Lost In You

by Remmy Duchene

  He took a second to spell check his letter then hit Send. When he finally crawled back into bed, Jackson didn’t have to toss and turn. He fell asleep immediately.

  Rain poured over Bathsheba mercilessly. Instead of taking the motorcycle, Jackson was forced to drive his truck. He pulled into the parking lot of Hansamu’s headquarters, rooted around in the backseat for his umbrella, then hurried into the building. He still managed to get water in his shoe and his shoulders were wet. Frowning, he set his umbrella on a rubber mat by the security station and rode the elevator up to the seventeenth floor.

  The doors opened to a luxury front desk with Hansamu: Clothing to boost your spirits written along the front in fancy letters. The walls were packed with pictures of past models—glossy images of beautiful men with too much lip-gloss. Other wall hangings featured past ad campaigns and a few framed reviews of Hansamu clothing.

  Behind the secretary’s desk was one framed picture that stood out. Jackson recognized the man with gray hair, strict eyes and rigid lips to be Nobu Takao, the former owner of Hansamu. The frame looked golden and robust with Japanese characters carved into it the exterior.

  The floor was hardwood—Jackson knew quality flooring when he saw it. He had helped his Uncle Darius and Feng pick out the new ones for their second home in Aspen and considered himself somewhat of an expert in the matter.

  There was no one there, which seemed a bit odd, so he took a seat and waited. Soon a woman with black and blue hair, very minimal makeup and a rather infectious smile hurried over, her stilettos clicking on the floor.

  “Good morning.” She extended a hand. “You must be Jackson Stark.”

  “That would be me.” Jackson rose and accepted her greeting.

  “I’m Stella. Stella Priest. We spoke through emails. I’m sorry. It’s been a little hectic around here lately,” she said. “Come, he’s waiting for you. Did you want some coffee or tea? I know the weather is not ideal today.”

  “No, thank you. I’m good.”

  “Okay. This way please.”

  He followed her along a wide corridor with more glossy-looking models on the walls. At the end, there was another golden-framed picture of Nobu. Finally, Stella stepped aside and motioned for him to enter. When he did, he found Ko standing at the window of the office, hands stuck into his designer suit pants pockets, long, black hair in a tight ponytail and his wide shoulders set almost in determination.

  “Boss?”

  “Mmm?” Ko replied.

  “Jackson Stark for you?”

  Ko turned and smiled. It was a soft form of mirth that didn’t quite reach his beautiful brown eyes. He had the look of a man still in heavy contemplation. Jackson returned the smile and moved forward. The door clicked closed behind them and suddenly Jackson was ensnared in a room, alone with one of the sexiest men he’d ever been blessed to lay eyes on. Though he knew didn’t have a chance in hell with Ko, no one could begrudge him a little fantasy.

  “It’s good to see you again, Jackson,” Ko said. “Please, have a seat.”

  Jackson fell into the sofa like a sack of potatoes and prayed Ko hadn’t noticed. He crossed his legs and straightened his back against the leather comfort.

  “I see you’ve come to a decision,” Ko continued. “I’m glad you decided to work with us. Our campaign is still in the planning stages and I still need to finalize some things but New York Fashion Week is quickly approaching. We skipped out on it this year but next year we’re hoping to hit it bigger and better. In September, we have Milan Fashion Week to look forward to and I’m hoping to have a few pieces to use by then. That means the campaign, or at least teasers of it, has to be ready to go.”

  “September is three months away,” Jackson said. “I’m sure that can happen.”

  “Yes, but it would be a miracle. You see, rolling out something major in three months would be a fool’s errand. I mean, it can happen but I don’t want to rush it. I’m talking with the organizers of the MFW into giving us the introduction to the show. We put on a performance, push out a little teaser, make people crave more but don’t really reveal anything until next year’s New York Fashion Week.”

  “That’s a lot of time from now.”

  Ko nodded. “Agreed. But I want to do this properly—get the right inspiration. Make sure the designs are fresh and what people want to wear. You see, we don’t design for the runway. Hansamu design clothing that people can go backstage, take off our models and wear home. We want clothing that’s practical and for everyone.”

  “I can dig that. So, when do I start working?”

  “August—well, that’s when your major shoots begin. In a couple of weeks, I should have something put together of where we want to go, themes, that kind of thing.”

  “Hmm.”

  “For the time being we’re keeping your contract and identity under wraps. For the teasers, we won’t be showing your face, just your body. We want your identity to remain a secret until next year.”

  Jackson laughed. “Is that even possible?”

  “I think it is.”

  “What about those who know my body?” Jackson asked.

  Heat flashed through Ko’s eyes. Jackson knew what that had been. He’d seen the way Feng looked at Darius when he thought no one was watching. It was the same fire. A smirk danced across Ko’s lips. Jackson shook his head and rested back in the seat. Maybe he’d been imagining things.

  Of course you’re seeing things, dumb-dumb. Sheesh.

  “No one knows your body that well,” Ko said. “Unless you have a tattoo or a certain piercing.”

  “No.” Jackson felt the wind knocked out of his sails then and he was instantly irritated. “None of those. But I’m not exactly a virgin.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  Jackson frowned. “What I’m trying to say is, people have seen me naked, so they might guess.”

  “Maybe not. If they do guess we just evade until the time is right.”

  “I see.”

  Ko rose from his chair and walked around to sit on the front of his desk. There was purpose in each step, as if Ko thought of where to place each foot and how firmly. It was something Jackson admired in a man when it came to business. But in other things, Jackson preferred a little bit more…improvisation. He cleared his throat and lifted his eyes from the way Ko’s pants fit over his perfectly sculpted thighs.

  “Look, Jackson,” Ko said. “I want this to be a working relationship we’re both comfortable with. I’m not my father and I’m trying my best to make things work the way he liked but with my flair, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “I just— I don’t want this to be torture for any of us.”

  Jackson smiled. “It won’t be. When can I see Priya?”

  “Soon. I hope. She’s currently in Belarus with her brother on vacation. She’s due back next week.”

  Jackson pulled out his personal card and handed it to Ko. “Can you give this to her? She can give me a call whenever…”

  “Sure.” Ko accepted it. “You’re wet. I’m sure we can find something for you to change into.”

  Not as wet as I’m sure you could make me with that tongue. “That’s okay. I’m heading home after, anyway.”

  “We both know traffic.” Ko hopped from the desk and headed for the door. “It’s no trouble at all. Come on—besides, this gives me a chance to show you around.”

  Chapter Five

  Ko spread his legs, shoulder-length apart, and hunched down. He dipped into his first squat and when he rose, back straight, he twisted his body side to side. Working out gave him a chance to clear his mind. For the past couple of days, he’d been thinking of Jackson. Maybe giving him a personal tour of Hansamu headquarters might have been a bad idea—in hindsight. After Jackson had left him, Ko had spent most of the day with his head in the clouds, imagining things he had no right to.

  He continued his squats and once finished, he went in for his push-ups. Most times he used machines fo
r this but with the way his mind was, he didn’t want to space out and drop a weight or something equally as stupid. One workout routine led to another and soon he was jogging on the treadmill. He didn’t like that—running for an hour and still stuck in the same place wasn’t his idea of fun. But it had been raining a lot in Bathsheba of late and getting drenched wasn’t in Ko’s plans at all.

  An hour and a half later, Ko exited the gym with his bag strapped over his shoulder. The sun hid behind some clouds but the rain had stopped. Feeling a bit daring, he decided to walk the two blocks home.

  After freshening up, Ko got dressed in a pair of black slacks, dark blue dress shirt and strung his designer watch around his wrist. He ended by dabbing on some aftershave and glancing at himself in the mirror one final time. Satisfied, he found his keys, wallet and phone and let himself out of the luxury building. For a moment, he stopped and took a deep breath. The scent of impending rain always allured him. Add that with the smell of freshly cut grass and he was positively in heaven. With his mood great, he climbed behind the wheel of his sports car and turned north.

  It was late. The sun had run its course for the day and was setting behind one of the mountains in the small city. The sky was a menacing gray as the storm clouds rolled in from the east. Still, Ko wound down his window and rested his elbow against it. He cranked his stereo high and tapped his fingers to the tune.

  Once the song ended, he hit the repeat button and nodded. Another thing about a great song, in Ko’s opinion, it couldn’t be listened to just once.

  He sped through the intersection of Dawson and Chance, hung a left and pulled the vehicle up before a nightclub. From the outside, it looked like a gray abomination that rose out of the ground in the middle of a street lined with restaurants. The windows were draped with thick red curtains and the sign outside was so inconspicuous that if one wasn’t paying attention he could drive right by it.

  There wasn’t the usual line out front because it was a private party. They hadn’t even advertised it. One of his connections was in a band called The Orangutans and they were previewing their latest video for Kiss Me, Kill Me.

  Once he parked, he jogged up the front steps and was allowed in by a beast of a man. Spec, as they lovingly called him, was ex-SEAL and was as kind as he was deadly. The two bumped fists then hugged.

  “It’s good to see you,” Spec said. “Sorry about your father.”

  “Thanks.” Ko offered him a smile. “Paul here yet?”

  “You know how he do,” Spec jargoned. “He was here long before we opened the joint.”

  Ko laughed. “Yeah I know.”

  The two touched fists again and Ko made his way into the interior of the elegantly decorated space. For a moment, he stopped to let the pulsing music take him and shove him into the mood to dance. Once his head was bopping to the beat, he descended the three steps and inched across the dance floor, accepting kisses to his cheeks, hugs and bumped fists as he went. Finally at the bar, he leaned in to speak with the bartender who walked over to him the second their gazes met.

  “Taka,” Kramer Salley said. “You still look good enough to eat.”

  “As always.” Ko’s cheeks heated. “I’m not on the menu, Salley.”

  “Too bad.” Kramer stopped to chew on the corner of his bottom lip as he all but undressed Ko with his eyes. “Too damn bad. Whiskey sour?”

  “Not tonight. Cranberry with a lemon twist?”

  Kramer grinned and nodded. He sauntered off to make Ko’s drink and in no time at all, Ko was on the move once more. This time, he ascended four steps, walked around a white column and in through a set of glass doors. Inside, he found Paul Shankar, the rapper of The Orangutans, who he hugged. Then there was Devlin Marrow, the drummer and Mitchel Daz—the lead vocalist and bass player. He greeted all of them with hugs.

  The door opened once more but Ko merely ignored it and fell into one of the seats. He set his drink on the glass table and was getting ready to have a conversation with Paul when Devlin spoke.

  “Hey, Ko, meet our principal dancer-slash-actor, slash all round good guy,” Devlin said. “Jackson Stark.”

  Ko’s heart stopped.

  “We’ve met,” Jackson said, taking a seat and leveling his brown gaze on Ko. “How are you, Ko?”

  “Great,” Ko managed. “I didn’t know you knew the guys.”

  “Yeah, Paul is a friend of a friend.”

  “Dev said you were a principal dancer. Are you in the video?”

  Jackson nodded.

  A man of many talents, Ko thought.

  “It was a last-minute thing,” Jackson continued. “When I got the call, I couldn’t say no.”

  Ko smiled. “I get it.”

  “Well, you two,” Mitchel said, “break it up. They’re about to show the video.”

  “This is the part that always gets me,” Paul confessed. “After all these years.”

  “I have a feeling it won’t get any easier,” Jackson said. “But don’t worry. Quality music is quality music and there’ll always be those of us who appreciate it.”

  Ko rose and walked to the glass. They all crowded around and stared out across the club at the massive screen that was now counting down from ten. Because they were in the Premium VIP, Ko had a perfect view of the screen. When the beat to the song began, the screen had a bed, rumpled as if lovers had spent the night there. Suddenly, Jackson’s partially nude body fell from the ceiling against the bed.

  Ko’s heart raced as he watched. It took everything inside him not to shove his nose onto the cool surface and pant. Pushing his fingers into his pocket, he took a step back to put some space between himself and becoming a stalker. The video was very hot—from Jackson’s toned body moving across the screen with more grace and agility than a man should have, to the curve and flow of his body. Everything about what he was seeing appealed to him and made the attraction he had for Jackson Stark move from blind to almost obsessive.

  At the end of the song, the audience cheered. Some whistled, others made monkey sounds, but everyone seemed happy. Though Ko applauded, the turmoil inside him was mounting. How could he see Jackson like that and not want him? What gay man, for that matter, could see Jackson Stark looking so beautiful and not yearn for him?

  “What do you think?” Devlin asked.

  Ko cleared his throat. “I think you got a hit on your hands.”

  “You really like it?” Mitchel asked. “You’re not just saying that?”

  “Don’t pay him any mind,” Paul said as the crowd began chanting for them to play the video again. “It’s a departure from what we usually do but change is good, right?”

  The DJ started the video once more and Ko thought he would die. For a moment, he turned to watch Jackson, who was still staring past the glass to the screen. When Jackson glanced over at to him, Ko returned his gaze to the video even though he was liable to combust if he had to see Jackson cradling the other guy’s face so tenderly another time. It was a video—the emotion on the screen was all smoke and mirrors—but seeing Jackson that close to another man made him crazy.

  Perhaps it was jealousy.

  Moving from the spot he’d been glued to, he headed for the door.

  “You leaving?” Jackson asked.

  “No. Going to get another drink.”

  “We’re in VIP. There’s a bar here,” Jackson said.

  “I just— I needed to talk to Kramer.”

  “Oh… Okay.”

  Ko fled the VIP and though he truly didn’t want to talk to Kramer again, he couldn’t take off now. Frowning, he found the bartender, ordered another cranberry juice then turned to watch the audience. The video was long over and they were now dancing to some other band Ko’s brain just couldn’t place. He downed his juice and his frown deepened. The way he was feeling required something stronger—something that would burn a trail down his throat and warm his insides. But he didn’t like drinking if there was even a remote chance he’d be driving.

  Frustrate
d, he set his empty glass on the bar and faced the crowd once more. This time, Jackson stepped through them like Moses from parting the Red Sea. Ko’s heart fluttered, his aroused cock hardened and every muscle in his body tensed. Finally, Jackson was close enough to press a palm against Ko’s chest, leaned forward and spoke into Ko’s ear.

  “Dance with me?”

  Ko held his breath. He turned his mouth to the side of Jackson’s face, knowing it was a bad idea. Jackson smelled like fire and musk “I don’t really dance.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re friends with Paul Shankar—you dance. Come on.”

  Unable to resist, Ko agreed and Jackson took his hand and led him to the dance floor. The moment they found a spot, the music changed from pulsing hip-hop to a baby-making slow jam. But Ko couldn’t seem to walk away. In fact, he reached for Jackson and pulled him into his arms. He slid a palm downward to the small of Jackson’s back and rested his cheek to the side of Jackson’s head.

  In that moment, Ko closed his eyes and imagined he and Jackson were together, that they were in love. All thoughts that anything sexual between them would be highly inappropriate were shelved, and he gave himself over to being a man with desires for just that moment. He allowed himself to picture them dancing around a bedroom, almost on the brink of making love. Then they would stop, for that was the foreplay, and climax would be too soon. Once they both could breathe again, the dance continued.

  For a second, Ko belonged to someone, his heart, his body, every fiber of his being and it was the most exhilarating feeling he’d ever experienced. He held on to it with Jackson’s toned body against him. He savored that sensation of belonging as if his life depended on it. He daren’t think of what happened when air was able to pass between them once more, when Jackson would let go and he would have to walk away. The only thing that mattered was that Ko was in Jackson’s arms, that he experienced what Darius and Feng had, what Ravinder and Thaddeus had found.

  When Ko had been a little boy, his father had often quoted the great samurai Miyamoto Musashi in saying fixation is the path to death, fluidity is the path to life. He never had understood it. Having Jackson in his arms revealed the meaning to him like the heated rays of the sun after a cold winter’s day. The realization dawned on Ko then that though Jackson didn’t know it, Jackson owned Ko’s body.