“You’re completely right,” Mr. Sinclair said. “You are completely out of bounds. Do you have children, Mr. O’Hara?”
“No, sir, I don’t, but—”
“In that case, come back and talk to me when you have a bit more experience with parenting,” said Mr. Sinclair, turning away.
“I will not be dismissed by you!”
Mrs. Sinclair stepped out of the kitchen in alarm at raised voices. Caleb had not intended to shout but the words had roared out of his throat with a life of their own. If the damage was done, then so be it. He was not backing down without at least being heard. Mr. Sinclair turned back slowly with wide-eyed anger.
“What I can’t figure out, Mr. O’Hara, is how this is any of your business.”
Caleb persisted, “Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, I lied to you. I’m not a schoolteacher. I’m a well-known visual artist. Look me up. I lied because I needed the privacy and isolation to be able to work on my art without the press finding out my location, but I’m willing to give up all of that to make you understand I know what I’m talking about. Kick me out after this if you must but I would not have said anything if I did not believe Mason is truly gifted and should be given a chance to decide his own destiny.”
Mr. Sinclair narrowed his eyes. “That’s all well and good. I know you think I’m a controlling bastard who micromanages my kid’s life, and that’s the truth. I am and I do. I do because I know what’s best for my son. Not you with your yuppie New York City sensibilities and not Mason himself, with his immature refusal to get his head out of the clouds.”
“Sir, have you ever considered that he can’t grow up because you won’t let him?” Caleb challenged.
Mr. Sinclair looked past him, and Caleb glanced over his shoulder as Mason entered through the backdoor with Riesling in tow. Her girlish laughter suddenly went silent. “What’s going on?” Mason asked nervously. His eyes pleaded for current tensions to cease.
Caleb’s shoulders slumped, the fight gone out of him. He did not want to make the situation worse. “Nothing,” he muttered. “I was letting your mother and father know that I’m not a schoolteacher. Mr. Sinclair, thank you for letting me say what I had to say. If you’d like me to leave, I understand.”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Mr. Sinclair replied gruffly. “Thank you for speaking your mind. I’ll, uh…I’ll take what you said into consideration.” The older gentleman locked eyes with him, and Caleb nodded gratefully.
“By the way, I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of getting your package for you.” Caleb shoved the box from the thrift store into Mr. Sinclair’s hands.
If the man was serious about taking what he had said into consideration, then he would right the wrong himself. Caleb darted up the stairs to the attic and closed off from the rest of the world—from the nonplussed girl, the boy with the haunting face and the old man conducting an orchestra that was not his to lead. He blew out a breath as he leaned against the door and tallied up the days he had been in the house. A little over a month. He had not completed anything other than a few preliminary sketches of the same face, all from memory.
Chapter 5
From the grassy knoll where Caleb painted the Atlantic Ocean at dawn, the house could not be seen. The landscape was shrouded in fog. Caleb painted the dense haze and dark rocks studding the shoreline, emphasizing tonal differences. He considered adding the distant figure walking on the beach.
Caleb realized that he was looking at Mason. The ocean danced at his ankles, and the wind ruffled his hair. Caleb felt the familiar uptick in his heart rate, and he knew what that meant. Like the waves that pounded the cliff face, his desire was sudden and fierce and completely unstoppable.
His lips tightened in a frown as he let his hands fly over the canvas, uncertain of how long he had before Mason noticed him. Caleb rendered Mason’s likeness and captured the thoughtful face that plagued his dreams. With a sigh, he set aside his brush. “What am I going to do about you?” he wondered aloud.
Maybe it was a trick of the breeze that made Mason hear him and turn away from the sea. Caleb shyly lifted a hand in a wave. He thought he saw a smile. His mouth went dry as Mason took to the path that would lead to him.
“What are you doing here?” Mason asked softly as he sat on the picnic blanket beside him. His morning smile was drowsy and pleasant. Caleb looked away.
“I had to get something accomplished.”
“I thought I was helping you to do that by staying away.”
“It’s not you,” Caleb said.
Mason nodded, accepting his words at face value. His eyes scanned over the painting Caleb had nearly completed, and he nodded again. “It looks perfect.”
“I know. That’s the problem. There’s no rawness. There’s no spark.”
Mason looked at him sharply. Caleb shrugged. Mason asked, “Do you hear bells in the hills when you paint?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Caleb snorted with laughter.
Mason grinned and shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s something someone said to me once. It was you who got the typewriter for me, wasn’t it, Caleb-hyungnim?”
“I couldn’t stand to think of you not writing. I’ve kept your manuscript in case your father throws another of his fits.”
Mason laid a hand over Caleb’s, and their eyes met. “Thank you,” he said softly.
Mason continued to study him, but Caleb turned his attention to collecting his art supplies. “You’re welcome. Now I have to get back to my apartment. The sun is up. The breeze is clearing the fog away. I’ve lost the light.” It was time to retreat before he did something he would regret.
Mason stilled him with a touch to his shoulder and pulled him into a hug. Caleb held his breath. The side of Mason’s face met his. Caleb slowly wrapped his arms around his waist and drew him closer, inhaling his cologne—masculine and arousing. Caleb braced himself for the shock of a male chest pressed intimately to his. The embrace was surprisingly light and non-confining. Yet, everywhere they touched, Caleb was on fire.
“You’re not supposed to be here. What will your parents think?” He closed his eyes and clenched a fistful of Mason’s shirt to pull him away, but Mason’s half-smile held him hostage.
“They’re at mass. I feigned a headache.”
“Why?”
Mason lifted his brows and ducked his head slightly. “To see you.”
“Why?” Caleb pressed. He clasped Mason’s chin and lifted his head. “Why do you want to see me, Mason? Do you know?” Mason grabbed his hand and moved it from his face but kept eye contact.
“Why do you make me feel like I’m doing something wrong?” he asked.
Caleb looked down and exhaled slowly. “You should stay away from me. You don’t have enough life experience to deal with what you’re getting into with me.”
There was a pause. “Is it a paradox that you have all the experience that I want?”
“You don’t know what you want,” Caleb scoffed. “You don’t even know how to ask for it.” He snatched a blade of grass from the root and toyed with it to give his hands something to do. It was insanity to desire him. He threw aside the grass in frustration.
When he stole a glance, Mason was still watching him. “What do you want?” Mason asked.
Caleb boldly laid a hand on Mason’s upper thigh. He let his fingers walk to the clasp of Mason’s pants—knowing he risked rejection—but when the button released with a soft accompanying click, Mason did nothing. Caleb unzipped Mason’s pants before he lost his nerve.
His heart raced as he licked his lips uncertainly. He had never done this with another man. Yet, Caleb could not deny the thrill it gave him to feel Mason’s cock beneath his palm. He fumbled the zipper free, and Mason fell back on his elbows to watch what he would do next.
Caleb let his paint-stained fingers find Mason’s growing erection and brought it from the confines of his clothes. He noted the faster rise and fall of Mason’s chest. He slid his han
d down the thick shaft and got a firmer grip, and Mason flinched with pleasure. Caleb locked eyes with him, waiting for the “No” he was sure would come. But Mason canted his pelvis forward with a sultry moan, and Caleb hardened at the reaction.
He let his touch say the things his mouth refused to say out loud. He wanted him. Plain and simple. Caleb masturbated Mason slowly and precisely while he stared into his eyes, feeling that the wrongness of it was right. Mason’s breathing quickened, but it was what was happening below the waist that excited Caleb.
He felt the ripple of Mason’s cock expanding as his hand moved faster. He wondered what would happen if he squeezed. Varying his pace and grip, he played Mason’s body like an instrument, making him thrum with anticipation. Every feeling and every sound took Caleb closer to the edge. His own erection strained against his pants, but this was not about him.
It was about making Mason realize that playing with fire was dangerous. Or, so he told himself. Maybe it was about doing what he had been daydreaming since seeing the beautiful young man in the hallway in the first place. Caleb rose on his knees, unable to resist the temptation any longer. When their lips connected, it was everything Caleb had imagined and more. He went weak with wonder.
Mason’s questing tongue pushed past his lips and dove deeply. His mouth yielded to Caleb’s passion. They breathed each other’s scents and climbed higher with arousal. What was this? Caleb did not know. He was a worldly man with years of experience at seducing women, but being turned on by a man was a shock he was not prepared for. Mason grabbed his shoulder as if seeking reassurance that what they were doing was real.
Caleb groaned into his mouth. It was real, and it was unstoppable. He pressed Mason to the blanket and kissed him fiercely while his hand continued the magic. Mason’s hips bucked. Caleb pushed his pelvis forward, grinded against him in an erotic frottage. He tried to stop himself, but he could not. The desire licked through him like flames. They writhed together as Mason fought the climax.
“Don’t hold back,” Caleb whispered.
Mason clutched the picnic blanket in both fists and tensed. He closed his eyes and emitted a strangled moan. His head fell back. Caleb licked and bit Mason’s bottom lip. With a sob, Mason laid a shaky hand on top of his and wordlessly urged him to go faster. He took his hand away when Caleb obeyed.
Mason thrust in and out of Caleb’s grip, spasms of ecstasy coursing through his steely manhood. Swearing softly, Caleb wrapped both hands around him. “Come for me,” he gasped. There was no turning back now. He bent his head and dripped a thin stream of spit over Mason’s throbbing cock. Mason cried out. Caleb knew exactly how to take him over the edge.
Mason ran his fingers through Caleb’s hair and gripped a fistful, which drove Caleb mad with lust. Mason feverishly moaned something in Korean that sent shivers through him. He had no idea what the writer was saying, but it sounded like honey and strawberries. In that moment, Caleb did not care if he was under the influence of too many nights without sex. He desperately wanted to take things further. His body ached to be touched the same way.
And he told himself that was it. He wanted to be touched because his libido was raging due to a long stretch of inactivity. That had to be it. Nothing else made sense.
Suddenly, Mason sighed rapturously and erupted, quickly turning so that the stream soaked the picnic blanket and not his clothes. Caleb bit his lip to silence his growl of amazement. He watched the pearly liquid fire from Mason’s cock and spill over his hand as Mason’s quiet sounds of passion filled the morning.
Caleb stretched atop him to feel the tremors that wracked his body, feel him letting go. Caleb rocked his hips forward and back, and he rubbed his painful erection against Mason’s side. But he had to stop. Anything more would lead to the clothes coming off, and he had already done enough. He was the older, more experienced one. He had to pump the brakes.
Caleb eased away and stared at his fingers which were covered in the silky evidence of Mason’s completion. Finally, Mason stared at him with a confused look at what had just transpired. Did this make them gay? Caleb had not intended what had happened. But now that it was done, he did not know what to call it. Attraction. Chemistry. A mistake. He sighed and stared at the sky, lost.
“If this isn’t what you want,” Caleb murmured, “stay away from me. Stay away so I can stop seeing your face every time I close my eyes. Otherwise, I can’t stop.” Mason shook his hair out of his hooded eyes and stared at him in sated silence, and Caleb realized that even if he stayed away, he would never forget that face.
Mason sat at the piano in the living room, his fingers tapping out the notes that mimicked the bells he heard in his head. Riesling watched from the floral-patterned sofa as he transitioned to a few simple chords of a ballad. A soft smile touched her red lips. “Something’s changed about you over the past few days,” she said.
He looked up and sang the Korean words to the song. He grinned as her eyes widened with surprised pleasure. “Nothing’s changed,” he murmured, looking back at the keys. His face devoid of emotion. He could not let his feelings show. He was branded by the touch of Caleb’s hands, and he should have been disturbed. Instead, he was breathless with wonder.
He sighed and closed the piano lid. “Nothing’s changed. What do you want to do today?”
“I want to know who has you singing love songs,” she laughed. “Is my position as your faux girlfriend in jeopardy? Who is she and how long before we have to stage a fake break-up?”
Mason moved to the sofa beside her. “Would that make you sad, Ries?”
“I just want you to be happy. I knew this day was coming.”
“I’m not breaking up with you.” He smiled.
“Are you asking me if it would make me sad not to see you every day when you move on?”
“I’m saying you don’t have to worry about that. There’s no new girlfriend.”
“There’s someone new,” she insisted softly. Mason rubbed his hands together and studied his fingers to avoid looking at her. “Why don’t you admit you like him?” She ruffled Mason’s hair playfully when he stared at her in shock.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he whispered with a short laugh. She tucked her arm through his and peered into his eyes knowingly. “Riesling, don’t make ugly assumptions.”
“What’s ugly about it?”
“That’s beside the fact. Anyway, I’m not in love,” he muttered.
Riesling sat up straighter when Mr. Sinclair strode into the living room, wearing his usual scowl. “Mason, I got an email from Mr. Peters. What’s this about you sending him your resume but asking him to hold onto it for a year? Oh, Riesling. Please excuse us for a moment.” She nodded and slipped quietly from the room.
Mason slowly rose to his feet. He was annoyed as had expressly asked Mr. Peters to keep the information to himself. He straightened his shoulders and squared his jaw. “I asked him to hold onto it because I would like to have a gap year. As I explained to Mr. Peters, I think it would strengthen my resume to add travel abroad to the list of qualifications that make me a suitable candidate for the position.”
Mr. Sinclair shook the email printout. “Are you out of your mind?”
Mason dropped his head. “It would make my resume more competitive. If I maintain a travel blog, I can show potential employers I have a head for business and the creativity required to critically problem-solve. That’s exactly what all the corporations are looking for. Ask Robert.”
“So, on top of the expenditures of university and grad school, you want me to take on the frivolous expense of you skipping continents?” Mr. Sinclair laughed without humor and crossed his arms. “Tell me I haven’t raised an idiot for a son. We both know that’s not realistic. We’re currently renting out a room in our attic to help with the costs you’ve already incurred! Robert has already assumed responsibility for his school costs. You need to stick to the game plan.”
“Why can’t you understand? I don’t wan
t to lock myself into a cubicle for the rest of eternity without seeing what else is out there first!”
“I’ll tell you what else is out there.” Mr. Sinclair shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out a receipt, pushing it into Mason’s chest. The paper fluttered to the floor. “The cost of toilet paper, toothpaste, deodorant, ad nauseam. While you loiter around the house, and taking long romantic walks with your girlfriend, your mother and I do everything to take care of you. Don’t even get me started on your clothing allowance!”
“Then, I’ll give up the expensive clothes. I only wear what you and mother tell me I should to look presentable for your important friends. Do you think these clothes matter to me more than my future? Father, I’m not trying to disrespect you or disregard the sacrifices you’ve made for me. I know better than anyone else how hard you’ve worked your entire life. I hardly saw you while I was growing up. But, this is my life, and I don’t want to live it the way you lived yours!”
“My God, what has gotten into you? I’ve never known you to be so obstinate.” Mr. Sinclair softened and clasped him by the shoulders. “You think I’m being heartless, and I’m not. Don’t you know I want you to have everything that you desire? But, do the numbers, son. Show me where I’m supposed to pull thousands more dollars for plane tickets, hotel accommodations, the cost of attractions, eating, etc. You say you wanted to show Mr. Peters you could think critically. Well, now would be a good time to start.”
Mason agreed. He needed to use his powers of critical thinking to figure out where to pull the money. “What if I get a job and cover the expenses of travel myself?” he asked.
Mr. Sinclair threw up his hands. “Fine. If you can pull it off, be my guest. You let that rascal upstairs put this nonsense into your head. I know it. Mr. O’Hara can afford to be a dreamer. I looked him up. He has a net worth of near millions while he’s slumming it in our attic. Did he tell you that?
Caleb set up the painting for photographing. Gregoire was in his ear. “Did you check out the artist I told you about, Vido Charles?”
Room for Rent Page 5
