Love in the Shadows

by Dylan Madrid

  He resembled a Roman god, moving away from the shore and onto the sand, where he reached down, picked up a white towel, and slung it around his neck and shoulders. The way the setting sun kissed his skin was almost a form of worship, casting a fading golden glow over and around him. He stopped, standing motionless in the wet sand, staring. Quintin stood frozen against the wooden railing of the deck, feeling the connection between them—even from far away. He knew Luca had spotted him. Quintin felt like he could not breathe, watching and waiting.

  Finally, Quintin moved. He stood at the top of a wooden staircase, debating with himself for only a second or two. Impulse won, and he hurried down the steps and stepped onto the sand in his black loafers.

  How ridiculous do I look? He’s going to laugh at the sight of me. I might as well get this over with.

  Their eyes met.

  Quintin knew Luca Russo was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. He was tall and had broad shoulders. His skin was wet from the salty seawater. His dark hair was slicked back, out of his face, revealing warm brown eyes that bored into the center of Quintin’s being as the two men approached each other.

  They stood, face-to-face.

  “I’ve come a long way to see you, Luca Russo,” Quintin said, hoping his nervous smile didn’t reveal how terrified he felt.

  Luca smiled, and Quintin felt like his breath had been stolen from his body. “Here I am,” he replied in that delicious Italian accent. “In the flesh.”

  Quintin’s eyes drifted over Luca’s dark chest hair, his hardened nipples, his defined abs. “I see that.”

  Did he just blush? I think he did. I embarrassed him. Surely he knows he’s hot.

  A bead of water trailed down the center of his furry chest, disappearing into the dark treasure trail above the waistband of his red trunks. “I wasn’t certain if you were going to accept my invitation,” Luca said.

  “Has anyone ever refused you before?” Quintin asked. His body was still trembling from the inside out, but the nerves were starting to subside—a little.

  “Yes,” Luca said, “but only few have lived to tell about it.”

  “I’m a little scared,” Quintin said.

  Luca raised an eyebrow. “Of me?”

  “Because I’m not sure how true that statement is.”

  “That statement?” he repeated.

  “What do you do for a living?” Quintin asked.

  “Is this information important to you?” said Luca. Quintin nodded in reply. “I work for a government agency.”

  “That sounds kind of vague,” he said. “Can you be more specific?”

  “Later,” Luca promised. “Now…I want to cook us some dinner, share a bottle of wine with you, and kiss those beautiful lips you keep teasing me with. I am happy you are here with me.”

  Quintin shifted from one foot to the other, prying his loafers free from the sand.

  Stop fidgeting. You look so dumb. He’s watching you. Your every ridiculous move.

  “Okay,” Quintin said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager.

  Luca stepped closer. Quintin’s eyes shifted to the man’s mouth. It was begging to be kissed. “Let’s go inside,” Luca said. Quintin nodded in reply.

  Luca led the way back to the stairs, up to the deck, in through the sliding glass door Quintin had left open, into the cool comfort of their cottage. Quintin couldn’t take his eyes off him, watching the way he moved, studying every inch of his bare skin, and wondering what was beneath those red swim trunks.

  Luca was slightly taller than Quintin and had a much more athletic build. His shoulders were broader, his chest more defined. His jawline was perfectly chiseled and he was sporting a permanent five o’clock shadow. He moved with poise and grace, assertive and sure of himself. His thick hair was as dark as his eyes, and just as tempting. Already, Quintin wanted to reach out and run his fingers through Luca’s locks, feel the softness sift between his knuckles.

  He felt dizzy and damp with sweat and apprehension. The cottage was enchanting but it was still new and unfamiliar to Quintin. He felt far from home—and not just far from his flat in London, but from the town’d he left over two years ago and never looked back. Although he loved being in Luca’s presence and he felt giddy and sixteen again, a part of him ached for something or someone he knew.

  Am I homesick? How is that even possible? I haven’t thought about home in a long time. Why would I? London is my home now.

  Quintin was suddenly reminded of the crippling shyness he experienced as a child. Speaking in class had been traumatizing. Meeting strangers had always reduced him to near–panic attack status. Before breaking away from everything he’d ever known and making the brave move to England, he never would’ve had the confidence to converse with a man like Luca, much less go out on a date.

  Is that what this is? A date?

  He sat down on the floral printed sofa in the living room. Luca remained standing nearby. He slid the towel from around his shoulders, opened a door in the corner of the room that revealed a stackable washer and dryer, and tossed it inside. It landed on the floor.

  “Are you all right, Quintin?” Luca asked, as if he were able to read his mind.

  Quintin smiled. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”

  “It is a different name. Were you named after someone?”

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know where your name comes from?” Luca asked.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t. I never asked. What about Luca?”

  “I was named after a great-uncle who was killed in World War Two. I never met the man but I like the name.”

  “Your English is very good. I’m impressed.”

  “I lived in the States for two years.”

  “For what?”

  “It was…work related.”

  “Another secret you can’t tell me.”

  “Am I so mysterious?” Luca said. “You are, as well.”

  “I have nothing to hide. What do you want to know? Although, before you ask, I should warn you—my life is considerably duller than yours.”

  Luca sat down beside Quintin on the sofa. “You think my life is exciting?” he asked.

  Quintin breathed in deep, inhaling the scent rising off Luca’s skin. It was a heady combination of salt, dampness, and sex. “Isn’t it?”

  “I suppose so,” he said, “but it can’t take away the fact that I am a very lonely man.”

  “You?” Quintin said. “Lonely?”

  “You are surprised by this?”

  “Luca, men who look like you are never lonely.”

  “Well, I am,” he said. “I was. Until now.”

  Quintin and Luca locked eyes. “Me, too,” Quintin confessed. “And I hate it.”

  Luca reached out. He touched Quintin’s face lightly, caressing his skin with a tender brush of his knuckles. The sensation caused a slight shiver in Quintin. “I want to enjoy you,” Luca said. “Our time. This moment. Together.”

  “I’m very happy to be here. The journey was strange and wild.”

  “You met many people along the way.”

  “Your mother, for one.”

  “And my grandmother, as well,” he said.

  Quintin was no longer surprised. “Louisa is your grandmother?”

  “She is the strength in our family.”

  “She’s a very nice person.”

  “Where is your family?” Luca asked.

  “In America. In Illinois. I grew up in a small town there. Not far from a place called Champaign.”

  “I have never been there.”

  “I wish I could say the same.”

  “Will you ever return?”

  “Not if I can help it,” Quintin said. “Where do you live?”

  “Wherever they tell me to go.”

  “And where are you going next?”

  “Let’s not discuss that now.”

  “What would you like to do?”

  �
�Are you hungry?” Luca asked.

  “I’m starving, actually.”

  “I will cook for us,” Luca said. “It is a family recipe.”

  “From the British side or the Italian?”

  “Italian, of course.”

  Quintin’s eyes roamed over Luca’s body. He wanted to touch him so badly. It was difficult to refrain from doing so.

  “You like to look at my body?” Luca asked, taking Quintin by surprise by being so forthright.

  Now it was Quintin’s turn to blush. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I can’t help it.”

  Luca scooted closer. Their knees touched. “What is it that you like?”

  Quintin’s gaze drifted down the front of Luca’s torso to his red swimming trucks, lingering on the bulge between his legs. “Everything,” he replied. “You’re very attractive, Luca.”

  “And you do not think you are?”

  “There’s no comparison,” Quintin said. “Men like you…they don’t exist in my world. Except in fantasy.”

  Luca grinned. “So you think I am a fantasy?”

  “I hope not,” said Quintin, “because nothing would make me happier than finding out you are real.”

  “I accept your challenge, Quintin Pearson,” he said. “After dinner, we can walk along the beach.”

  “And then?”

  “There are two bedrooms,” said Luca. “You may choose which one you would like to sleep in. Alone…or with me.”

  That will be the easiest decision I’ve ever made.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Quintin asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Why am I here?”

  Luca gave him a look, perplexed. “You do not know?”

  “I’m hoping the reason is because you haven’t stopped thinking about me, but I’m probably wrong.”

  Luca’s hand covered Quintin’s. “I have not stopped thinking about you, Quintin,” he said. “But you are also here on official business.”

  Is this a joke? What is he talking about?

  “Business?” Quintin repeated.

  “You are going to help me,” Luca said. “You are the only one who can.”

  Quintin was afraid to ask the question, but he knew he had to. “Do what exactly?”

  Luca pulled his hand away from Quintin’s and said, “Help me catch a killer.”

  *

  Luca looked radiant, bathed in moonlight that seemed to follow him like a celestial spotlight as they walked, shoulder to shoulder, along the shore. The silver pools of illumination covered him with a soft, bright glow, making him appear angelic and even more handsome—if that were possible.

  “You owe me an explanation,” Quintin reminded him. At Luca’s suggestion, he had changed his clothes after dinner. Although the olive-green shorts and black polo were much more comfortable to wear, Quintin felt uneasy and awkward. He wasn’t used to being so casual, so informal. Unlike Luca, who had clearly spent some time in the sun, Quintin was concerned his pale skin would outshine the moon. Yet he would be the first to admit how incredible it felt to walk barefoot along the shore, how relaxing the sand felt between his toes. It was almost as soothing as the warm depth of Luca’s voice that crawled into his ear each time the mysterious man spoke. Quintin loved to hear him talk, especially when he drifted off into Italian before remembering Quintin couldn’t understand a word and restating his meaning in English.

  Dinner had been unlike any other Quintin had experienced. They sat together with lit candles and a blue glass vase of wildflowers on the table between them.

  Quintin had looked down at his plate and asked, “What is this? It smells so good.”

  “Tagliatelle carbonara,” Luca answered. “It is one of my favorites.”

  “I can’t say it, but it looks delicious,” said Quintin.

  Luca laughed a little. He filled their glasses with red wine. “Shall I teach you how to speak Italian?”

  Quintin smiled and said, “You can certainly try, but I’m not sure if I’ll be a very good student.”

  Now, an hour later, they walked together with full stomachs and wine on their breath as the cold ocean water drifted and shimmered over their bare feet.

  Quintin was waiting patiently for the explanation he’d been promised. He’d complied and not said a word during dinner, holding back the mysteries that had been plaguing his mind since meeting Luca less than twenty-four hours ago.

  “I know who killed the ambassador,” Luca said.

  Quintin stopped in his tracks. Luca did the same. “Was it you?” he asked.

  Luca looked confused. “How is that possible?” he asked. “I was with you when he was murdered.”

  Quintin took a breath before he asked the question he’d been dying to ask ever since he’d arrived at the cottage. “But did you have something to do with it, Luca? Did you have it arranged? Did someone hire you? Please…I need to know.”

  Luca reached for Quintin’s hand. He held it in his own. “I was trying to stop it from happening,” he said.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because I met you.”

  “What are you saying?” Quintin asked. “I interrupted his rescue?”

  Luca shook his head. “It would have happened regardless. I arrived late.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” said Quintin. “How did you know?”

  “About the assassination?”

  Quintin nodded.

  “I cannot tell you that.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  “I must keep you safe, Quintin. The less you know, the better.”

  “I just want to know…what side are you on?”

  “Do you mean am I a good guy or a bad one?”

  “Yes,” Quintin said.

  “I would like to think I am a good guy…but there are others…around me…they are not so good,” he said. “I know the man who killed the ambassador. He is a rogue agent now. It is my mission to find him, to stop him. He will kill again.”

  “Why?”

  “For money.”

  “Someone paid him to murder the ambassador?”

  “Yes,” Luca said. “A lot of money.”

  “But who…who would do that?”

  “Someone who wanted him out of the way.”

  “Another politician?” Quintin guessed.

  “Or perhaps someone who wants to become one…a very powerful one.”

  “Is that what happened?”

  “You will find out soon enough.”

  “How? I’m not involved in this. I was just at the party because Regina invited me. I was just a guest. You know that.”

  Luca looked into Quintin’s eyes. “You are going back to the Bremington estate,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “Information.”

  “From Regina?”

  “Now you are starting to understand.”

  “What could she possibly know about her husband’s murder?”

  Luca took a breath before he spoke. “Everything.”

  “Wait…she’s the one who paid this rogue agent?”

  Luca nodded. “His name is Grayson Miller. I am sure it will not be long before your paths cross.”

  “So Regina hired this man to kill the ambassador because she wants to go into politics?”

  “She is announcing her campaign next week. She is planning on hiring you. That is why Reed Ashton was so determined to bring you back to her. Regina is quite…enchanted with you.”

  “Me? What did I do?” Quintin said.

  “I imagine you were just being yourself, bello.”

  “So what exactly is the plan?”

  “A confession. We need her to admit she arranged the murder.”

  “And you want me to get that from her?”

  “The people I work for…they are certain you are the only one who can do this.”

  “And you?” Quintin asked. “What do you think, Luca?”

  “I hope you can,” he said, “because we do no
t have much time. The American government has not given us much.”

  “Why?”

  “There is a second hit…planned for Regina. We know this. Before he was killed, the ambassador arranged for his wife to be murdered.”

  Quintin gave Luca a look of disbelief. “They both secretly arranged to have each other killed?”

  “Yes,” he said. “The same man who killed him is going to kill her.”

  “Grayson Miller?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “We do not know. We have placed my mother in the house with Regina to keep her safe. Regina believes she hired a maid, not an agent.”

  “You mother is a spy, too?”

  Luca grinned. “We do not use that word anymore. I have told you this.”

  “But that’s what you are…you’re a spy, Luca. Aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said. “That is what I am.”

  “But I’m not,” Quintin said. “I work at a magazine. I got dumped by an idiot five months ago and I’ve been a hermit ever since. I’m no good at most things, Luca. Not sports. Not conversation. Certainly not fashion. I’m just a boring guy. And this is wrong.”

  Quintin turned and started to walk back toward the cottage. Luca followed. “Where are you going? You are angry.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t come here because I wanted to help you catch a killer. I’m here because I’m crazy about you. Who wouldn’t be? You’re unbelievably hot. You’re nicer to me than anyone I’ve ever met. I just wanted to be with you—not any of this ‘get a confession from Regina Bremington’ stuff.”

  Luca reached for Quintin, stopping him. The grip he had on Quintin was firm, authoritative.

  “If you do not want to do this, no one will force you,” he said. “But I knew from the moment we met that you were the answer we were looking for. She likes you. She trusts you. She will allow you to get close to her—close enough to confide in. When she does, we will move in and arrest her. But if we do not act soon, I’m certain Regina Bremington will not live to see her next birthday. Grayson Miller is the best at what he does. That is why he went rogue. He knew there were people in this world who were ruthless and selfish enough to employ his services. And he’s made a fortune at it already. He’s not stopping anytime soon.”

  “And you? Are you in this forever? Am I falling for a man who will never have a normal life?”