isn’t me.” How ironic that, after all his fantasies of having Paul in his bed again, now knowing he wasn’t betraying his uncle, he couldn’t accept the offer. “You know, if someone had told me earlier tonight that I’d be turning you down, I’d have said they were crazy. You may have uttered the words, but you don’t mean them, and it’s you, Byron, and Uncle Alfred who taught me not to settle. I’m a little late getting the message, but it’s finally sunk in. Good night, Paul.” With those words, Alex did the hardest thing he’d ever done—turned his back on what he wanted most in the world and went to bed alone.
16
LATER, lying in bed, Paul mulled over the unexpected turn of events. Would wonders never cease? Aside from the teasing, innuendo, and blatant offers, when it came down to the real deal, Alex had said no. Unfortunately, the offer was dead serious, even if, upon further reflection, Paul’s timing left a lot to be desired.
Damn Jordan for showing up tonight! Paul had loved him fiercely once, or rather, loved Jordan’s false advertising. Now it no longer mattered whether the man dealt with his issues. His gambling habit only tipped the iceberg when it came to their problems. He’d never be capable of a mature, loving commitment without being on the constant lookout for someone better, richer, or more powerful.
Players didn’t change. At least, Jordan couldn’t; could Alex? Had he truly repented of his philandering ways?
Paul’s conscience pointed out that he’d been forgiving enough to stay with a man who’d used him, but judged Alex before meeting the guy. His libido added,That was one hell of a night in his bed.While not enough to base a relationship on, it beat anything from Paul’s past.
Under Alex’s superior façade hid a complex man who doted on Alfred and had truly cared about Byron. And when Paul hurt, seeking comfort in Alex’s embrace seemed totally natural. He recalled consoling arms holding him in the car. No words were necessary; actions spoke louder. Plus, Alex had kept his promise, with the exception of one kiss in the garden, which, truthfully, Paul had quite enjoyed.
Tonight, when asked point-blank, Alex said no. Did integrity lurk beneath the conceited, unfeeling mask, causing him to refuse? Well, if Alex ran, Paul would give chase. Mind made up, he announced into the quiet of his bedroom, “Alex Martin, you will be mine.”
Of course, it wasn’t simply the room witnessing his confession. With his eyes closed, he didn’t notice the gathering shadows crossing the floor and disappearing through the bedroom door.
WELL, well, how promising. Especially since Byron had expected Paul to be harder to convince, relying on Alex’s famed skill as a seducer to win over his naïve nephew. How could he forget the boy’s innate ability to find good in everyone?
He’d worried when the gigolo made an appearance, given Paul’s onetime love for Jordan. In the end, the fiasco advanced Byron’s plans, paving the way for a little soul baring. The following conversation saddened him, and he grieved the wrongs done to both young men that shattered their youthful dreams. If understanding grew from shared pain, however, the grief might prove worth the end result.
As shocked as Paul at Alex’s refusal, after hearing his nephew’s declaration, Byron hurried to find the other half of the equation and gauge Alex’s reaction. Following a fruitless search of the blue room, Alfred’s office, and the kitchen, Byron finally located Alex in the gym, beating the hell out of the heavy bag.
Oh, quite promising indeed. Apparently, Paul had gotten under Alex’s skin. It wouldn’t be long now.
Elated at the night’s progress and proud of his lover for coercing their nephews into a date, Byron hurried to the bedroom he’d shared with Alfred for so many years, coming to an abrupt halt just inside the door. Triumph turned to terror. Alfred lay upon the bed, clutching his chest. His pain-clouded blue eyes met Byron’s, opening wide.
“Byron!” Alfred croaked.
Byron froze. Alfred could see him—because Alfred was dying.
17
