by Cindy Dees
Sebastian frowned. “I don’t like it. You should cancel.”
“Look. This is my work. I’m supposed to mingle with the beautiful people. I am the beautiful people. I get jobs that way.”
The patented Gigoni scowl deepened. “I still don’t like it.”
“I’m not crazy about being separated from you either, Mr. Hunky, Delicious, Purr-worthy Bodyguard. But think of it this way. What if the counterfeiter needs me to go out in public so he can find me and contact me? If I hole up in some hotel room indefinitely, he’ll never get access to me.”
Sebastian was still scowling, but Zane would take it as a good sign that the guy didn’t come back with any counterargument to that.
He added, “I don’t know about you, but I’m eager to get this over with and get on with my life.”
Chapter Six
SEBASTIAN’S INTERNAL lie detector was firing wildly. Even being called delicious and purr-worthy by Zane Stryker wasn’t enough to derail it.
Zane definitely wasn’t being straight with him. But where was the lie? An invitation to the ballet was damned hard to fake. Particularly since the production had sold out within a few hours of seats going on sale. It wasn’t like Zane could just sashay out and buy a ticket to give truth to the lie.
The only logical explanation was that Zane had contacted his superiors at Erebus while he was inside the fashion house. Dammit, Sebastian should have insisted on sticking by Zane’s side. It had been a calculated risk to let him go into the audition thing alone. But he had his answer now. Zane was indeed an Erebus operative, or at least working with the consortium.
The ballet tonight, huh? Strange place to exchange the plates. He’d expected someplace quiet, where it could happen in privacy and relative security. Maybe this was just an information exchange and not the actual handoff.
“So. Can I interest you in a spot of early supper?” Zane asked. “I’m starving.”
“That’s what happens when you eat twigs for breakfast.”
“I’m here for go-sees. I can’t go in with a food baby hanging over my belt.”
Sebastian snorted. “Your gut wouldn’t hang over your belt if you ate an entire side of beef. There’s no fat on you at all.”
“You sound like an Italian granny. ‘Eat, eat. Put some meat on those bones, sonny,’” Zane teased.
“I wouldn’t know. I never met my Italian granny.”
Zane’s playfulness evaporated. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“How could you? And it’s okay. I don’t miss what I never had.”
“I made you think about sad things, though. Tell you what. To make it up to you, how about you pick where we eat supper.”
“Sorry, I don’t know any joints in town that serve twigs and leaves.”
“I am an occasional carnivore, thank you very much. It takes protein to fuel these stunning muscles.”
“Sorry again. I haven’t seen you shirtless. Have you got a six-pack under there that I don’t know about?”
Zane startled him by sliding off the seat to his knees so he could straighten his torso and whipping up his T-shirt to flash his entire front. Of course the man was perfectly tanned, his chest hair manscaped until it was just a suggestion of hair, and his skin was so smooth and perfect that it almost looked oiled. Not only did the guy flash a nice, tight six-pack, but he also obviously maintained under about six percent body fat, so said six-pack was visible even with a casual flex.
“Well, hello,” Sebastian blurted. “Where did you get that?”
Zane answered quickly and matter-of-factly, “I picked it up used at a thrift shop.”
Sebastian was startled for a moment, and then a crack of laughter slipped out of him. “Okay, fair. I deserved that. What do you do to work out? I know for a fact abs like that don’t materialize out of thin air.”
“Hell to the no, they don’t,” Zane responded indignantly. “I followed a special diet, lifted weights, and did a workout custom designed for me by a body sculptor in Italy.”
“Body sculptor?” What the hell was that?
Zane explained. “Instead of shaping marble, he shapes living bodies into artistic forms. Works with a lot of the best bodybuilders in Europe. Also perfect for us model types. For a full year, he measured my body every week and built exercise regimens for me to help build the perfect body.”
“Sounds… intrusive.” Frankly, it also sounded kind of sexy.
Zane snorted. “You ought to go through a fitting for badly constructed clothes. Talk about intrusive. By the time they fit properly, it feels like the tailor has his hand up your ass. And not in a good way.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
“How do you get your suits tailored?” Zane asked curiously.
“I buy off-the-rack, and the tailor at my dry cleaning shop alters them.”
Predictably, Zane squawked, “What? Sacrilege!”
He shrugged. “I only wear suits when I’m dealing with investors. I prefer to spend my time in work clothes crawling around construction sites. Or in gym gear.”
“My dear sir. Wearing off-the-rack clothing of any kind is a travesty we must correct at the first possible moment.”
“No, thank you,” he declared in a combination of alarm and determination.
Zane’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Challenge accepted. I will get you into a bespoke suit if it’s the last thing I do.”
“I didn’t throw down any challenge.”
“Nonetheless. I’m getting you properly clothed.”
Their glares clashed, and neither one of them was willing to back down. Only the town car banging through a pothole and practically throwing them both into the front seat broke the stalemate.
Zane pushed himself back onto the seat and buckled in while Sebastian regretted losing the view of those spectacular abs. Of course now every time he looked at Zane, he would envision that body.
As the silence between them threatened to grow awkward, he returned to the original topic of Zane’s picky eating habits and where they were dining tonight. “If I pick the restaurant, do I also get to order for both of us? And will you have to eat what I order for you?”
Zane looked startled. All of a sudden, a sexual power dynamic crackled between them. Or was that just him being in lust with the guy? Food could be an incredibly intimate and sensual thing, after all.
Zane mumbled, “Umm, sure. I’m game.”
Were they still talking about food, or had the conversation shifted to something altogether different? God, if only Sebastian were better at reading social, particularly sexual, signals.
Still, something hot and possessive blazed in Sebastian’s gut. Did Zane mean it? Would he be game for any fantasy Sebastian desired to play out upon his willing body? His gaze raked down Zane’s torso and back up where he lounged on the other side of the back seat. God, the things he’d like to do to that body. His breath caught as Zane started to lean forward. Started to reach for him. Started to give himself over to him—
And then pulled back, looking troubled.
Surely he hadn’t just seen that. What would a man like Zane find attractive in a man like him? Granted, his checkbook seemed to enthrall a lot of people, but Zane didn’t strike him as the type to fall in love with money and not the man. For that matter, he didn’t seem like the kind of man to fuck a guy for his money either.
It wasn’t that he had no self-esteem. He knew he was a decent-looking man and in great physical shape. Women crawled all over him. And if he bothered to let them know he was gay, he suspected men would crawl all over him too.
But Zane… he didn’t run in the regular world. He hung out with movie stars, celebrities, the beautiful people. Jetsetters. Sebastian Gigoni was a poor kid from East London made good. Which was nothing to be ashamed of, but was in no way glamorous.
Sebastian retreated into the far corner of the spacious back seat and stared out the window, fixedly not looking Zane’s way. He didn’t know whether to scream or whimper in f
rustration. But one thing he did know for sure: he was hot as hell for Zane… and he wished more than anything that the feeling was mutual.
He watched the traffic go by, not seeing any of it. He should have known Zane would flash him when he asked about his abs. The guy was understandably a bit of an exhibitionist about his body and seemed so… physical… in how he attacked life. He would undoubtedly be totally uninhibited in bed too. God, it was tempting to experience a lover like that. Would it loosen up his own hang-ups a little?
What the hell was he supposed to do about Zane? The guy was supposed to be a job. Nothing more and nothing less. He couldn’t afford to let this turn into a personal relationship. Professionalism and all.
Except he didn’t technically work for Peregrine Cardiffe and Wild Cards, Inc. anymore. This was a favor for a friend. Did that negate the requirement to maintain boundaries of professional distance from clients? Or was he just looking for a convenient excuse to get inside Zane’s shorts?
Of course, it didn’t help that Zane seemed prepared to act on the sizzling attraction that crackled between them.
God knew Sebastian wasn’t ready to act on it. A little voice in the back of his mind snorted in disbelief. Okay. Fine. He shouldn’t be ready to act on it. In point of fact, he definitely was.
However, sleeping with Zane might convince the guy that he bought Zane’s story about not knowing who had put the plates in his luggage. And maybe it would slow him down a hair when it came time for Zane and his buddies to try to kill him. It would probably be the hottest sex he ever had—
No. Stop right there. Sleeping with Zane is a terrible idea.
And yet his body seemed to think it was the brightest idea since the electric light bulb. He shifted in his seat, his erection painfully hard and unpleasantly contained by his briefs and jeans. On one hand, he was desperate to get to the restaurant and distract himself with food. On the other hand, he would have to unfold his body from the confines of the car and stand upright. Which could prove both embarrassing and uncomfortable.
Zane fell into pensive silence as well, seeming distracted about something. Were Sebastian not wrestling with his own pounding lust so damned hard, he might have inquired about it. Instead, he gritted his teeth and thought about tax audits. Nuns. Anything to get his mind off jumping on top of Zane Stryker and ripping that tight T-shirt and those sexy jeans off him.
“We’re here, gentlemen,” Etienne announced from the front seat.
Praise the Lord and pass the potatoes. Sebastian all but fell out of the damned car onto the sidewalk in his haste to get away from Zane.
The Italian restaurant, narrow and deep, was empty this early in the afternoon, and they were seated immediately at a booth in the darkest, most private, most romantic back corner of the dining room. Only the glow of a tea candle in a schlocky red glass bubble lit Zane’s face as he looked around, grinning. “Really? Italian food? You do realize I just flew in from Milan, right?”
Sebastian shrugged. “What can I say? If I’m going to put some meat on your bones, can you name me a better cuisine to do it?” He added archly, “Besides, I’ll bet you didn’t eat a single bite of pasta the whole time you were in Italy. Your body sculptor dude probably told you carbs are Satan’s great temptation, didn’t he?”
Zane made a noncommittal sound he would take as verification that he was correct on all counts.
The bartender put down his towel and came over to wait on them. “Hey, Seb. How’ve you been? Long time, no see.”
“I’ve been busy. Had to go out of town for a while. But I’m back and dying for one of your specials.”
“The usual?”
“Better make it extra large. I’m sharing today.”
“You got it. Beer?”
“Two of whatever you’ve got on tap that’s dark and sweet.”
Zane took a sharp breath beside him, and Sebastian threw him a sidelong glance as the bartender retreated. “You okay?”
“I haven’t had anything alcoholic to drink in over three years.”
Sebastian swore. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll have him take the beers back.”
“No. It’s okay. I was never an alcoholic. Drugs were my poison of choice, and no power on earth could make me mess with those now. It was a long, hard climb back, and I won’t go through that again. I stayed away from booze because I didn’t want to end up using it as a crutch while I broke my drug habit only to end up an alcoholic instead.”
“You’re sure you don’t just want me to order us a couple of sodas instead?”
“I’m sure. I’m in a much better headspace these days. I can drink a beer without falling off the addiction cliff. I’ll always be careful about my alcohol intake, of course. But I’m not hyperventilating, and I don’t have butterflies in my stomach. This is good. Very good. Believe me.”
The bartender plunked down a pair of frosted mugs, and Sebastian made a point of sipping his. No way in hell was he ordering another round and making Zane feel any more awkward than he already did.
He watched carefully as Zane took an appreciative sip of the brew and set the mug down without needing to guzzle the beer. Thank goodness the guy seemed to be addiction-free.
“So, Sebastian. Tell me about this place.”
Their gazes met, and Sebastian actually choked a little on the foam as the simmering attraction between them flared up again. Crap. Even a vaguely intimate look from Zane was now inflating his rubber ducky. He’d barely gotten over his last hard-on, dammit. He mumbled, “Do you have any idea how amazing you look in candlelight?” Hell. Where had those words come from?
Zane’s thousand-watt smile flashed. “Sweetie, I’m a model. I know exactly how I look in every light and from every angle.” A pause. “But thanks. It’s nice to hear that from someone outside the business.”
“You don’t paint a very flattering picture of your job or your life.”
Zane toyed with the exterior of his mug, drawing idle designs in the frost on the thick glass. “I was too young for it when I started. The hell of it is that youth pays, though. It’s a tough business to grow up in. Too many temptations. Too much flattery. It twists you. Kills all your filters.”
“All of them?” he blurted. Jesus. Sebastian’s imagination had just taken flight again. His sex life had been pretty boring to date. It was a walk on the wild side to have sex at all, let alone do all the dirty, fun, experimental things he daydreamed about when his guard was down.
One corner of Zane’s mouth turned up. He leaned in close to murmur, “I’ve done all the things, and more, that you’ve only imagined in secret, late at night, when you’re jerking off in the dark.”
Sebastian stared, shocked.
Zane leaned back, his smile widening in triumph.
“Are you telling me the truth—” He broke off. “No. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
“Yes you do. You want all the messy, X-rated details. You want me to describe it all to you and then do it all with you.”
He gulped. Literally gulped. All right, then. So it was possible to blow his wad in response to nothing more than dirty talk. “If you ever get tired of modeling, you could make a fortune at a phone sex gig.”
Zane picked up his mug and was still grinning when he tipped the thing to his mouth and took a long swig. He smacked his lips together in satisfaction, and Sebastian’s imagination galloped away with him again. What would it be like to have those pouty pink lips wrapped around his cock, that audacious tongue swirling around the head of it, flicking and slurping and teasing—
“For fuck’s sake, Zane. Quit messing with me.”
An elegant shoulder shrug. “Sorry. You’re too uptight, my dude. You need to chill out.”
And just like that, Zane turned off the flirting, his tone matter-of-fact.
Fuck. Had all of that been just an act? It had been completely convincing. Sebastian had been ready to get down on bended knee and beg the man to sleep with him. But then, that was what
the guy was paid to do, wasn’t it? To sell sex. He was supposed to sell the idea of every product, every article of clothing he modeled, as the means to be like him. To be gorgeous and young and the embodiment of a desirable male.
Sebastian exhaled hard, one part relieved and one big part disappointed. He changed the subject, regaling Zane with the early history of this joint as a speakeasy and then a mafia hangout. “The old speakeasy is accessible by a secret stairway in the back office. But there’s also a trapdoor in the floor behind the bar that leads to it. That way, if police raided this place, wanted criminals could duck out of sight fast and either hide down below or make their way out the back by way of the stairs.”
“That’s so cool! Can we take a look at it?” Zane asked eagerly.
Sebastian and the bartender exchanged grins, but it was Sebastian who answered. “Seeing as how I own the place, that might be arranged.”
Zane’s jaw dropped and that delicious mouth of his formed a round O that made Sebastian think yet again of blowjobs and hot, wet kisses. Although, in the state he was in right now, a hole in a wall would probably make him think dirty thoughts. Jeez. He hadn’t been this horny since he’d been about fourteen and first figured out he was gay. Before that, he’d tried with all his might to be attracted to girls and had utterly failed, assuming that something was broken with his sex drive.
The bartender brought out a huge deep-dish pizza pie and plunked it down on a wire stand in front of them.
“What all’s on this beast?” Zane exclaimed. “It looks like the cook threw everything in the kitchen at it.”
Sebastian grinned. “It does have every topping in the store on it, except anchovies and pineapple. I’m sorry, but fish and tropical fruit just don’t belong on a proper pizza.”
“Speak for yourself, Italian boy. I love me a good Hawaiian… all juicy and meaty. Yum.”
Christ. Was the guy doing that intentionally, or was Sebastian just finding double meanings in everything Zane said?
