by Eden Winters
“I don’t care.” At least she hadn’t said, “What this will do to the family?”
“I didn’t think so. I’d be lying if I said this is what I’d wish for you—” Henri started to object, but his mother continued. “—because it won’t be easy. There will be haters, those who’ll try to drag you through the mud.”
He snorted. Ow! His head hurt. “I’ve got haters now.”
She didn’t deny the truth.
“What’s your opinion?” Her thoughts shouldn’t matter after all they’d been through, but they did.
She glanced up from her hands, eyes so much like Henri’s own staring back at him. No contacts marred their similarity. “I’ve had a lot of time to think over the past few weeks, especially while sitting in this chair, wondering if you’d ever wake up, and what I’d say to you when you did. At some point along the way I stopped being your mother, didn’t I?”
No need lying about the obvious. “Yes.”
“Then I’ve lost my right to a say in the matter. Though I hope, in time, I can win back some maternal points. I miss my boy.” His arm tingled where she placed her hand. “You’re not coming back to the band, are you?”
“No.”
“Probably for the best. I’m not cut out to be both your mom and manager.”
“You got me my start.” Might as well give credit where due.
“And pushed you even when you didn’t want me to. I’m glad you’re making your own way in life. I suppose the doctor needs to check you out now that you’re awake, and your man is dying to see you.” Lines formed around her eyes when she smiled. “I heard you two singing. He’s got an incredible voice, and you sounded so good together.”
Damn, but he’d gotten some good drugs, to hear his mother say such things. “I think so.”
“And if his worry is anything to go by, he loves you deeply.”
Really? “I hope so.”
“Can I be a selfish manager bitch one more time?”
“Just once.” And not a single time more.
“Is it true about you planning a rock-and-roll remake of Phantom of the Opera?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Is there a role your sister could have? She needs the exposure.”
Oh, this might be fun. “Speaking of ‘exposure,’ can I cast her as a nun, in a habit that goes all the way up to her chin?”
Margo sighed. “If you must.”
Detective Shepard entered after Margo left. Not Sebastian, damn the luck. “I won’t take much of your time.” He handed over a photograph. A smiling young man in cap and gown, clutching a diploma, stared back at Henri. His heart clenched. The guy appeared a wide-eyed innocent, unlike what Henri assumed a lunatic should look like.
“That’s him.” Henri handed the photo back. No need to drag the horror out a minute longer than necessary.
“His name was Roger England, a loner and IT specialist who worked mostly from home and didn’t go out much, according to his landlady. The proverbial ‘such a quiet young man.’ He’d moved from New Jersey just before his first encounter with you. His apartment was filled with concert memorabilia, posters, magazines. Turns out he was a big fan. He’d also been treated for depression and schizophrenia. We found several unfilled prescriptions in his apartment.”
Wrinkles formed on Shepard’s forehead. “We recovered four full and one empty gas can from the site, as well as rope and duct tape, the same inventory we’d found in your hotel room. He also left a note at his apartment, confirming what you believed he’d planned. It seems Mr. England had been in the hotel a few days earlier, working on the door locks. Apparently, he’d programmed himself a master key and bribed his way into the party after your show.”
“And he’s gone now.” He’d never really be gone. Henri saw the man’s face every time he closed his eyes.
“Yes, he’s gone.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Did he have a family? Anyone to miss him?”
“None that we’ve identified.”
“Lonely.”
“Huh?”
“He said he began to identify with me after I released the song ‘Lonely.’” If that’s what lonely did to a man, Henri never want to be alone again. “His inspiration for our being together forever was ‘Walk Through Fire.’ I suppose I’d better be careful what I write from now on.” Henri held out his hand for the detective. “I appreciate what you’ve done.”
“Will you be returning Officer Reyes to us now?” Shepard took Henri’s hand in his, giving a firm shake.
“Not unless he wants to go. It’s come to my attention that I need someone running security for me. Particularly if next year’s Grammys go the way I hope.” He tried for a grin, but stopped halfway. Ouch! “I promised only to kiss him on special occasions.”
For the first time in their acquaintance, the hard-nosed detective smiled. “I’m sure he finds that reassuring. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have murders to solve. It’s been a pleasure working with you. Perhaps we’ll meet up again someday, under better circumstances.”
“Maybe we will.” Henri made a mental note to send concert tickets to Shepard’s precinct. As long as Charles remained a threat, he’d keep Arnulfo around.
“One more thing,” Shepard said before he left. “We found video equipment at the site. He’d planned to film the whole thing. We’ve watched the site for accomplices assigned to retrieve the camera after… well, you know. So far we’ve turned up nothing. He appears to have acted alone, counting on someone to find the evidence eventually.”
Henri settled back onto the hospital bed, breathing deeply and releasing tension he only now noticed he’d held. He lost his sympathy for his abductor. The asshole had planned to burn Henri alive, and himself, live on camera. Sick fuck. He almost called for Shepherd to come back.
Soon Henri would have to face the press, his manager, his band, and the world. But first….
“Can I come in?” Sebastian peered through the partially opened door.
Henri smiled. “Get over here.” He held out his unbroken arm.
Seb sat in the chair by the bed and leaned into Henri’s hug. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I’ll never let anything come between us again. I promise.” Sebastian didn’t need horrific details. He had enough problems to worry about.
They sat quietly, Sebastian running fingers and lips over Henri’s face, carefully avoiding cuts and scrapes. Finally he said, “If I said I might be falling for you, would you think it’s the worry talking?”
“Is it?”
“No. I’ve been pretty much smitten since the first time you returned after our month together. You came back. I didn’t think you would.”
“And kept coming back. I’ll always come back for you. Always.” Smitten. Not the same as “I love you,” but close enough.
“But….”
“No buts.”
“Yes, buts. What if the press finds out about us?”
“Sebastian, when I was lying tied up on the ground, preparing to meet my end, I made a promise that nothing would come between us ever again.”
“What about your career?”
“What about it?”
“What if you lose your fans?”
“I won’t lose them all. And I’ll gain new ones. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. I could lose my entire career. As long as you’re with me I won’t care.”
“You mean that?”
“I do. What about you? The opera world may not be as accepting as rock fans.”
Sebastian chucked. “Opera types are usually pretty open-minded. And if not, I’ll find a new job.”
“Doing what?”
“I can always apply as kitchen help.” He ran his lips along Henri’s. “I’m told I make a pretty good tuna fish sandwich.”
“That you do. But I’m thinking that real soon, neither one of us will have much to worry about, jobwise.”
Sebastian lay curled
up in bed, his hair fanned out on the pillowcase. “Come to bed, Henri.”
“I will in a minute, after I check my e-mail.” Henri stared at the laptop’s screen.
Henri,
I’m now afraid of my future wife. Sharon’s “New York friends” are forces to be reckoned with. They gave Charles a choice: resign from the Met’s board or be booted and have every plaque or brick with his name pulled from every opera house he’s ever touched…. They remember “little Sebastian” hanging out in Annette’s dressing room and are out for blood. Oh, and did I mention they’re friends with Charles’s wife? Even opera can’t compete with the real-life drama currently playing out in New York.
The legal age for consent in Colorado is seventeen, and the opera traveled, which means federal law takes precedent over states’. The federal legal age of consent is eighteen. Charles will soon be answering a lot of questions.
I don’t know how you talked him into it, but I’m glad Sebastian pressed charges. He needs closure. Please take care of him.
Lucas
Henri would hold Seb’s hand every step of the way to giving Charles what he had coming.
Twenty-Six
Henri stared out the window, watching fluffy snowflakes fall. The scent of woodsmoke no longer gave him the screaming shivers, and he warmed himself by the fire Sebastian had started in the fireplace. White covered the trees and mountains. Spring would arrive soon. Until then, Henri intended to enjoy a winter wonderland in the Colorado Rockies.
Arms wrapped around him from behind. Safe. Loved, even if Sebastian wasn’t comfortable enough to say “I love you.” He would, one day, once he considered himself an equal again. Baby steps. Dr. Worthington called them baby steps. Holding Henri, kissing him, acknowledging his love with all but words. Good enough for now.
Henri wanted the words, but didn’t truly need them. The tuna fish sandwich and cup of tea resting on a tray near the piano spoke volumes. God, he loved this music room. Seb’s office.
“I still won’t accept this house from you,” Sebastian murmured against Henri’s hair. His goose egg was gone now, the only remaining traces of his ordeal a few greenish-yellow bruises and a broken arm.
“I’m not giving it to you. You have to earn it.” Compromise: let Sebastian earn his own freedom. Right now Dr. Worthington relayed the words through Henri. Hopefully the doctor imparted the same words of wisdom to Sebastian personally.
“And how do you propose I do that? This house is worth about two hundred years’ worth of tuna sandwiches.”
“By starring in Phantom of the Bronx.”
Even Sebastian’s snorts were melodic. “A starring role won’t equal the price of this property. I insist on earning my own way in life.”
How many years had Henri waited to hear someone utter those words, and not latch onto him simply for his wealth? “Oh, you’ll earn it, all right. Remember how hard you worked with me last summer?”
“Yes.”
“Before production begins, I need you to work with the band—and my kid sister. I’m warning you, she can’t hold a tune in a bucket.”
“And how about you?”
“Me?”
“It’s been a while. Need a refresher?”
Henri grinned. “I might. How about a few open-throated exercises?” He spun in Sebastian’s arms and knelt. If they were going to spend much time in this house, he’d need throw rugs to cushion his knees. Lots and lots of throw rugs. And pillows. Hell, maybe they needed to move the old settee and install a fold-out couch.
He unzipped Seb’s pants and fished his already half-hard cock out of the opening. The purpled head beckoned Henri’s tongue. A swipe across the slit made Sebastian moan. Ah, what sweet music. Henri dove lower to suck his balls, while stroking Sebastian’s shaft with his hand. Seb’s legs trembled.
Bracing the shoulder of his bad arm against Seb’s thigh, Henri bobbed up and down in earnest on Seb’s spit-slicked erection, wrapping the other arm around Seb’s legs for support. Sebastian hissed, pumping his hips in time with Henri’s sucking.
Henri ran his tongue around the head, softly nipping with his lips. What a beautiful cock—thick, veins bulging. Tasty. He wrapped his lips around the head, swirling his tongue over the tip.
Hands under his armpits urged him to his feet. Sebastian wound his arms around Henri and joined them mouth to mouth. He led them in a slow tango, tongues keeping rhythm while he danced them closer and closer to the settee. Piece by piece Seb removed Henri’s clothing, starting with his T-shirt.
He kissed a path down Henri’s ink-stained torso and sat down to open Henri’s jeans and slide them down his legs to pool around his ankles. Lifting first one leg and then the other, he removed Henri’s socks and shoes. Outside the wind howled and snow formed drifts against the trees, but here Henri found warmth, love, and a peace of mind he’d never known before.
Stark naked, he strolled across the floor and closed the blinds. Not that Henri expected spies, but one couldn’t be too careful, and though Arnulfo was loyal to a fault—and footsteps overhead spoke of his whereabouts—Henri had scandalized the man enough for one lifetime by answering his hotel room door in his birthday suit a few times.
He returned to settee, where Sebastian lay stretched out and naked. “I think I should warn you, even after you earn this house back from me, I have no intention of leaving. That is, unless you want me to. Ultimately, the decision is yours. It’s your house.”
“It’s too big for one person. But it works fine for two. Particularly with the extra room for the band members I’m supposed to train.”
Henri climbed onto the settee, straddling Sebastian, catching his erection between their bellies. Sebastian’s cock nudged his entrance. Sure hands skimmed up his sides, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him down for a kiss. This wasn’t comfortable.
Grabbing Seb’s throw from the settee, Henri stepped back and arranged the frothy fabric on the floor as best he could one-handed. Sebastian finished the job and sank to his knees. “C’mere.” He held out his hand to Henri. Henri lay down, allowing Sebastian to position him facing the fire.
Sebastian spooned against him from behind. “I’d always hoped one day to make love in front of this fire.”
An image came to mind of Sebastian and Charles in this spot. Henri pushed the thought aside. Whatever Seb had done with the man, it wasn’t making love. And thanks to a restraining order, Charles would never darken their door again. Henri rested against the comfort of Seb’s body, angling back to press against Seb’s stiff cock.
A laugh rumbled against Henri’s back. “Is that a hint?”
“No, it’s a demand. We rock gods can be demanding. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Duly noted.” Seb nibbled the back of Henri’s neck. Catlike, Henri turned and lifted his chin to encourage the attention.
Flames crackled in the hearth and in Henri’s heart. Slick fingers worked his opening, to be replaced by something larger and latex-covered. He shoved back, biting his lip against the stretching. Damn. Just damn.
Sebastian slid inside him, inch by inch, forward and back, until fully seated. He wrapped one arm around Henri’s waist, idly running his fingers up and down the length of Henri’s shaft. Henri wriggled, getting more comfortable and putting more pressure on the right spot inside of him. He sucked in a breath and huffed it out slowly. He wanted to roll Seb over, climb on top, and fuck them both senseless. Every nerve, every atom of his being shrieked more, more, more, more, more!
In this Seb called the shots, and his wildly beating heart against Henri’s back said he needed as much as Henri did. And yet, he hesitated.
“If you’re afraid of hurting me, you don’t have to worry. I’m fine,” Henri assured him.
“It’s not that.” Sebastian’s breath gusted against Henri’s bare shoulders, sending a chill up his spine.
“Then what is it?”
“I’ve never known a perfect moment before. I want to pause and savor.”
Seb groaned and bucked against Henri. “You don’t play fair,” he griped. With slow but sure strokes, he sealed their union. Seb, inside him, wrapped around him, loving him, erased memories of any who’d come before. Sebastian. His Sebastian, stroking him in time with their loving.
Slow, unhurried, Seb kissed a path across Henri’s shoulders, nuzzled his ear, nibbled an earlobe, and bit lightly where neck met shoulder. He picked up the pace, moans deepening as he neared climax.
Henri rode each stroke, breath caught in his throat at the perfect, perfect stretch, the rub of Seb’s cock against his prostate, the firm grip around his length.
“I’m going to come.” Sebastian closed his mouth around Henri’s shoulder, rhythm faltering, and released into Henri’s body. Pulse after pulse, his cries of release harmonized with Henri’s earthy groans.
Though his tempo grew erratic, Seb continued to stroke Henri. Henri added his hand, gripping Sebastian’s fingers and controlling the speed. “Ah, ah, ah!” He bowed forward, clamping down on Seb’s hand as he came.
At last they lay slack against each other, complete.
Tomorrow they’d set the wheels into motion for their future, whatever their future might bring. They’d soar or they’d fall, but they’d do so hand in hand, and the world be damned.
Words weren’t needed. A subtle clasp of Sebastian’s hand meant “I love you.” Henri returning the gesture meant “I love you too.” A kiss to the shoulder meant “I’ll always be here for you,” and a kiss to the knuckles replied, “I know.”
Henri dozed and awoke to find himself covered with a quilt, Seb’s arm serving for a pillow. He’d never been so content. As he drifted off to sleep again, a piano melody formed in his head. He hummed along:
