Linton searched for some clever put down and couldn’t find one. “Right. I stand corrected. Night then.”
He turned and walked away. In the wrong fucking direction but he wasn’t going to turn around now.
A moment later Thorne came up at his side. “What’s wrong?”
Linton didn’t trust himself to speak. Everything was wrong. Doing this was wrong. Taking money to do this was wrong. Feeling something for Thorne was wrong. Christ Almighty. He kept walking. Think of what’s right about this. Sorting Dirk out once and for all. Not letting Owen down. Keeping his balls once Max knew he couldn’t pay back the money immediately. He was going to call Owen, tell him he couldn’t do it, arrange some way to pay Max back—sell him his soul—move to a bedsit in Stockwell, live on bread and water…
Thorne stepped in front of him and Linton came to an abrupt halt.
“I did something…no, I said something that pissed you off.” Thorne’s forehead creased. “I don’t know what but I’m sorry, okay? This is not what I wanted to happen. You walking away again.”
Linton hadn’t expected an apology. “Okay.” He stepped past Thorne to keep going but a hand on the shoulder stopped him and spun him round.
“That’s it?” Thorne gave a short laugh. “You’re dumping me?” He let go of Linton and dramatically clutched his chest. “We haven’t even done anything yet. You’re not going to tell me that kiss didn’t turn you on. I know it did.”
“Do you want to fuck or go out on a date?”
“I can’t do bo—?” Thorne pressed his lips together. The smile dropped from his face. He looked nervous, vulnerable. Linton reminded himself this guy was an actor.
“Ahh. Now I get it.” Thorne nodded. “A date. Is that the right answer? You want to be wined and dined? A meal at the Ivy. Champagne at the top of Tower 42. Private shopping at Harrods. Tell me what you’d like. Maybe you’d prefer to be whisked off to Paris in a private jet. Or New York.”
The vulnerability had evaporated. He looked cold now. The blue in his eyes had turned icy, striking Linton with an arctic blast.
“I’m not looking for or impressed by extravagant gestures,” Linton said.
“What’s extravagant about a meal at the Ivy or champagne in Tower 42?”
Linton hoped that was a joke. “You didn’t even let me buy you a pint,” he pointed out.
“I don’t like being pestered.”
“I only asked once.”
Thorne tsked. “Not you. You’re not pestering me enough. It was just that after those women recognised me, others would come, summoned by social media in a Tweeting frenzy. And I’m not flattering myself. It’s happening more and more.”
“They don’t care that you like guys?”
“I’m bi and fair game to both sexes. Getting pestered might be the price of celebrity but I don’t have to like it.”
Linton knew from Thorne’s expression he’d spotted the shadow that swept over his face. He hadn’t been able to pull it back.
“Is that a problem?” Thorne asked.
“That you’re the world’s most handsome man? No.” Liar.
“Ha! That I’m bi. Why is that a problem?”
“My ex was bi.”
“And ex because he was bi?”
“No.” Linton shook his head. Though that wasn’t quite true because if Pascal hadn’t been bi there would have been no issue.
“He has to be a bastard then.”
“Why do you assume that?” Linton asked.
“Because I somehow don’t see you as the one at fault.”
“Two sides to every story and it’s not a story I’m about to tell someone I don’t know.”
“I want you to get to know me and let me get to know you.”
Linton didn’t answer.
“I had a crap day today,” Thorne said. “I was hoping you’d cheer me up with a blow job.”
“Not tonight. Some inconsiderate bastard bruised my mouth.”
Thorne let out a brief chuckle. “Maybe another time?”
“Maybe.”
“That sounded like a no.”
“Maybe when you talk to me about your family.”
“Fair enough.” Thorne took his phone from his pocket and held it out to Linton. “Can I have your number? Please.”
Linton hesitated. He felt as if a line had been drawn. If he walked away now, that was it. No harm would have been done, well not to Thorne.
“All you have to do is tap in your number. It’s not difficult.” Thorne was staring at him again.
Linton called himself on Thorne’s mobile. When his phone vibrated in his pocket, he ended the call on Thorne’s and handed it back. “Happy?”
“We’re not in bed fucking. Of course I’m not happy.”
Linton swallowed his smile and moved away.
“Where are you going now?” Thorne called.
“Home to have a wank.”
Thorne laughed. “I don’t think I like you.”
“I don’t think I like you either.”
Linton carried on down the street with his heart pounding.
“Hey,” Thorne shouted. “You think I give everyone my phone number?”
“How would I know?”
“Well I don’t,” Thorne yelled. “Call me.”
Linton didn’t answer. He went a roundabout way back to his flat wondering if Thorne really did only know which building he lived in and not the number. He wasn’t sure how long he could string this out or if he wanted to. He slid from one direction to another. Do I have a fucking choice? His job? Dirk? Max’s money? Linton hadn’t seen the side of Thorne that Owen had described. He’d been impatient at first with the women in the pub but he’d let them take his picture. Linton understood how annoying it would be to be recognised and pestered, but…
He headed straight for his wardrobe and took out his other phone. Three missed calls from Max.
“About time,” Max snapped.
“You were the one who wanted me to buy a new phone. If I carry both around with me that sort of defeats the object.”
“I want you calling or texting on a regular basis to tell me what you’re doing. I thought I made that clear.”
“Sorry.”
“Have you been in contact with him today?”
“I met him tonight.”
“Was he in a good mood?”
Why had Max asked that? “Not sure. He was a bit rude to a couple of women who wanted selfies with him.”
Max laughed. “Sounds like Thorne. So when are you seeing him again?”
“He’s given me his number.”
“That’s something at least. I’ve talked to Pascal. He’s not being reasonable, but I persuaded him you were to be left alone while you were working on this project. Do nothing to encourage him. And speak to my brother.” Max ended the call.
Linton sighed and called Owen.
“Hi.” Owen’s voice was flat.
“How are you?”
“Why would you care?”
Linton clenched his teeth. “You think I’m enjoying this? I wish you’d let it drop.”
“Not going to happen. Have you seen him?”
“We had a drink together tonight.” Sort of. “He gave me his phone number and asked me to call him.”
“What did you talk about?”
Christ. “Meals at the Ivy. Champagne in Tower 42. Trips to Paris.”
Owen let out a strangled moan. “He took me to all those places. Oh God. That means he’s hooked. You did it. I knew he’d like you. Just don’t fall for him or you’ll ruin everything.”
“I haven’t seen the side of him that you described.” Not really.
“Well it’s fucking there,” Owen snapped. “You can’t back out of this now. You promised. Max paid you.”
“I know. But I don’t like doing it. It’s wrong.”
“You have to,” Owen yelled. “You left me. You owe me!”
Linton ended the call, powered down the phone and toss
ed it back in the wardrobe. He’d come home feeling horny but that had gone. He slumped in front of the TV but hardly took in what was on the screen. What the hell was he going to do?
Chapter Twelve
Linton hasn’t called.
Thorne bit back his irritation and tried to distract himself by taking all his shoes out of the wardrobe hunting for interesting footwear for the interview that night. Thorne had thought about buying a pair of high heels but because he’d be wearing them for a joke, there was a risk he’d upset guys who wore women’s footwear out of preference. Fuck it. Maybe it was safer to be boring and wear black lace-ups.
Why hasn’t Linton called?
“Having a sort out?” Josh leaned on the door frame, mug of coffee in his hand.
“I’m on the Now Show and under instructions to wear interesting footwear.”
“What does that mean? Slippers? Wellington boots?”
“I have no idea.”
“I’ve got a pair of ice skates that would fit you.”
“Remember what happened the last time I wore skates?”
“How many stitches was it? You going casual or wearing a suit?”
“Casual gives me more choice of shoes.”
“Wear a suit and that’ll dictate your choice. Orlando won’t want you to look stupid.”
“That’s true.”
“Are you okay?” Josh asked.
Thorne let out a short laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
“You seem unsettled.”
“I am. Are you working Saturday night?”
“Yep.”
“Shit. How about the Saturday after?”
“No.”
“Then we’re having a party.”
Josh let out an astonished gasp and almost spilled his coffee. “Seriously?”
“Can you sort out the food and booze? Ask Banners to cater. They’re good. Use my credit card. You can invite who you want.”
“What about—?”
“No. Not Nate.”
“He won’t write about it.”
“Still no.”
There was a long silence, then Josh tsked and walked away. Thorne set his tan lace up brogues to one side and put all his other shoes back in the bottom of the wardrobe.
Even the mention of Nate’s name aggravated him. He wondered how long it would be before that didn’t happen. Never. Still, he had something else to irritate him now.
Why the fuck hasn’t Linton called?
Thorne picked up his phone and started a text telling Linton about the party but stopped before he’d finished composing the message. What the hell’s the matter with me? He did like to chase, but only when he expected to catch because that was what always happened, but Linton had twice slipped out of his grasp. Thorne had never been turned down by anyone.
It was annoying.
It was refreshing.
It was irresistible.
In the end, he sent the message and added Don’t you know the rules of this game? Call me. He had nothing to lose.
After that text went, he had an incoming one from Orlando and groaned.
By the time the car arrived to collect him for the TV show, there had still been no reply from Linton. Turned out he did have something to lose. His temper. Stomach churning excitement had been overrun by acute disappointment which had finally morphed to solid irritation. What the fuck had that kiss by the Thames been about? Hardly one-sided. Was Linton interested or not? Thorne flung himself into the back of the car, and called him. He was shocked when Linton answered.
“Hi.”
“Still alive then?” Thorne didn’t try to keep the snap from his voice.
“Working. An eager beaver slaving away, going the extra mile, burning the candle at both ends, buckling down with my nose to the grindstone, working my fingers to the bone.”
“I could have done that for you. I’m good with my hands. And my mouth. And my cock.”
Linton cut him off and Thorne rang back.
“I’m going to assume that was accidental, cliché-boy,” Thorne said.
“I’m working.”
“In a meeting with someone more important than me?”
“Yeah. The head of Amazon.”
Linton cut him off again and Thorne called him back. Somehow hearing Linton’s voice had snuffed out his bad mood.
“Are you wearing a suit?” Thorne asked.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve got a hard on just thinking about you sitting there in a suit especially if you’re wearing a tie.” He slid his hand into his pants to adjust his cock. Shit.
“I’m wearing a dress and a G-string.”
Thorne laughed. “Fuck, you sound delicious.”
Linton hung up but Thorne heard him chuckle first.
Thorne called him again. “I have this urge to fuck you on a boardroom table. Where are you?”
The call snapped off and Thorne rang back only now he was annoyed again. “If you hang up on me one more time, I’ll tell your boss you lost him my business. What’s his name?”
“Are you looking for a new image? I could help with that. You need help with that.”
Thorne growled. “There’s a lot you can help me with.” He looked down at the bulge in his pants. “I’m in a car on my way to Broadcasting House to guest on the Now Show. Why don’t you come and watch? I can get you a ticket.”
“I’ve a prior engagement at the Abacus Chess Club. Tell River I’ll give him a game. You too if you want. I rather think you like playing games.” Linton cut him off.
Thorne didn’t call him back but now he had a smile on his face.
When Amanda walked into the Green Room and Thorne saw her shoes, he whistled. The heels made it look as if her legs went on forever and they were gorgeous legs.
“Like them?” She pirouetted and struck a pose.
He dragged his mind back in gear. She meant the shoes not her legs. “Louboutin, right?” The red soles gave it away.
“Yep. I love them. Easier to walk in than those others.”
“That’s good because we have to go down steps onto the set.”
Neither of them helped themselves to drinks or snacks. It would be just Thorne’s luck to open a can and have it explode all over him or scoff a nut and launch into a coughing fit. He’d watched a couple of shows on his tablet to make sure he was familiar with the way the presenters, Kim and Andy, operated. But it wasn’t as if they were out to trap him. This was just a plug for Changing.
Both he and Amanda made it to the couch opposite the presenters without incident and to warm applause from the audience. Kim was a tall, slender beauty who was half-Japanese. She could easily have made it as a model. She was the tough one. Andy was a slightly chubby Brit with a broad Yorkshire accent, and he was the funny one.
They had a discussion about the film before the conversation turned to shoes.
“Love your shoes,” Kim said. “Both of you. Blue suit and brown shoes—right on trend, Thorne.”
“I wondered about a pink pair but…”
The audience laughed.
“What do you think about high heels?” Andy asked Thorne.
“I only wear them on special occasions,” Thorne said, which raised another laugh. “I think women look great in them, though not if they’re going to step on my foot.” Or elsewhere.
“Men used to wear them too,” Kim said. “They signified social class.”
“Some men still wear them if they’re vertically challenged like me.” Andy raised his eyebrows. “But could men walk in heels like Amanda’s? Could you?”
The question was aimed at Thorne. “I’ve never tried.” Not since he was a kid anyway and his mother had been furious he’d picked her most expensive pair to play with.
Thorne glanced up as someone came onto the set with several boxes.
“Like to have a go?” Andy grinned at him.
“If I break my ankle, my agent will kill you.” Thorne wasn’t joking.
But both he an
d Andy tottered back and forward in front of the audience in higher and higher heels.
“You know what’s always puzzled me,” Thorne said as he struggled to pull the shoes off. “If Cinderella’s glass slipper was such a perfect fit, how come the thing fell off so easily?”
“That’s a good point.” Andy rolled on the floor trying to take his heels off.
“They’re not comfortable,” Thorne said. “I have renewed admiration for those who wear them.”
“Ouch. Blisters already,” Andy moaned.
The questions turned to their love lives and Amanda went first which gave Thorne time to wonder how much they knew about his.
Kim turned to him. “I understand you were engaged to be married not so long ago.”
Of course she knew.
“What went wrong?” she asked.
“That’s personal.” As if anything in his life could be private.
She leaned toward him. “Whisper. Just between the two of us.”
Ha—fucking—ha. “We didn’t turn out to be the right match.”
“There was a big falling out, wasn’t there?”
“Better to fall out before than after, right?” Thorne plastered a smile on his face. You press me on this, you bitch, and I’ll walk off the set.
“A birdie tells me you swing both ways.”
“Not at the same time. Makes me dizzy.”
“Do you have a preference?”
“I’m omnivorous.”
That brought a roar of laughter from the audience.
“Did you know that skunks are omnivorous?” Andy asked.
“You pick a skunk as an example of a bisexual animal and not a cute dolphin?” Thorne pretended to frown. “Or a rabbit-eared bandicoot?”
“Poison dart frog?” Andy grinned. “Cockroach?”
Kim groaned. “Enough. Are you involved with anyone now?”
“I broke up with a rabbit-eared bandicoot. But I have my eye on someone. I’m…trying to be involved with them.”
Kim laughed. “What does that mean?”
“Just what it sounds like. There’s someone I like but I’m not sure the feeling is reciprocated.”
“I can’t imagine anyone turning you down,” Kim said. “I’ve heard it said that your smile could melt ice. Though that’s not a good thing for the planet.”
Dirty Games Page 15
