There was a pause, and the mood changed slightly. “I don’t mind,” Simon said slowly. “I mean, it is my name. Is there a reason you don’t want to call me Si? Nicknames are often used between people who are… close.”
That was not an easy question to answer, although he had brought it on himself. Lucien inwardly cursed himself for killing the fun.
“It’s not so much that I don’t want to call you Si,” he said honestly. “I think in the future”—hell, should he be mentioning the future?—“I will very possibly use your nickname. But I have always thought of you as Simon, and so there is an adjustment to be made… also, people close to you call you Si. I think I like the distinction of being close to you, and yet calling you Simon.” Did that even make sense, he wondered dismally. “It’s foolish, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s not foolish,” Simon replied quickly. “I think I get it. It’s part of the reason why I decided to give you a nickname, really.” An awkward silence sat between them. “And somehow we’ve managed to kill this conversation by talking about our names. That has to be worthy of an award, right?”
Relieved, Lucien laughed outright.
Chapter Eleven
SI glanced again at the address in Lucien’s text. It seemed the water taxi was at the right place, but motherfucking wow. He was right on the Grand Canal and hardly more than a stone’s throw from St. Mark’s Square. Lucien hadn’t been wrong when he’d said Léo’s apartment was “well-situated.”
He paid the driver, then clambered out of the boat and onto the small dock, hauling his bag with him, and called Lucien.
“Are you here?” his lover asked, actually shocking Si. He’d never heard Lucien answer the phone so informally.
“Standing at the door,” he replied when he could find the words. He heard movement through the phone, then a moment later the grand door before him opened, and there was Lucien.
Si’s instinctive grin was mirrored on Lucien’s face. Although they spoke daily and texted in between calls—sometimes on business, mostly not—Si’s crazy publicity schedule promoting On the Ball meant it had been almost three weeks since they’d seen each other, and the ache of that had sat on Si’s chest like a lead weight. Was he being stupid, he wondered, to have fallen so far and so fast? Probably, but he wasn’t willing to give up his time with Lucien just to be sensible.
He should probably start thinking about coming out. Lucien’s private life wasn’t plastered over the tabloids, but he was openly bisexual, and it was unlikely he’d want to go back into the closet for Si’s sake. And Si wouldn’t want him to—in fact, the only reason he hadn’t come out during his playing career was because there hadn’t been anybody in his life worth the media bother that would have followed. He’d never really dated seriously—there was always too much else going on, and nobody, man or woman, had intrigued him enough for him to want to rearrange his schedule to include them. Would things have been different if he’d met Lucien back then?
Yes.
He pondered that as Lucien grabbed his overnight bag and hauled him into a small but lovely foyer. Seconds later, the front door was firmly closed, and Lucien’s mouth was on his.
Mmmm.
He’d missed this so damn much. He wrapped his arms around Lucien, sliding one hand up into that immaculate blond hair. Si would never admit it aloud, but he deliberately messed up Lucien’s hair whenever he could. He loved seeing his usually impeccably tidy lover all mussed and knowing it was because of him, that he was allowed to rumple Lucien and see him in this less-than-perfect state.
Finally they broke apart, panting. With more than a little satisfaction, Si took in the flush of color on Lucien’s cheeks, the way his blue eyes glittered, his messy hair. He’d done that.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Lucien said, his voice husky, accent thick. “Most of the residents are not here, but this is still a shared space.”
Si gestured toward the rather ornate staircase. There was probably a lift somewhere, but a couple flights of stairs would do him good right now. “After you.” Wow, was that his voice? When had it gone all growly like that?
Probably about the time Lucien squeezed your arse, mate.
They jogged up three flights of stairs, and Si winced a little when he realized his panting was not all due to their kisses. He really needed to get back into a proper workout routine. At least Lucien was huffing a bit more than him; he couldn’t have borne to be more unfit than a stuffy businessman.
Finally Lucien was opening a door, and Si followed him inside, desperate to (catch his breath) get his lover’s pants off.
Fuck me.
“Whoa.” He stopped short. “You weren’t joking when you said this place was beautiful.”
Lucien, still breathing heavily, smiled and closed the door. “You’ve met Léo. He has impeccable taste.”
That was for sure. Momentarily postponing sex, Si wandered over to the french doors, taking in the opulent chandeliers and luxurious furnishings, and stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the Grand Canal. The summer sun shone brightly. He felt Lucien step up behind him and leaned back just enough to touch him—and the tension from his hectic week disappeared.
They stood in silence for a long moment, just basking in the warmth and taking in the view. Finally, Si turned his head.
“Going to show me the bedroom?”
WHEN he felt Lucien stir beside him, Si wondered how he had the energy. They’d been going at it for hours, and Si himself felt like a wet rag—in the best possible way. He just wanted to lie in bed and drift off to sleep beside Lucien. Although come to think, something to eat wouldn’t go amiss.
“Simon?”
Si forced his eyes open and focused on the hot blond propped on an elbow beside him. “Hmmm?”
“How did the meeting go yesterday with the youth league?”
“I already told you it was good,” Si mumbled, letting his eyes drift closed again. The bed shifted, and then Lucien’s lips drifted across his left cheekbone. He smiled reflexively, even though there was no way in hell he could get it up again just yet.
“But what does ‘good’ mean?” Lucien murmured, now nibbling on Si’s ear. That tickled a little, and Si swatted at him gently.
“Stop that. There’s no way you can be ready to go again.” He opened his eyes and looked right into Lucien’s amused blue ones.
“I just like touching you.” He suddenly looked very vulnerable, and drew back a little. “If you—”
“Don’t go anywhere,” Si interrupted quickly. “I like it too.” It made him feel warm inside.
Lucien smirked. “Good. Now, about the youth league….”
Si sighed. It really had been a very positive meeting. He didn’t know why he was so reluctant to talk to Lucien about it.
Except he did.
“They were very enthusiastic,” he said, a decided lack of enthusiasm in his tone. “We spoke at length about what On the Ball hopes to achieve, and the ways we plan to implement the program in Italy. They have their own financial support program, of course, but it’s quite limited, and they said that based on what we discussed, they would be very happy to encourage those they can’t help to apply to us.”
“That’s wonderful,” Lucien said, his eyes narrowed. “So why are you so unhappy about it?”
Si heaved a sigh, and sat up, only just avoiding a collision between his and Lucien’s skulls. “One of the board members kept making comments. Nothing really overt, but he mentioned the fracas in Monaco, then later said something about how you and I must be good friends. And other than that, he was very quiet, but he hardly took his eyes off me, and I don’t think it’s because he thought I was sexy.” He tried to laugh, but it was halfhearted at best. “It was… odd.”
Lucien leaned back against the headboard, a thoughtful expression on his face. “That must have been uncomfortable for you,” he said, taking Si’s hand. “I think he must be extremely homophobic, to the point that even a rumor is enough for him to pass his fl
awed judgment.”
Slumping beside Lucien, Si nodded. “Yeah. I guess we’re lucky the rest of the board was at least ignoring the rumors.” There was a heavy, sinking feeling in his stomach.
“No, I think it will not matter.” Lucien’s tone was contemplative. “Our publicity has been better than we anticipated, and applications are much higher than we expected. Enrollment to the training camp, also. Anna told me it will be full soon. These are all signs that this program was desperately needed. I have never been secretive about my bisexuality—I am not so publicly visible as you, but the gossip sites have reported me dating both men and women. There have always been rumors about you. And there was, as you say, the fracas in Monaco. I think people don’t care. They can see that our private lives have nothing to do with the management of a necessary charity.”
Pursing his lips, Si wondered how to answer that. Perhaps Lucien was still high on sex?
“That’s the most naïve thing I’ve ever heard you say. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re drunk.”
Laughing, Lucien leaned over and kissed Si’s cheek, then got out of bed. “I will admit that last part is perhaps wishful thinking, but I do believe people have weighed the rumors against what benefit On the Ball will bring, and have decided they want the charity.” He strolled, naked, toward the bedroom door. Si watched his flexing back muscles with something approaching awe. “Are you hungry?”
AS they lingered over brunch the next morning on the terrace of a charming and not-too-touristy restaurant, Si and Lucien amused themselves with people watching. Si felt only slightly ashamed that they were making up stories about the varied people who passed, and not always nice ones. After all, it wasn’t as if any of the people would ever know.
“Henpecked husband,” he declared, his eyes on a man walking apace with his female companion.
“You always say that,” Lucien complained. “Why can he not be her assistant? Or bodyguard?”
Si looked at him and raised an eyebrow. The man in question did not look fit enough to guard anything. Lucien chuckled and conceded.
“In this case you are probably right. But I maintain that your last henpecked husband was not one.”
“This conversation is so weird,” Si mused. “Do you want more coffee?” He glanced around for the waiter.
Lucien didn’t answer, and Si turned back to see him staring quite fixedly at something. “Luc?” He followed his line of sight, and his jaw dropped. “Wow.”
The most stunningly gorgeous couple he’d ever seen was strolling along the street. Both were tall, the woman around six feet, the man well over. Both had clear muscle tone, although not so much as to be bulky, and were beautifully dressed to show their assets: fit young bodies, money, and class. That alone would have garnered them plenty of attention, but when you added their sheer good looks…. Both were wearing sunglasses, but that didn’t hide the flawlessly smooth tanned skin, the glossy black hair—long and flowing down the woman’s back, immaculately cut and styled for the man—the sharply angled cheekbones (both), full lips (hers), and action-hero square jaw (his).
Silently, Si and Lucien watched the couple pass, their gazes tracking every step. Once they’d gone far enough that watching further would mean craned necks, they turned back to look at each other.
Lucien cleared his throat. “Well, that was….”
Si huffed, and reached for his water glass. “Yeah.” He shifted slightly. Both the man and the woman had had a sway to their walk that was… stimulating. “I think we need more coffee.”
Murmuring agreement, Lucien gestured to the waiter, and then they sat in awkward silence until Si couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Did you see—”
“Wasn’t her—”
They both stopped, stared, and then laughed.
“Are we going to shamelessly objectify those poor people?” Si asked as their waiter brought the coffee.
Lucien made a noise that for anybody else would have been a snort. “Those were the Walkers, from New York. They have come to Europe at this time every year for the last five years, and go to London, Paris, Monaco, Rome, Venice, and Prague, always in that order. I dated a woman once who is a personal friend of Claire Walker, and she told me they have clothing designed specifically for these little promenades. I’m sure they’re hoping to be objectified. The final effect is certainly worth the effort.”
“You know them?” Si asked, surprised. “You should have said hello.” He grinned. “It would have given me the chance for a better look at both their arses.”
Grinning, Lucien mock-shuddered. “I don’t know them beyond casual acquaintance, but that is enough for me. They are more fun to look at than talk to.” He tossed back his espresso in the Italian way. Si had never gotten the hang of that, much preferring to sip his coffee. “Their arses are amazing, though,” Lucien continued, his tone reminiscent. “I once saw them at the beach in Nice.”
“Was he shirtless?” Si asked, picturing it and trying not to salivate.
Lucien raised an eyebrow. “They both were.”
Si almost swallowed his tongue. He’d forgotten about the whole topless thing—it had been a while since he’d been to the beach in southern France—but imagining the couple lying side by side, oiled up, their beautiful bodies on display….
The sensation of Lucien’s hand over his brought him back from his daydreams, and he met that amused blue gaze. “Should I feel abandoned?” Lucien inquired. Si turned his hand and gave Lucien’s a quick squeeze before letting go and standing. He wished he could prolong the moment, maybe even hold Lucien’s hand properly as they explored Venice, but anything more than a brief touch could be noticed and sensationalized on social media.
“Not at all. In fact, I need you now more than ever.” He winked and Lucien also rose. “It’s all well and good to look at pretty people, but I know who I want to spend my time with. Besides, it’s not like you’re so hard to look at,” he teased, pulling enough euros out of his wallet to cover the bill.
“Thank you,” Lucien said, although there was a faint wash of color on his cheekbones. “I’m glad we can talk about this. Some of my—” He faltered. “Some of the men I’ve seen in the past were not comfortable with me admiring others, especially women. And the women felt the same, about men.”
A curious thrill ran through Simon. Has Lucien nearly called him his boyfriend? Idiot, you are his boyfriend. Well, all but officially.
“I’m not jealous like that,” he said, skimming over the rest. “As long as it’s only looking, who cares? Besides, how often do you see a couple who both have so much appeal?”
Lucien grinned. “Every year, about this time,” he joked, and they wandered off toward the apartment.
Chapter Twelve
THE strident ring of his phone brought Lucien to full consciousness. Beside him, Simon stirred and muttered, but didn’t open his eyes.
Sighing, Lucien heaved himself to a sitting position and squinted at the clock beside the bed. Two thirty in the morning? Something had to be wrong.
He stumbled out of bed, groaning, and staggered to the dresser across the room where he’d left his phone. It stopped ringing just before he got there—of course—but then started again immediately.
Uh-oh.
He swept it up and answered with only a cursory glance at the display. “Malik? If you’re drunk-dialing—”
“Shut up and listen,” his friend said urgently, and Lucien woke up the rest of the way. “A friend of mine at Bonjour Celeb just called me. There’s an article about you in tomorrow’s edition.”
“Why do you have friends at that rag?” Lucien asked, not quite understanding. He may not like it, but gossip rags did occasionally publish articles about him. It came with being wealthy.
“Lucien, pay attention. The article is about you and Simon. Apparently there are pictures.”
Stomach cramping, Lucien looked sharply toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. They were two floors up, but someone
with a telephoto lens and access to a building across the canal could still get photos. Fuck.
“What kind of pictures?” He strode back to the bed and shook Simon’s shoulder.
“Not that kind—sorry, I didn’t think. She said you were holding hands in some, walking close together in others.” Malik sounded genuinely apologetic, and Lucien sank down to sit on the bed, relief making his knees weak. It still wasn’t ideal, but….
Simon was awake now, sitting up and looking at Lucien worriedly.
“It’s Malik,” Lucien told him. “Bonjour Celeb is publishing an article about us tomorrow, with pictures of us holding hands.” The gut-punched expression on Simon’s face said all that was necessary. “Malik, I’m putting you on speaker.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and tapped the icon.
“Hi, Malik,” Simon said, and if his voice was a little more than just sleep-roughened, none of them commented on it. “What do you know about the article? Is there any way we could get them to pull it?”
“Simon, I’m so sorry,” Malik said. “My friend waited to call me until after the paper had been put to bed. She knew Lucien—and you—would have the clout to maybe stop it. It’s too late now.”
“Not your fault,” Simon muttered, taking Lucien’s hand and gripping tightly. “How bad is it?”
“Mostly conjecture,” Malik told them. “They have pictures of you both there in Venice, some with you holding hands—those are the ones they’ve played up. From what she told me, the article mentions Lucien’s bisexuality, references rumors of you being bisexual, and says you’ve had plenty of opportunity to get close lately, working on the program. She said they had a few ‘sources close to’ quotes, but since they don’t outright say you’re bisexual or that you and Lucien are seeing each other, I don’t think those people are terribly close to either of you.”
The Athlete and the Aristocrat Page 13
