The singer began to move around the stage as if he performed for a living. Maybe he did. His voice rang out pitch-perfect and he brimmed with confidence, his gestures well-timed, his wiry body sinuous as a snake as he half-danced, half-pranced. Narrow hips, long legs and that electric smile pressed all of Thorne’s buttons. The guy’s confidence clearly inspired the guitarist because he sang louder until the two of them managed to silence the room. Thorne had no idea whether either of them were gay. Did wearing eyeliner make you gay? If not, he felt as though a conversion was on the cards. Be gay for me. He could live in hope.
When the song was over, the crowd erupted in hoots and cheers, and there were calls for more. The older guy bent to speak in the guitarist’s ear and they launched into an old Take That duet—Shame. The two stared at each other as they sang and Thorne wondered if there was significance for them in the words. Had the pair not listened to each other, fallen out then made up? Thorne wouldn’t kick the guitarist out of bed, but it was the other who had him mesmerised. That cocky confidence. Shit, I want to fuck him.
The applause when they’d done was the loudest of the night. But the older one shook his head when they were asked for more and they left the stage. A wise guy to stop while they were ahead of the game. Thorne stood and watched them. The younger one put his guitar in its case and zipped it up, then followed the taller guy as he headed toward the area of the pub where Thorne happened to be standing. If they’d gone the other way, Thorne wouldn’t have followed—Mason’s lesson still ringing in his head, but this was coincidence, fate, Karma, too fucking tempting and Thorne stepped into their path.
The moment the singer caught his gaze, a look of acute shock swept over his face. Thorne was getting used to that. He mostly didn’t mind being recognised. Kind of flattering as long as people didn’t go overboard and scream or pester when he didn’t want them to. Recognition went with the job, but whereas a smile usually followed the look of surprise, this time it didn’t. The guy just stood there looking—alarmed? Worried? Freaked out? What the fuck was the matter?
“Are you brothers?” Thorne asked, because one of them had to say something.
“Yes,” said the guitar player.
“You were outstanding.” Thorne switched on his mega-watt smile directing it at the guy who was still staring at him. He was wearing eyeliner. Thorne thought he was gay. Hoped he was.
“Thanks,” the younger one said.
Thorne turned to look at him. “Do I know…you?” Even before he’d completed the question, he remembered. The guy lying in the doorway with the cut above his eye, the bruise on his cheek.
“No. I don’t think so.”
Thorne sensed the other one stiffen and decided not to push. Well, not too hard. “Let me buy you both a drink. Have a seat. This is my brother River, our friend Josh. Josh’s friends Stan, Rich and Denny.”
“What’s your name?” asked the guitarist.
Josh almost choked as he laughed into his beer.
“Thorne Morrisey,” Denny said. “He’s a famous actor.”
“Oh. Sorry. I’m Dirk. This is Linton.”
Thorne met Linton’s gaze again for a few pregnant seconds. For all the guy’s confidence on the stage, he seemed a different person now. Still wary, still anxious. It was catching because Thorne felt uncomfortable.
“What would you like to drink?” Thorne asked.
“Ginger beer, please,” Dirk said.
Linton tugged at his brother’s arm. “We should go.”
“We can’t leave straightaway,” Dirk said. “It’s rude.”
“Why?” River asked.
As Dirk began to talk to River, Thorne edged in front of Linton.
“Your brother’s right,” Thorne said. “You have to endure the other musicians with the rest of us. I doubt anyone will be as good as the two of you.”
Linton changed in an instant and smiled at him. “Ginger beer for me too then, thanks.”
It was one of those charming smiles, a quintessential English public school smile, a politician’s smile, a seductive, practised smile, the sort Thorne donned when he wanted to persuade someone he was a guy who could be instinctively trusted. This smile was honest as one from a wolf who’s promised not to bite, a wasp who’s sworn not to sting, and it made Thorne hard in an instant. Oh I really like you, you fucking weirdo. He didn’t even know for sure if the guy was gay and somehow that made him like him even more.
Linton had finally managed to wrestle his flailing octopus-like panic into a small parcel and bury it deep inside his body. He knew he’d gaped like a star-struck teenager when he’d come face to face with Thorne. But the only thing that had raced through his head had been—What are the fucking odds of meeting him like this?
He’d been intent on rushing Dirk out of the pub after their set before temptation reared its enticing head because Kit was definitely high on something, but how could he pass up on this opportunity? A double six on the dice, a chance offered to him on a plate to at least make Thorne slightly intrigued and give Linton something concrete to report to Max. Dirk was still talking to Thorne’s brother and Linton had one ear on the conversation wondering if Dirk was going to…blow his cover. Linton had to bite back his smile. He sipped his drink, aware Thorne was staring straight at him as if he were a sniper with Linton smack in his sights. Maybe Thorne was already more than slightly intrigued.
Fuck, he’s good looking. The photos of him on the internet had shown him to be a striking guy but in the flesh he was even more appealing. Dark hair, striking blue eyes, a quirky smile and long, long legs. Linton felt a surge of anger that Max had even approached him about this because even though Linton wasn’t going to do what the guy wanted, if something did develop between them, all Max had to do was tell Thorne and ruin everything.
Though Linton was racing well ahead of himself. One look didn’t mean he and Thorne were going to be an item. More likely, the guy was thinking about a quick hook up. Linton wasn’t averse to those. He’d had plenty of practice in New York. After getting involved with the wrong guy, he was determined not to get involved ever again.
Don’t forget he’s bi.
Don’t forget what you said about bi guys.
Linton couldn’t fully concentrate on the conversation at the table. What if Dirk announced Linton was an architect and went on to say where he worked? In a perverse way, Linton wished he would. That would be game over, his job gone. Probably. Max would chase him for the money, but Max didn’t know where Dirk would be and Linton could disappear in the north, live close to Dirk’s rehab place and get a job doing something entirely different.
Pay Max back a little at a time.
For the rest of his life.
And there would be no more Thorne.
Even if Max said nothing about his plan—and why would he—it would always be hanging over Linton’s head like a sharpened guillotine held by a fraying rope.
Thorne leaned toward him. “You sing for a living?”
“Opera.” Shut the fuck up, you dickhead. But he’d been so relieved Dirk hadn’t already announced he was an architect, it was the first thing that came into his mind.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve just finished a run of Madam Butterfly. Racist, colonialist soap featuring statutory rape. A fifteen year old Japanese geisha falls in love with a slimy American lieutenant, tumbles deep and hard, converts to Christianity and he fucks off to America to find a real wife leaving Butterfly with a baby and she kills herself. Charming story.” What the fuck am I doing? Nerves were making him chatter. “I was a triumph as Butterfly though.”
At least Thorne looked amused at that. “You made a good job of the eyeliner.”
“My brother’s idea. Usually I only wear lipstick and blusher.”
That won him a loud laugh. Linton wasn’t sure why he’d even agreed to the eyeliner but he’d wanted to keep Dirk happy and had quite liked what he’d seen in the mirror after Dirk had drawn around his eyes. Though they�
��d garnered some strange looks on the Tube.
But now Linton needed to get up and take Dirk home. He’d listened to what Owen had said. Play hard to get. Thorne liked the chase more than the catch. Christ, why would this guy have to chase anyone? Linton was surprised there wasn’t a line of willing bedpartners queuing up to give him their number. He hadn’t missed the way Stan was fixated on Thorne though clearly the feeling wasn’t reciprocated.
Unfortunately, Linton’s feet appeared to be glued to the floor. Thorne was staring at him and he was staring at Thorne. There’d been too long a gap with neither of them speaking. Linton could hear the others chattering, and hoped they weren’t aware of what was happening next to them.
Except—what the hell was happening?
Some mix of airborne chemicals that made their hormones jump and jiggle as if they were teenagers? Pheromones causing a rabid case of insta-lust? Linton’s cock was hard. He couldn’t see Thorne’s but he bet it was too. Thorne was attractive. Seductive. Enticing. Linton could see why he was liked by both men and women. Do I really care that he’s bi? Yes, but…
But.
But…
Say something. That stupid joke about being an opera singer sat between them and Linton couldn’t think of what to say to stop this staring contest. Pointless reminding himself of what he was supposed to be doing—a flirting game, a come and get me game, a game of kiss-chase, a game of deceit, because he sure as hell wasn’t thinking about that now.
Try to.
Owen had tried to kill himself because Thorne had been so cruel. Remember that.
Thorne had done it before to some actress. Remember that.
Pascal had ensured Linton had sworn off bisexuals for life. Remember that.
Dirk should be in bed. Leave now.
I want to be in bed with Thorne.
Linton somehow got to his feet and tugged Dirk to his. Before he could step away from the table, Thorne was standing beside him, his mouth close to Linton’s ear.
“Come home with me,” Thorne whispered.
The warm exhale brushed Linton’s neck, sent shivers racing down his body and froze his toes. He locked his knees before they gave way and closed his mouth before he said yes.
“I’ve tried to be good but I give up,” Thorne said. “I want to fuck you so much.”
Linton’s lungs seized up.
“Please,” Thorne said quietly.
“Past my brother’s bedtime.” Linton tugged at Dirk’s arm, pulling too hard, moving too fast, almost dragging his brother through the doors and out onto the pavement.
Linton took a deep breath of warm muggy air and felt as if he’d filled his lungs with nothing.
“What the hell is up with you?” Dirk asked.
“Hot and bothered.”
Linton spotted a black cab idling several yards away and yanked Dirk towards it. He bundled his brother into the back and as he began to climb in, he felt a tap on his shoulder and spun round. Thorne thrust a beermat at him. The guy’s face was blank but Linton knew he was annoyed.
“This is for Dirk,” Thorne said. “About River’s chess club.” Then he stalked off down the road.
Linton tossed it to his brother and went after Thorne. “Hey,” he called.
Thorne stopped and slowly turned. Linton walked right up to him, counted to two, and kissed him on the lips. One slow soft kiss to which there was no response before Linton turned away, his heart hammering. He returned to the cab and didn’t look back as it pulled into the flow of traffic.
“Does the driver know where to go?” Linton muttered.
“Yep,” Dirk said.
Oh shit. Why did I kiss him? It was as if someone else had taken control of his body.
“You okay?” Dirk asked.
“Fine.”
Dirk showed him the beermat. “A chess club in Canary Wharf. River mentioned chess and I told him I played. Maybe you should go. Might help you win that bet.”
What bet? Oh yeah.
Linton felt relieved Dirk hadn’t seen him kiss Thorne.
“River’s a bit unusual,” Dirk said. “Shy. I think he’s autistic.”
“Did you really not know who Thorne was?”
Dirk laughed. “Course I did. I wasn’t going to let the arrogant twat know though.”
Linton smiled.
His brother smirked. “Nice kiss by the way.”
Oh God.
Linton didn’t object when Dirk wanted to sleep alongside him. He was glad Dirk had suggested it. Partly because it would stop him thinking of Thorne and wanking, and partly because there was still a sliver of doubt as to whether Dirk would be there in the morning. He’d considered handcuffing himself to his brother but he wanted to show he trusted him, even though he didn’t.
When they were small kids, Dirk had often crept into Linton’s bed after he’d had a bad day, or Linton had crept into Dirk’s and wrapped his arms around his younger sibling, wishing there was a way to make their mother love him. He’d even tried doing bad things to make Dirk look good but it made no difference. He hadn’t wanted to go away to school because it meant leaving Dirk on his own but he’d not been given a choice and a bigger part of him had been desperate to get away from his claustrophobic, smothering mother. At least he got to go home at the weekends and be there for Dirk then.
Dirk gave a heavy sigh.
“You okay?” Linton asked.
“No, but I’m glad you’re here to stop me doing something stupid. I really want to do something stupid. I’m so pathetic.”
“No you’re not.”
“Thanks for coming up on the stage,” Dirk whispered as Linton fidgeted beside him. “I dunno what happened to Kit.”
“He was high.”
“Yeah.”
“You can’t save him. You need to save yourself.”
“Yeah. You already said that.”
“It sounds like some corny line out of a film but you do need to put yourself first, Dirk. Get well. Think about the future.”
“It’s a long time since I sang with you. We sounded good.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice over the last three months. A group in the office kept taking me to a karaoke bar.” Where he’d picked up a few guys including one who had a place near the beach.
“I bet they didn’t have to twist your arm hard. You think I don’t remember watching you prance around the bedroom using a handful of pencils as a microphone? If you couldn’t be an architect, you said you wanted to be a popstar. Usually, kids have that the other way around.”
Linton chuckled. “Think we were talent-spotted tonight?”
“You were. Thorne couldn’t take his eyes off you. Mind you, it looked mutual.”
Just for a moment, Linton wanted to tell Dirk everything, but he reined back the impulse. “I was surprised to see a celebrity in there.”
“You telling me you’d have been as open-mouthed in shock for someone you didn’t fancy?”
Linton forced out a laugh. “He was okay.”
“Okay? He’s gorgeous. You should go to that chess club, get to know his brother and see if you can wangle an invite to his house. They live with Josh, one of the firefighters.”
The lump of guilt in Linton’s throat expanded to the point that it hurt.
Dirk’s fingers crept into his and Linton squeezed his hand.
“I’m sorry I’m such a crap brother,” Dirk whispered. “I know I’ve disappointed you.”
Linton pulled him closer. “Don’t say that. I’m sorry for pushing you too hard, then shoving you away. I want to make your world right again. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”
“I don’t think I know how.”
“Spend the next three months finding out. Then you can let me in on the secret.”
When Dirk eventually settled into sleep at his side, Linton lay with his eyes wide open wondering if he was sacrificing his future for his brother’s, yet knowing if it ever came to it, that’s exactly what he’d do.
&
nbsp; If Thorne hadn’t been in such a shitty mood after that kiss, he wouldn’t have let Josh persuade him to go to Secrets with a group of Blue Watch firefighters. He ought to have done the sensible thing and gone home with River. But he was in a shitty mood, pissed off by Linton’s initial rejection, pissed off that he’d already forgotten what he’d warned himself about and even more pissed off that after the guy kissed him, he’d ridden away on his fucking horse.
“What’s up with you?” Josh asked as they climbed into a cab outside the pub.
“Nothing.”
“Of course there isn’t. But don’t look at any milk or you’ll curdle it.”
“He kissed me,” Thorne said quietly.
Josh gaped at him. “And?”
“He’s not here, is he?” Thorne shrugged. “I liked him. He was different.”
“Well why aren’t you with him?”
“He kissed me, then he got in a cab and left. I don’t chase.”
Josh laughed. “Maybe he doesn’t either. And you do chase.”
“Yeah, well only when I know I’m going to get what I want.”
Thorne stayed in a grump for the entire journey though no one noticed. He had his game face on. The cabs disgorged them in front of Secrets and there was a short line to get in, one that Thorne could have bypassed if he’d wanted to, but he refused requests to talk the bouncers and bypass those waiting.
“I’ve heard gay clubs are great places to meet women,” Rich said.
Thorne bristled. “Ever wondered why women go to gay clubs? It’s not because they’re looking to get picked up, it’s because they’re sick and tired of being hit on and hassled in straight clubs.”
Denny smiled at him. “That’s exactly right.”
Dirty Games Page 10
