Well fuck him.
Or not as it turned out.
Thorne was well aware he was not thinking straight. He’d sworn off guys who threw themselves at him and now he wanted one who wasn’t interested.
Then why had Linton kissed him?
Shit.
Thorne needed to concentrate on the job he had today. Think about the money he’d earn for not doing very much except stand and assume whatever pose the director wanted.
Linton looks like a runner.
Bollocks. Think about something else.
Thorne looked around and spotted a duck waddling into the Serpentine. A bird swooped across the path in front of him and he almost stumbled. There was a little round guy walking ahead with his little round dog.
Maybe Linton likes dogs.
Fuck.
He ran faster, almost sprinting because that stopped his brain doing anything but propel frantic messages around his body demanding oxygen be supplied to desperate cells. He had a stitch in his side and kept running. His calves ached but he kept running because those things would pass, as would thinking about Linton.
And he was right. He slid into the perfect pace, perfect breathing pattern and he finally emptied his mind and just ran.
Will I ever see him again?
Shit.
Once he was back in the house, he did his stretches in the hall before going up for a shower. Just as well he was working today. It was the perfect distraction. Orlando had been approached about Thorne becoming the face of Reknaw watches. Thorne had never heard of them but they were offering excellent money for one day’s filming in London and Orlando thought it was a good idea so Thorne agreed to do it. Maybe Reknaw watches would one day be as famous as Breitling or Rolex. He’d get a free watch at the end of the day in any case. If he didn’t like it, he could give it to Linton—fuck—give it to Josh or River.
Thorne had been asked to wear a tux and was ready waiting when the minivan turned up to collect him. Just three people inside. A cameraman called Jez, Wes the director and Baz the driver. He almost laughed when they told him their names. Baz drove all over London so that Les could film Thorne with his arm bent to keep the watch visible. It looked like a piece of crap to Thorne, but what did he know? It was probably one of those pieces of precision engineering that could tell you the time in San Francisco, how far above sea level you were standing and what you ate for breakfast.
By mid-afternoon, Thorne was fed up. The locations had seemed a bit odd. Outside underground stations in downbeat areas, next to Madame Tussauds, in front of a wall of graffiti, by a pile of stinking, black bin bags. He wasn’t sure what point the company wanted to make, but he’d done exactly as he’d been told and not complained or moaned, even though he’d been given nothing to eat and even had to buy his own bottle of water.
Well, he’d not complained until the director asked him to dive into the Thames.
Thorne gaped at him. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“You don’t need to actually dive. You can jump,” Wes said.
“No. It’s too dangerous and it’s illegal.” He hoped it was illegal. It was definitely stupid. Though he did do a lot of stupid things, he wasn’t going to do this dressed in his best tux.
Wes glared. “We need you soaked.”
“I’m not going in the Thames.” Thorne stepped away from the water in case he was pushed.
“Fountains in Trafalgar Square?” Baz said.
“I’d get arrested.” What’s with these idiots?
“What about the Olympic Park Fountains?” Les suggested.
“Good idea.” Wes walked back to the van and the rest of them followed.
“You going to buy me a new suit when I wreck this one?” Thorne asked.
“Yeah, we’ll sort that out,” Wes said. “We’re finished after this.”
None of the three were very talkative. Thorne had quickly given up trying to engage them in conversation. Maybe they were pissed off at having to work on low budget adverts instead of blockbuster films, or maybe they knew how much he was getting paid for this compared to them. Thorne didn’t want to get a rep for being awkward or ungrateful so he’d put his mask in place and behaved.
The Olympic Park fountains spurted the length of a snaking pathway, the frequency and size of the jets operating on some random sequence. A few squealing kids in swimsuits jumped up and down in the water while their mums watched. Thorne would never have been allowed to have fun like this. Not in public. But he wasn’t a kid. He was thirty years old. The weather was warm but not sunny. The water would be cold and his suit would be wrecked
Thorne gritted his teeth. “Do you have towels? A change of clothes?”
“In the van,” Les said.
“What exactly do you want me to do?” Thorne handed over his phone and wallet. Not that there was much in the wallet. Just a few quid in cash. He’d left his credit cards at home because if he’d had to take his jacket off on the shoot, it could have been tossed anywhere. He’d lost things like that before.
“We’ll start with you standing in the middle of the fountains with your arms crossed, watch on display, staring up at the sky. Make sure you get wet.” Wes grinned.
Thorne sucked in his cheeks and did as he was told, stood in front of a jet, then behind one, at the side of one, then over one, even though he couldn’t see the point of a shot with water squirting between his legs. He was soaked to the skin. Not one item of clothing was dry. His shoes were sodden. Wes kept him in the freezing spray far too long. Thorne was finding it harder and harder to stop his teeth chattering. Kids and their parents stood gawking at him and when Thorne realised he’d had his arms crossed the wrong way and the watch hidden for the last few minutes, he felt a dawning realization something wasn’t right.
He blinked water out of his eyes. What was this watch called he was to be the face of? Reknaw? Oh fuck. Backwards that spelled wanker. And the fucking piece of crap had stopped. It wasn’t even waterproof. He walked out of the fountain itching to thump all three of these guys, but resisted because whoever had set this up probably wanted him to react like that, were maybe even secretly filming him being filmed. Assuming Jez had his camera switched on.
“Sorry, Wes. I’m too cold to keep going. Could I have my phone and wallet?”
Once Thorne had them, he let his mask drop and called Orlando.
“What’s up?” Orlando asked.
“I’ve been set up.” Thorne stared at the three guys. “Spent the day with the three stooges.”
Wes sniggered. “Oops, we forgot to put the towels and dry clothes in the van.”
Fuckers. “Who paid you?” Thorne called as they walked off.
“What are you talking about?” Orlando asked.
“I’m standing in the Olympic Park by the fountains and I’m soaked to the skin. There is no watch called a Reknaw. Work out what that says backwards.”
“Ahhh… Oh fuck.”
“Send someone to come and get me. No taxi will take me like this. I’ll be on Westfield Avenue near the water polo arena.”
By the time Orlando turned up, Thorne’s fury had reached boiling point. He’d grown increasingly cold and uncomfortable. The strain of being polite to people who’d asked what he was doing had taken its toll. He tossed his jacket into the footwell and took the towel Orlando offered.
“Christ,” Orlando muttered as Thorne dropped into the passenger seat. “I’m sorry.”
“Wanking cunts,” Thorne spat out the words. “I only brought enough money with me for incidentals in case my wallet got lost or stolen otherwise I’d have bought clothes from the shopping centre. Do you think they knew that’s what I do when I go on a shoot? That I wouldn’t be able to buy another outfit?”
“I don’t know. Where did they take you?”
Thorne listed the places. “I was perfectly behaved. Even when I stood outside the shopping centre. If I’d heard—why are you wet?—one more time, I swear I’d have lost it. The only thing I refused
to do was dive in the Thames.”
“What the fuck? Who the hell is behind this?”
“The same person who arranged the spiked drink?”
“Maybe. They’re trying to discredit you. Good thing that you did hold onto your temper. You don’t always.”
Thorne sucked in his cheeks. His outburst in front of Owen’s family had been reported back to Orlando and as a consequence Thorne had been threatened with anger management sessions with a psychologist Orlando knew. Thorne had almost lost his temper when Orlando had suggested that. Wouldn’t that have proved a point.
“Did you actually get any money up front for today?” Thorne asked.
Orlando shook his head. “Sorry. I’ll pay you. I don’t see why you should lose out.”
“No, it’s fine. We’ve both made mistakes now. When the three with me today told me their names were Les, Wes and Baz, I wanted to laugh when I should have worried. They probably made them up this morning.”
“Could your freaky ex be behind this?”
“Owen?” Thorne sighed. “I think he’s still trying to get me back. If he did this, I’d be even less likely to make up with him.”
“Could it be a double bluff? He’s trying to get even for the way you dumped him but pretending he wants you?”
“I really doubt it. It’s not his style.” Owen wasn’t devious enough.
“From now on, until I find out who is responsible, you have to be extra cautious. Could be a jealous fan. A rival for some film role. Someone other than Owen who you’ve had a relationship with. Though you don’t have relationships, do you? Not usually.”
Thorne bristled through his shivering.
“It could even be a disgruntled neighbour. A friend who’s anything but.” Orlando sighed and Thorne rolled his eyes. “Be wary of strangers. Be wary of everyone. Keep your dick in your pants. Okay?”
Linton wasn’t a stranger. Well, he was but they’d met by pure chance. The shock on Linton’s face had been genuine and Thorne could see no reason to be concerned. Particularly when it didn’t look as though anything was going to happen between them. He had no idea where Linton lived. He supposed he could ask River to keep an eye out for Dirk at the chess club, but River might not tell him if he saw Dirk and the guy might not go anyway.
Shit. Thorne didn’t want to wait. Until he’d satisfied himself one way or the other whether Linton was just messing him around, or was interested, Thorne knew he was going to keep thinking about him.
“I’ve been wondering about that guy I found in the doorway,” Thorne said.
Orlando glanced at him. “Wondering what?”
“How he is. Whether I could do something to help him, or help the hospital.”
Orlando tapped his fingers on the wheel. “The press could take a snap of you visiting, assuming he’s still in there. Paint you as a concerned citizen.”
“I don’t want the press involved.”
“Then what’s the point?” Orlando nipped through the lights as they changed and as he braked hard on the other side of the junction to avoid running into a van, Thorne gripped the sides of his seat.
“The point is doing the right thing. I don’t even know if the guy survived. I’d like to send him some…flowers or something.” Thorne needed to sound convincing. If Orlando had any inkling of what he was up to, he’d find a way to stop him.
Orlando shrugged. “Okay. I’ll see to it.”
“I want to do it myself.”
The pause before Orlando spoke made Thorne increasingly uncomfortable the longer it went on. “You swear to me you had nothing whatsoever to do with what happened to him?”
Thorne turned his glare on full blast. “I swear. The cops want me to look at mugshots. Why would they ask that if they think I’m involved?”
“Okay. Leave it with me.”
Chapter Ten
By the time Linton had driven back to London, he was bone-tired and his head ached. It had been a gruelling day. Dirk had been very quiet when Linton had left him, looking nervous and a bit lost, not like Dirk at all, but the people in charge seemed friendly and the facilities were amazing. Dirk had hugged him and thanked him for giving him this chance, and Linton felt slightly easier about what he’d agreed to do to pay for it.
That didn’t mean he was going to go through with what Owen and Max wanted. It had been immoral to ask him, to blackmail him into it. Bad enough that Linton would have to look as though he was going to do it right up until the last moment so that he could keep Dirk in rehab. But Linton knew that in stringing Thorne along, he’d be hurting him and the closer they grew to each other, the worse that would be.
But a lot could happen in five weeks.
Thorne might not fancy him for a start, particularly after Linton had turned him down.
Thorne might go for a woman. And this time, that would be a good thing.
Owen could find a new guy, assuming he came out of his room and stopped stuffing his face with chocolate and took a shower.
Max might recover from his fit of pique and laugh off what Thorne had said about him.
The world could get hit by an asteroid.
Maybe not that, but Linton had been thinking about Max. Why would a talented architect be concerned about an actor’s views on building design even if they were reported in the press? And they had been. Linton had Googled and found a few column inches. But celebrities were always mouthing off about stuff of which they knew nothing. So what if Max had lost the commission to design Thorne’s house? He’d get another just as lucrative from someone just as famous. Probably more famous.
But Linton was fairly certain this revenge scheme was driven more by Max’s damaged ego than by Owen’s broken heart, though was there something he was missing?
By the time he parked under his building, and pulled the key out of the ignition, it was gone nine and he was shattered. As he headed toward the lift, a guy stepped out of the shadows and Linton stumbled to a halt. Shit.
“Linton.” Pascal came straight toward him
Linton side stepped away when Pascal tried to put his arms around him.
“You’re looking good.” Pascal smiled.
Liar. I look like shit.
“I missed you,” Pascal said.
Linton had had three months to think about what to say when he saw Pascal again and now he didn’t trust himself to speak.
“There wasn’t a day went by without me thinking about you.” Pascal let out a shaky sigh.
Even while you were fucking your girlfriend?
“I wish you’d met me in New York.” Pascal put on his puppy dog face. “I went all that way just to see you.”
Amadeo had warned him that Pascal had booked a trip, so Linton had taken a few days’ vacation to Miami.
Pascal shuffled his feet on the concrete. “I’m sorry I fucked up.”
Linton had thought about Pascal far too much after they’d split, remembering the feel of Pascal’s short grey hair against his chest, against his dick, the way he moaned in loud breathy gasps when he came, and after he’d come how his fingers felt as he stroked Linton’s face. Gradually those memories had subsided under the knowledge that Pascal had betrayed him, under the thoughts of Pascal in bed with a woman.
“I thought I’d see you at the office this week but Max says you’re working on some secret project. The bastard won’t even tell me what it is.” Pascal grinned and Linton’s heart didn’t thump in the way it once had.
“Can I come in? Please. I need to talk to you.”
“No.” Linton strode past him and found himself jerked to a halt as Pascal grabbed his shoulder. Linton tried to shake him off and when Pascal didn’t release him, a jolt of panic raced down his spine.
“Let me go.” Linton spoke in a quiet voice.
Pascal squeezed Linton’s shoulder. “Being with her makes no difference to the way I feel about you. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“It makes every difference.” Linton yanked free and walked away.
/>
He was relieved Pascal didn’t follow, but as he reached the lift Pascal called, “Give me another chance.”
Linton didn’t respond. He used his key to access his floor and as the lift door closed, he saw Pascal still watching him. Fuck. When he found out the guy was flying to New York, he’d understood Pascal wasn’t ready to let go, but Linton wouldn’t change his mind.
Before he climbed into bed, he checked his old phone. No messages from Pascal, but a flurry of texts from Owen asking him to call, and also a voice message from him demanding he get in touch. Linton groaned and rang him.
“Why haven’t you called me back until now?” Owen all but screeched.
“I can’t carry a phone around with your number in it. What if Thorne picked it up? Plus I’ve been out all day.”
“With him?”
“No.” Linton’s head throbbed and he pressed the heel of his palm into his temple.
“Have you even seen him yet?”
“Briefly.”
Owen gave a heavy sigh.
“Have you changed your mind?” Linton mentally crossed his fingers though he didn’t know which way he wanted Owen to go. Now he had Dirk in rehab, he needed to keep him there. Though if it was Max driving this, Owen changing his mind would make no difference.
“No.”
“I had the feeling you didn’t really want me to do this,” Linton said. “That it was Max pushing you.”
“I want Thorne to have a taste of his own medicine. Where did you see him?”
“In a pub.”
“Did you talk to him? What happened?”
“He asked me to go home with him and I said no.”
That was greeted by silence.
“And?” Owen whispered.
“I walked away. I played hard to get. Isn’t that what you told me to do?”
“Yes.”
“Then I kissed him, got in a cab and left him standing there.”
“Oh my God, that is fucking perfect. That is fucking brilliant. Does he have your number?”
There was the problem. Linton was too tired to have this conversation. “Look. Leave this to me. You can’t micromanage what you want me to do. It’s going to take time.” As long as he could spin it out. “I have to be subtle. You have to be patient.”
Dirty Games Page 12
