A Matter of When

by Eden Winters

  “I need the practice, and you need the experience. Why do you think so many songs mention dancing? It’s the most intimate thing two people can do outside the bedroom.” Was this Seb’s version of a come-on?

  Henri’s cock accepted the perceived invitation. Not now! Visions of the girl who’d posed as his high school sweetheart filled his head, allowing him to dampen down his urges. She’d kept him laughing the whole time at prom by whispering naughty things into his ear, like, “See that guy over there. I’d do him, would you?” She’d been one of the few people he’d been honest with. And one of the last people he’d trusted completely. Imagining Seb in her pink taffeta dress didn’t help him reel in his libido. The man would look good in anything.

  Or nothing.

  “Follow my lead.” Seb offered his hands.

  “Why do you get to lead?” Henri placed his hands in Seb’s larger ones. Electricity raced up his arms and straight to his groin.

  “Because I’ve taken years of lessons and you haven’t.”

  “Good answer.”

  Henri had never watched Seb dance, but imagined anyone that tall, with feet large enough to provide a firm foundation, must be awkward. But Seb didn’t dance—he floated, gliding effortlessly across the floor, Henri in tow. Every movement, every touch of skin against skin, sent Henri’s senses hyperaware. Even the brush of Sebastian’s fingers ignited a fire Henri didn’t understand. It was all he could do to keep his erection away from Sebastian’s thigh. He’d sworn to leave the man alone and intended to keep his word.

  He was there, and it had been a long time. Nothing more. Henri was merely being a guy. Any attraction meant nothing. Yet when Seb’s breath wafted over Henri’s ear, Henri stumbled. Seb caught him. Good, dependable Seb never once misstepped.

  The music ended and Seb dipped Henri backward. Only inches of space separated their lips. Henri stared up into Seb’s eyes. Something clicked. They moved as one, lips connecting with lips, a brief meeting, and then apart again. One moment Seb held him, the next minute he dashed toward the door. “I need to start dinner.”

  Henri stood in the middle of the room, running his fingers over his mouth. Sebastian had kissed him. A sweet, haven’t-seen-since-grade-school innocent gesture. The smile was on his face long before Henri realized it. He returned to the piano an enlightened man.

  While he’d never sing such sappiness in public, the settee wasn’t likely to tell.

  “He kissed me….”

  Over the next few days, Henri studied Sebastian. His every precise move. Lucas had sent him here to learn discipline. Seb needed to unlearn discipline. After the first surprise kiss, no more followed. No way was the kiss coerced. If Seb loosened up once, maybe it would happen again. “I need to go to town. I’ll be back in a bit.” Henri trotted down the stairs, past Seb, helmet in hand.

  “Want me to come with you? I could drive my car.”

  And ruin the surprise? Nope. Not happening. “Nah, that’s all right. When I get back you can go with me.” On Henri’s bike.

  Eight

  “No, no, no, no, no! Do you have any idea what the wind does to vocal chords?” Sebastian gripped the porch railing, as though Henri might try to drag him into the yard by force.

  “It’s got a face shield.” He held up the present he’d driven into town for.

  Seb scowled at the helmet Henri handed over. “But what about underneath? Air will get in.”

  An easy enough problem to solve, thanks to Henri’s sister, who had no idea what to get him one Christmas. “I have some Turtle Fur.”

  “Turtle fur? Turtles don’t have fur.” Sebastian lowered one brow while raising the other. How the hell did he do that?

  Henri marched over to the Harley’s saddle bag and pulled out the Christmas present he’d gotten from his sister two years ago and had never worn. Fuzzy and purple, the object looked like the love child of a knit hat and the “turtle” part of a turtleneck sweater, worn outlaw fashion to cover the neck and mouth. “Here.” He ripped the tags off and brought the soft material back to Seb.

  Seb eyed the garment with suspicion. “And this keeps the wind out?”

  “Yes.”

  His anger softened, a touch of anxiety taking its place. “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before.”

  “You’re in for a treat. But you have to trust me. If you feel me lean, lean with me. If you fight, you’ll throw the balance off.” His sister had nearly toppled the bike a time or two. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”

  “Yes.”

  “Same principle. Be one with the animal.”

  Sebastian held his ground.

  “Come on! Loosen up a little. Have some fun.” Had the man ever done a spontaneous thing in his life?

  “Oh, all right. If it’ll make you happy.” Seb pulled on the Turtle Fur and managed the helmet with Henri’s help.

  Henri tied his hair back and slipped his own helmet on. He’d heard enough complaints from previous passengers about his unruly locks whipping them in the face.

  “Now, it’s kinda like dancing, but this time you have to follow my lead.” Several wonderfully windy roads awaited, but for Seb’s first outing, Henri would take a fairly straight path.

  Seb climbed on the back of the bike and wrapped his arms around Henri, clinging more tightly than was comfortable.

  “Ease up there, big guy. You won’t fall.”

  Seb relaxed his hold.

  Henri fired up the Harley Road King and coasted down the driveway and onto asphalt, getting a feel for his passenger. Seb’s thighs were warm against his butt, and having the man’s arms around him added a bonus to the ride. Now to teach him a thing or two about trust—and freedom.

  They’d gone nearly ten miles when Henri recognized the vibrations coming through his back: Sebastian’s laughter.

  “Why do you take those?” Sebastian watched Henri swallow a pill.

  “Because I have anxiety and depression. These help me get by.”

  “You’re masking the problem. Why not tackle your issues head-on?”

  Said the man who lived on a mountaintop far from civilization. “It’s not that easy.”

  “What causes you anxiety? What causes you to be depressed?”

  Let him count the ways. Henri settled for, “Many things. Worrying about what other people think, mostly.” Not to mention crazed psychotics with rope and duct tape. Though, so far he’d not noticed any strange cars driving by. With any luck loony-boy had hightailed it back to New Jersey.

  “Why do they matter?”

  “Because they can make or break my career.” Or kidnap him and hold him for ransom.

  “You give them too much power.”

  “Well, it isn’t easy being the great Henri Lafontaine.” Henri barked a cynical laugh. If people only took the time to learn the real him, they’d run screaming.

  “Open wide.” Sebastian formed an O with his mouth.

  Dear Lord, the man shouldn’t do that! It’d been way too long since the Vegas one-night stand.

  “Relax your muscles and open your throat.” Sebastian belted out a note.

  He probably gave amazing blowjobs. Henri did as he was told, fighting off the image of what he’d like Sebastian to use to fill his mouth. Just like deep-throating.

  “Now sing. La-la-la-la-la-la.”

  Damn but Henri made it through their drills this time without the least bit of soreness or hoarseness. But he still wanted a blowjob.

  Nine

  They settled into a routine. Every morning they breakfasted together. They took walks on clear days before Sebastian led Henri through warm-up drills. On Mondays and Wednesdays Sebastian disappeared for a few hours for lessons, and occasionally holed up with his laptop to recite non-English words. Sometimes he joined Henri in the music room; other times Henri worked alone. The room seemed empty without Sebastian.

  Sebastian burst in, belting out what might have been French. Henri stopped pecking on the piano keys, mesmerized by the sheer power of the m
an’s voice. Longing filled him, and despair. Without understanding the words, he felt the pain of loss. Tears gathered behind his eyelids. Damn, how he’d love to be able to affect listeners with the tone of his voice alone.

  Sebastian ended the tune and started teaching while Henri swiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t suppose I need to explain your lesson.”

  “No.”

  “Sometimes words move an audience, other times, mood. Set the mood. Don’t tell them what to feel with words—make them feel it clear down to their souls with music.”Tension built in the room so strong a knife could slice it in two. Henri stopped playing, but didn’t turn to face Seb, sitting on the bench beside him. “Why won’t you kiss me again?”

  Sebastian answered too quickly. “Because it’s not my place to.”

  “Why not? We’re grown men. You don’t have someone who’ll object, do you?”

  “My patron….”

  “Surely he doesn’t control your love life.” Something about the way Sebastian said “patron” caused unease to stir to life in Henri’s belly, like the way Henri used to say “my manager,” with an added shiver for good measure.

  “I was hired to help you improve your technique. It’d be unprofessional to get involved with a student.” For all of the man’s acting lessons, the words came out forced, unnatural.

  “I’m only going to be your student for another week.” Yeah, then what?

  “Then I’ll miss you.” Sebastian toyed with the piano keys, no real tune emerging. The set of his jaw belied his indifference.

  “I’m not asking for involvement. I want a kiss.” Henri exaggerated a pucker. “One little kiss, then I’ll shut up.”

  Sebastian huffed out a sigh and laid on the drama, hand splayed against his chest. “If that’s the price I have to pay. The things I do for my art.”

  As before, he brought their lips together for minimal contact. Henri would have no evasion. Lacing his fingers in Sebastian’s curls and using his grip as leverage, he brought their mouths firmly together, ignoring Seb’s “Mmmmmph!” of surprise.

  Taking advantage, Henri coaxed Sebastian’s lips open with the tip of his tongue. Sebastian stiffened, keeping his mouth firmly closed. After a moment his resolve and rigid stance melted. He parted his lips to allow Henri’s tongue inside.

  Tentative at first, Sebastian grew bolder, and while not matching Henri’s fervor, he became a willing participant in their intimacy. Sebastian pulled away first. Henri didn’t stop him.

  “I…. I suppose you can tell I haven’t been kissed much.”

  Telling someone they kissed like an amateur? Even if they asked? No, not happening. “Really? You could have fooled me.”

  “Really.” Sebastian stared straight ahead, his face and ears flushed a deep crimson.

  “As you said before, I’m only here for a little while. I could teach you if you like.” Boy, could Henri teach him.

  The offer hung in the air while the grandfather clock in the corner ticked off the minutes. “Lead on.”

  Henri held out his hand and stood, waiting long moments until Seb joined their palms. He led the way to the settee and settled on the overstuffed seat. Seb sat down beside him. Henri placed his palms on either side of Sebastian’s face. When Sebastian would have brought their lips together, Henri held him still. “Today it’s me teaching the lesson. Follow my lead.” He nuzzled noses, then skimmed his lips across Seb’s eyelids, his forehead, and down his nose. He captured Seb’s full lower lip between his teeth and lightly tugged.

  To the tempo of one of Seb’s waltzes, he slid his tongue against Sebastian’s, and though the contact left him wanting, he didn’t push for more. The kiss went on forever, Henri allowing the novice to explore to his heart’s content. They ended the kiss and held each other, saying nothing. Henri’s heart pounded out a staccato beat. The sun sank and the room darkened, but still they sat, Henri rubbing his hand lightly over Sebastian’s back. If Sebastian gave any indication of wanting more, Henri might come in his pants.

  At last Sebastian murmured, “I guess we should be getting to bed.” He gave Henri a final, brief kiss. To his credit, he didn’t run, he ambled away at an unhurried pace.

  Henri went to bed so hard he ached. No way could Sebastian be a virgin. No fucking way. In his dreams Henri laid Sebastian out on his bed and worshipped every nook and cranny of the man’s body with his tongue. His sheets needed washing the next morning.

  “Seb?” Henri approached Seb’s room to peek through the partially open door. The man kept his room as neat as the rest of the house. Unable to resist, after tapping and calling, “Seb?” again, Henri tiptoed into the room. No personal effects littered the dressers. The whole place screamed “museum.” From the white comforter and curtains to the lace doilies on the table, nothing in the room captured Sebastian’s warmth. How could he stand being in here? Henri’s room back home was his comfort zone, filled with books, magazines, his favorite chocolates, and a porn collection to die for. Where were Seb’s dirty little secrets? A cabinet beckoned. Henri opened the door to find a stereo, CD cases stacked neatly underneath. Pavarotti shared space with Judy Garland, Yanni, Domingo, and every single Hookers and Cocaine CD, cases well-kept but worn.

  Why had Seb lied about knowing who Henri was? Ice water froze in Henri’s veins. Damn, Sebastian was another fan, out to make money off the down-and-out rocker.

  Give him a chance, why don’t you? Maybe Lucas sent those CDs to familiarize Sebastian with Henri’s work. Made perfect sense. Or perhaps Sebastian didn’t want to come across all fan boy. What if he didn’t like the CDs?

  Honesty. If Henri wanted honesty, he had to give it. He put the CDs back and slipped from the room. If Sebastian wanted to tell him, he would.

  Henri stared at his “might read” e-mail folder. After weeding out the hundred or so he had no intention of opening, only a few remained: twenty-two from his mother, several from the rejected managers, and only one worthy of his attention.

  Hi, Henri,

  I really wish you and Mom would patch things up. I miss you and I’m tired of us not getting to talk.

  Love,

  Jenni

  Damn. Seb was right. Sooner or later, Henri would have to work things out with his folks, for his sister’s sake. He whooshed out a sigh and opened an e-mail from his mother long enough to read the words “selfish” and “spoiled.” He deleted the message and its twenty-one brothers and sisters.

  Fuck, but he couldn’t get his life back together fast enough.

  He tiptoed downstairs to get a drink, not wanting to disturb Seb if he was sleeping.

  “Put me down every minute, and I gotta say good-bye.”

  What the hell? Henri crept to the kitchen and peered through a crack in the door. Sebastian alternately swept the floor and used the broom handle for a microphone.

  “I’ve got a date with a bullet, got a date with a gun.”

  Well, that solved the mystery of whether Seb liked Henri’s music. And damn did the man know how to sing.

  Henri ducked when Sebastian turned around. Oh shit. Maybe he didn’t like the song.

  Tears streamed down his face.

  The mountain path seemed lonely without Sebastian, but Henri needed to clear his head. For all they’d shared a house and much time together in the past three weeks, he still knew very little about the guy. Parents gone, grew up in opera, yet listened to Henri’s music. He knew Lucas, but they couldn’t be close—Sebastian didn’t talk about him much—or anyone else. No personal photos adorned the walls of his home, and quite frankly, the pictures Henri found on the Internet of Sebastian Senior didn’t resemble Junior. The man had inherited his mother’s curls and eyes, though. He still reminded Henri of someone. But who?

  And last night he’d been crying alone in the kitchen. Not going in and finding out what was wrong was possibly the hardest thing Henri had ever done. Even harder than giving up cocaine. And hookers. But Sebastian was a private man and likely would have
clammed up and not shared what bothered him. Hell, Henri’d been there.

  Sebastian Unger remained an enigma. And isolated. In the past three weeks, Henri’s voice mail would have chimed constantly if he hadn’t set his cell phone to silent. And each evening he triaged hundreds of e-mails. To Henri’s knowledge, the house phone had only rung twice, and Sebastian didn’t often carry a cell phone. What kind of desolate life did he lead?

  Control. He kept a tight fist on control. The only time he let loose was when Henri coaxed him to go for a ride. On the Harley the man was free, and never more beautiful than in those moments glimpsed in the Harley’s rearview mirrors: tousled hair peeking out from under the helmet, smile as wide as the Colorado sky.

  It dawned on Henri—here he was free too. Here he’d been just himself, not Henri the rock god. Except for a few investments made online in the wee hours, he’d not touched his money. He’d been a mere man, enjoying time with another man who wanted nothing but to help him perfect his craft. Sure, Sebastian got paid, but the attention he gave to Henri, the extra touches, couldn’t be for hire. And certainly not the kisses.

  Time to show some appreciation.

  Sebastian was known in town—Henri might be recognized as well, meaning a night in public wasn’t going to happen. Especially since Lucas’s warning. If Sebastian hadn’t been kissed much, chances were he’d not been properly romanced either. Before Henri left to return to LA, he’d remedy the lack. He never wanted to see tears in the man’s eyes again.

  “How’s things going, Henri?”

  “Fine, Doc.” Henri stretched out on his bed to gaze at the mountains. So serene. Life moved at a slower pace here, which suited him fine. “I haven’t had to take any emergency pills, just my normal meds.”