The Gift
Page 27
"What contract?" Diana asked sweetly. "Funny thing about that contract, August. I've been looking for a copy of it everywhere but I can't find a single one. Not even a draft. Weird, hmm? That they would send Doren all that way and not even get him to sign a contract first?"
Diana's voice sounded oddly amused.
"But …" August stopped, confused. "I have a copy of it with me. Signed. By both of them. Witnessed, even."
Diana's voice dropped. "Then, darling, I suggest you get rid of it. Burn it until its nothing but ash."
Her voice picked up, lighter again. "And you know what else, August? It seems someone tipped off the studios down here that Doren's running free without bindings. After that show I bet he's going to be hounded with calls, now!"
August didn't know whether to be surprised or angry. "You did this, didn't you?"
"August, honey, some questions are better left unasked. For now, though, I've got to go. Maybe we'll talk when you get back to town."
"Good plan," he nodded. "But I'm pretty sure I'm going to have a damn lot of questions that you won't want to answer. I know I will, in fact."
Oh!" Diana exclaimed, ignoring his comment. "I almost forgot. Do you think you and Doren could bring the Lotus back to the studio? Now that Anton won't be requiring it anymore? A little road trip, maybe?"
He disconnected the call and looked up to see that Doren had stopped walking, waiting patiently a few feet ahead. August closed the distance between them and Doren wrapped August in his arms. "It's okay, baby," Doren said, lifting August's hand to kiss his knuckles, "some answers I don't need to know right now. There's time."
Dream On
August
He had to admit; the Lotus was a pretty sweet ride. Sure, he'd believed Doren when Doren said it was nice, he just hadn't realized how cool "nice" was—even if they had taken turns adjusting the volume knob on the stereo for the first hour of the trip, an effort towards peace and quiet that was only shoved aside when August got sick of doing it.
"You know," August hollered over the radio, "if I'd known you were planning on driving like Mario Andretti I would have opted to ride in the bus."
"What?" Doren yelled back, feigning dismay. "And miss all this stimulating conversation?"
They grinned at each other and Doren grabbed for August's hand, holding it on the shifter underneath his own. August rested his head back on the seat, watching Doren's face through peripheral vision. It still bugged him, what Anton had said. Had he been lying about the paternity? Or was there actually something to it? August searched Doren's features, like he'd done a dozen times in the past couple of days, caught between trying to pick out similarities and trying to prove it was all crap.
Doren nodded at the windshield, tightening his hand over top of August's. "What?"
"Nothing," August smiled. "Just thinking how hot you are."
"Oh," Doren said, turning down the stereo. "By all means continue then."
August opened his mouth to retort when Doren's phone began to peal. "Yello," Doren answered, grinning at his humor, getting nothing more than a roll of eyes as reward for it. "Okay, yeah, this is he."
A long pause followed while August searched Doren's expression for information. "Well, now's not really a good time to talk. But rest assured that I've decided not to sign the contract the current studio was offering."
More silence followed and August shifted, stared, and fidgeted like a toddler.
"Tell you what," Doren said finally. "You work something up that I just can't refuse and we'll talk then."
August's eyebrows rose up his forehead and he grabbed a pen that was waved away when he offered it. "Well, you obviously have my number so I won't need yours, will I? Let me know if you'd like us to come in and see you." He paused and then grinned into the phone. "Yeah, us. I've got my own assistant, you see, so if you want me to look at your offer, you make sure that's in there. Oh, and my band. I don't go anywhere without my band."
August lifted Doren's hand and kissed it, thrilling at the silent "Ooh" that Doren pursed his lips into. With a salacious smile, August licked the end of his thumb.
"Well those are both take it or leave it issues so they're not open for discussion," Doren said, his eyes flicking between August's mouth and the windshield. "And while we're discussing all the things you're going to hate about me? I have some fine print for you, too. They work for me—the assistant and the band—not your studio. Be sure you figure that in as well."
He didn't even realize Doren was pulling over until he heard the crunch of gravel under the tires. He slammed the shifter into neutral and set the emergency brake. "So, I'll leave you to ponder that as you see fit. It appears that I have an emergency to take care of here." He drew the fist August was teasing closer, towards his lap, smirking at August's lifted eyebrow. "No, I don't need any help. Nope, no ambulance either. It's a totally different kind of emergency."
Doren dropped the phone and grabbed August's wrist when August began to pull back to his own seat. "Oh, no you don't. No starting what you can't finish, Aug."
August didn't even argue. He leaned to meet the kiss, rolling his tongue into Doren's mouth the minute both their lips met, while his hand worked into Doren's lap.
"Aw, yeah," Doren mumbled. "That tastes fine, indeed." He stilled, tilted his head, and offered August a look full of amusement. "Hey, Auggie? You hear that?"
"You know something? I do." August pulled Doren's lip into his mouth and sucked it once before letting it go. "Sounds an awful lot like a love song."
"Yeah," Doren sighed, both hands finding the side of August's head, Doren's lips working to travel every inch of his jaw and his cheek. "Sounds like forever."
Fin
About the Author
Henley was born with a full-blown passion for run-on sentences, a zealous indulgence in all words descriptive, and the endearing tendency to overuse punctuation. Since the early years Henley has been an enthusiastic writer, from the first few I-love-my-dog stories to the current leap into erotica.
A self-professed Google genius, Henley lives for the hours spent digging through the Internet for ‘research purposes’ which, more often than not, lead seven thousand miles away from first intentions but bring Henley to new discoveries and ideas that, once seeded, tend to flourish.
Henley has been proudly working with LT3 since 2012, and has been writing like mad ever since—an indentured servant to the belief that romance and true love can mend the most broken soul. Even when presented in prose.
Comments, kudos and signature card requests are happily received at afhenley.com.