by Clare London
“More reporters.” Aidan’s heart sank. “They must be following one or other of us.”
“Or Eric’s on their payroll,” Dominic grumbled. “But we’ll show them. Now’s the time to start afresh, isn’t it?” He quickly swallowed his last mouthful of cake, pushed his chair back, and stood. He held his hand out to Aidan.
Aidan let himself be pulled upright. Dominic’s hand was large and strong. “You mean… the publicity thing?”
Dominic’s expression faltered but only for the merest of seconds. “Of course. That’s what I meant.”
Dominic threw down some money before Aidan could offer to pay his share for the coffee—and it looked way too much, even with the generous tip the waitress deserved—but he decided not to mention it. Dominic had the look of a man on a mission. The other café patrons watched in alarm as the two men weaved quickly through the tables and made a dash for the door. Cameras flashed again and people called out to them. The café owner on duty behind the counter just rolled his eyes as if he was used to this media nonsense all the time.
“My car’s parked by Tanya’s office,” Dominic muttered to Aidan out of the corner of his mouth. “Will you come back to my place? Then we can—”
“—plan strategy?” Aidan gasped back. “I hear you.”
But it was a struggle to get through the small crowd outside the shop, made more awkward by the lunchtime office workers and sundry tourists now filling the pavements, intrigued by the unfolding drama. Dominic and Aidan pushed forward, making their way toward Long Acre, but the reporters followed a few steps behind.
One particularly strident man kept yelling over the others until his voice was the only one Aidan could hear. “Dom! Zeb!”
Dominic gave a grumble that sounded like “fuck off” and maneuvered Aidan in front of him, shielding him from the followers.
“The model and the mountaineer! London’s answer to Brokeback Mountain! Who plays base camp?”
At that last comment, Dominic stopped abruptly, spun back around, and located the obnoxious reporter. He was only a foot away and skidded to a halt before he could crash into Dominic’s heels.
“Dominic?” Aidan was horribly worried he knew what was coming next. “Wait!”
Dominic ignored him. He took one step forward, swung his fist with confident ease, and punched the reporter on the nose.
Chapter Seventeen
DOM made the sprint to the underground car park where he’d parked his car without any problem, grateful every second of the way that he’d kept up with his training at the local gym. Zeb had less stamina, though, despite Dom dragging him along behind him. He was still gasping five minutes later as he leaned against Dom’s SUV, regaining his breath. Dom guessed the fashion types didn’t get much genuine exercise when they worked in town. Or maybe it was some kind of shock? Zeb’s eyes still looked rather large and his skin was paler than usual. Mind you, Dom reckoned he’d look a lot healthier if he washed out those stupid glitter-gel highlights and let the rich chestnut-brown roots grow out.
Dom shook his hand surreptitiously down by his side. The knuckles smarted. He hadn’t punched anyone in a long time, but it had been the perfect distraction, letting them escape the rabble. There was no sound or sight of the reporters, so it looked like they’d shaken them off. But for how long? He wondered, only slightly guiltily, if he should pop into Tanya’s office across the street and explain his position before her phone started ringing with complaints. But hell, that was what he employed a PA for, wasn’t it?
Zeb’s cry startled him. “What the hell did you do that for? Punching someone—it’s outrageous!”
Dominic set his jaw into a familiar, mulish state. “Didn’t you hear what he said?”
“Well, yes, but what does that matter? Zeb’s used to stupid abuse.”
Dominic frowned. “Why do you talk about yourself in the third person?”
“What?” Zeb’s eyes widened even farther. “I mean, we have to get out of here. What if he calls the police? What if he sues you?”
“I don’t care,” Dominic said. “And maybe we should stand our ground.”
There was a sudden clatter of footsteps and Dom tensed. But the man who came down the ramp into the car park was Eric. His eyes shining with mischief, he crowed, “Bloody well done, Dom! That rat bastard’s caused all sorts of problems for other clients of Tanya’s. Time he got his comeuppance!”
Dominic braced himself in case the horde was right behind Eric, baying for blood. “Just let me at him again—”
“No! Let’s get going,” Zeb pleaded beside him.
Eric nodded emphatically. “Zeb’s right. You should keep a low profile right now. Tanya will smooth it over, and we’ll sort out a proper media schedule now we know you two are back together.”
“Wait—” Zeb’s protest was weak.
“I’ve got it covered!” Eric announced gleefully. “You two can just go!” And with a final thumbs-up to Dom, he turned and ran back up the ramp, out of sight.
Dom shook the car keys out of his pocket and made his way to the driver’s side. “Hop in. I know the best way across the city in less than half an hour.”
Zeb didn’t move, but he took a long, deep breath. “There’s just one thing to get straight before we go.” His voice was tight. “You didn’t need to thump that reporter on my behalf. Despite my stupid behavior the other night, I’m not some shrinking virgin. All gay men suffer abuse at some stage. And I’m a gay man.”
Dom took a breath before speaking too. Had he made another mistake? There were too many bloody sinkholes in the dating path for his liking. He came back around the vehicle to stand a respectful distance from Zeb. “You’re a man, Zeb. Yes, a man who happens to be gay, but everyone has the equal right to respect.”
Zeb stared back at him.
Is that amusement in his eyes?
“Dominic, you have no idea how sweepingly fabulous that statement is. Is that how you treat everyone? As complete equals?”
Dom nodded, puzzled. “Of course. At least until they prove themselves to be complete morons.”
Zeb laughed. He looked more relaxed now, and his eyes glittered in the fluorescent lights of the car park. “You don’t suffer fools gladly, do you?”
“No, I don’t. But not everyone’s a fool.”
“No?”
“No,” Dom said more slowly. “Like you, for example.” Dom had the feeling something was shifting between them; maybe it already had. His earlier apology had been necessary, no question of it. Now Zeb’s body language implied he was as eager to be near Dom as he had been last night, but this time Zeb’s expression was one of genuine, light-of-day, sober understanding. Dom was fascinated by how Zeb’s eyes looked with the pupils dilated, and how Zeb’s mouth hitched up at the side when he smiled… and how elegantly he leaned against the car, his delicate but very masculine fingers pressed against the passenger window.
Dom couldn’t help himself—which was a surprise to him—and he leaned in to Zeb. To his delight, Zeb caught his shoulder, drawing him closer. Dom cupped Zeb’s face in his hands and, just for a second, breathed on Zeb’s lips.
Good God. The mere temptation was enough to make Dom’s cock harden.
“What are you waiting for?” Zeb asked softly. “You weren’t nervous in the club last night.”
“That’s exactly why I’m bloody waiting,” Dom said. “It’s your call.”
Zeb laughed. It was a high, melodic sound, like a man who spoke for his living, not one who posed like a voiceless mannequin. Dom was almost painfully aware of Zeb’s body, but it was the man’s character that shone from his eyes at this very moment, fascinating and seducing Dom in equal measure.
Zeb’s eyelids fluttered half closed. “My call is… yes please.”
Dom gave a strangled grunt—he wasn’t able to articulate anything more eloquent—and pressed his mouth on Zeb’s.
Oh, but it was good! The kiss last night in the club had been hot and needy, but this time Ze
b’s mouth was cooler and softer. Dom slid his hand around Zeb’s waist, and they clung together for blissful minutes, tasting each other. Dom remembered feeling like this as a teenager, when he first discovered boys were so bloody exciting and sexy. Kissing felt new all over again! His cock hardened further inside his jeans, and the skin between his shoulder blades shivered with goose bumps. His palms itched to touch Zeb, to hold him tightly, to put his mouth to Zeb’s shoulder, chest, hip… to bring skin to skin. To stretch out beside him, naked, glorious, free to touch and laugh and fuck, and to share that with someone who felt the same. Yet for the moment, all he wanted to do was run his tongue gently around Zeb’s mouth and caress his lips. He could taste the remnants of carrot cake, smell a sharp grapefruit cologne that he’d come to associate with Zeb, and hear Zeb’s soft pants of pleasure against his cheek. Zeb’s arms were slim but muscled, and his hips were narrow but solid where they pressed against Dom’s.
Too much clothing—yet Dom was almost desperate to hold on to the wonderful creature. Through the heady swim of desire in his head, he realized that he didn’t want Zeb to slip away from him again.
It was a long time before he broke away from the kissing.
Zeb gazed up at Dom. His hair looked tousled and his eyes were even brighter than before. He whispered, “I think you should drop me at the Tube station.”
Dom struggled to calm his breathing. “I don’t want to.”
Zeb laughed raggedly. “I don’t think I want you to either. But I also don’t think…. Well, I want to mull all this over calmly, in my own time.”
Dom was awash with disappointment, but what could he do? He’d crowded the guy last time and that had ended horribly. Now they’d made up, things were back on an even keel—and he was in danger of sabotaging it again. He took a slow step backward. “I can take you home.”
“No.” Zeb looked away for a brief moment as if confused. “I’d prefer the Tube. I… I’d like to make my own way.”
“But maybe…?” Dom cleared his throat. “Maybe you’ll come back to mine for a drink another time? A rain check, as Eric says. Just a drink. No pressure. No strings.”
Zeb stared at him for so long that Dom thought he’d messed things up again. He wondered if a takeaway carrot cake would work reconciliation a second time. Maybe the challenge would require double-chocolate muffins and one of those Bakewell tarts as well….
“Yes.” Zeb’s cheeks were a very fetching pink. “I’d like that.”
Chapter Eighteen
A COUPLE of Fridays later, Aidan made the trip to Holborn Tube station again, but this time with a much lighter step—and a less glamorous look.
It had been another week of living his odd brand of double life. He’d put all his directing on hold, with an excuse to the Dreamweavers that he was brainstorming new ideas. He stayed in his flat working on scripts most of the time, contacting friends only by phone and e-mail, and ordering his groceries for home delivery.
At least Zeb had come through with some of the “date fee,” as Aidan named it, so Aidan’s financial crisis was temporarily over. But he was terrified of being spotted as Zeb if he went out and about… and then terrified he’d be spotted as Not Zeb. The whole thing was getting tortuous.
The one good thing about it all had been more dates with Dominic. Nothing too extravagant—just a couple of far more entertaining movies, a visit to a new Outward Bound center, and a fashion chain store opening. It meant they were “seen” in public as dating, but it was on a far less frenetic level. Apparently there’d been a major scandal on Celebrity Big Brother, and for a while at least, no one was interested in other celebrity stories. The reporter with the bloody nose seemed to have dropped off the scene—thankfully without suing Dominic, as far as Aidan knew—and they were in a hiatus period with the media. He and Dominic allowed a few snaps and quotes when they were out and about in London, in return for the end of harassment. It was a kind of truce.
They made a very striking couple, according to Tanya. Dominic had a habit of slipping his arm around Aidan’s waist in public and nuzzling into his neck. And Aidan couldn’t help but arch up against him when he did. It was a Pavlovian response, wasn’t it? Not his fault at all. But there’d been quite a few pictures of them in that pose in the newspapers.
Whatever the public response, the dates had become the highlights in Aidan’s life. After his initial caution, he readily agreed to follow the next date with drinks back at Dominic’s house. They’d watched an adventure movie, which had enough charm to keep Aidan amused as well as Dom—though maybe it was the company that charmed Aidan? They’d drunk another bottle of good wine and eaten late-night scrambled eggs and bacon, even though Aidan protested Dominic used too many eggs. Dominic had just quoted James Bond’s creator Ian Fleming, who’d apparently included a recipe in one book calling for twelve eggs. Urban myth claimed he said “Anything else just dirties the pan.” It had made Aidan laugh, as so much of Dominic’s outrageous behavior did, to the extent he suspected Dominic played it up just to amuse him. The meal had been ridiculously tasty, and then he’d taken a cab home.
No pressure. No strings.
There was no mistaking the sexual tension between them. They touched each other gently and easily: an arm across the shoulders, a brush of fingers against the hip. And the kisses were…. Aidan, despite his command of the English language, was still trying to find words to describe them. He’d kissed plenty of men in his time, of course—though only a fraction of Zeb’s tally, if anyone were keeping score—and he could be as passionate as the next guy. At least, he could be if he let down his defenses. Every time Dominic kissed him, Aidan wanted to let them down—and fast. The hairs on his skin lifted with goose bumps and his cock started filling. The excitement that shuddered through him made him feel like a heroine in one of the historical plays he’d directed early in his drama-school career. Of course, Aidan was far removed from those virginal ladies. None of them had had such a responsive dick or the sudden urge to grab Dominic by the arms and push him up against the wall, thrust a hand down to cup his impressive groin, and just plunder his damn mouth!
God. Aidan leant briefly against the wall outside the Tube station and drew a deep breath, trying to calm his libido. He was due to meet Dominic just around the corner from Tanya’s office, and then they were going to a photography exhibition at a nearby gallery. It would be an impromptu visit, though they’d probably attract attention before long. Aidan was easing himself out of his Zeb persona, whether consciously or subconsciously, and he found himself mixing Zeb’s wardrobe with his own clothes. He’d stopped touching up his gelled hair, and he didn’t bother with more daily makeup than absolutely necessary. Though to be honest, he was pretty fond of the eyeliner by now. Aidan had always enjoyed making up for the stage, and more than once he’d found Dominic staring fascinated at his eyes with a dark, needy gaze….
God, the libido again!
Smiling to himself, he turned into Long Acre, and there was Dominic coming toward him, oblivious to the people who scattered to either side of his determined stride along the pavement. Aidan pulled himself together and waved in welcome.
Dominic paused in front of him, smiling back. “I like the new look.”
“The new look?” Had he forgotten something critical to Zeb, to his role?
“Take that panicked look off your face. I mean you seem more relaxed. More normal.” When Aidan started to laugh, Dominic scowled. “You seem to find me amusing all the bloody time.”
Aidan couldn’t mistake the gleam of pleasure in Dominic’s eyes, giving the lie to his complaint. “I don’t mean it that way, you know I don’t. It’s a happy feeling, not mockery. It’s….” Aidan shrugged, unable to express it well enough. “You make me feel good, that’s all I can say. You’re a very unique and exciting person.”
“Me?” Dominic sounded skeptical, but there was a rosy flush on his cheeks.
He’s so bloody handsome. Aidan enjoyed just looking at him. He was also getti
ng to know Dominic’s moods and reactions, which was a new and thrilling experience. He hadn’t felt this spark with a man for years. Okay, so they’d only known each other for a couple of weeks and this was hardly a normal relationship, yet he trusted Dominic to be frank with him, and he’d relaxed very quickly and easily into Dominic’s company. Oh God, maybe Dominic didn’t feel the same?
But it seemed he did. “I know what you mean,” Dominic was saying. “You and I think the same way on the important things. And as for everything else, apparently I appreciate the occasional challenge. I’m sure Tanya would say I need it. What’s more, dammit, you make me see some fun in life. You’re good for me too. No point in lying about these things, is there?” Dominic turned to lead the way toward the gallery.
And yet it’s all based on a lie. The thought hit Aidan with stronger force than ever. “Dominic,” he blurted. Dominic paused and turned back, still smiling. “I… there’s something… I need to tell you something.”
An ambulance was coming up the street, weaving its way around parked cars and bunches of pedestrians. Its siren was deafening this close. A group of teenagers in school uniform passed them, chattering noisily in a foreign language. Dominic tilted his head, concentrating on listening to Aidan. “What is it?” He frowned expectantly.
Aidan opened his mouth again, but nothing would come out. And then, over Dominic’s shoulder, he saw them—Titus and Wendy, walking arm in arm down the street, on a direct course toward Aidan and Dominic. Oh shit! What were they doing here? Right here? Was it just a day out for them, or were they on business? Aidan couldn’t remember where their theatrical agent was based. Shit. Shit! Wasn’t it likely it’d be up here, in the same area of London as Dominic’s agent?
Aidan was filled with panic. They’d see him within seconds. Would they recognize him? They had no idea he had a twin, so if he looked enough like Zeb… but maybe he didn’t! Or not enough to avoid their curiosity and having them calling out his name—his real name—across the street. And it would be in that booming voice Titus used for the very last row of the Upper Circle; he would shout out for everyone to hear that Aidan Vincent was wearing weird clothes, had his hair full of glitter gel, and who the hell did he think he was pretending to be?
