Blood Red Roses

by S. J. Coles

  “Wow, she really would not take the hint, would she?” a new voice noted.

  Chapter Two

  Rick had been so busy trying to gain control of the mix of trepidation and relief that accompanied Cecily’s departure that he hadn’t noticed a man sliding into her vacated seat. He met a pair of ice-blue eyes under a sweep of black hair with a jolt. Both the striking eyes and the warm, curving lips were smiling. The low, golden light warmed the new arrival’s smooth clean-shaven skin to the colour of warm cream. He was a little younger than Rick at a guess, but not much, with just the suggestion of laughter lines starting at the corners of his thick-lashed eyes. His dark suit folded and opened in all the right places to suggest a lithe, toned figure. His maroon shirt and black silk tie were a pleasing contrast to his skin and eyes and complemented the blue-black of his hair. A very large, very expensive platinum watch glinted on his left wrist.

  “Rick, right?” His cut-glass accent was straight out of Oxbridge.

  “That’s right,” Rick managed warily, finding it harder to continue to manage his own accent as the liquor mixed with the loaded look in the other man’s eyes. “And you are?”

  “Kim,” he said holding out a hand. “Kim Bailey.”

  Rick shook his hand then hurriedly withdrew it when the contact lasted a little longer than was comfortable. He stared at the man’s face, the fine jaw and bright eyes stirring something in the back of his mind. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

  “I don’t know. Do you?”

  Rick blinked. “And how do you know the Swansons?”

  “Oh I don’t,” Bailey said, surveying the milling clientele with a faintly amused expression. “I’m just out for New Year’s. The cocktails here are world-beating. And the company’s usually pleasing.” His gaze returned to Rick and lingered.

  Rick straightened himself on his stool and waved for the bartender.

  “Let me get this one.”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “I insist. What’s the poison?”

  Rick stared into his empty cocktail glass, the aftertaste of the rich mixture now sickly in his mouth. “Straight Jack, please.”

  “Make that two,” Kim said to the barman then turned his smile back on Rick. “So, Miss Swanson. Is she clueless or just in denial?” he continued, glancing at Cecily where she sat in a booth across the room with her mother and future in-laws, looking like she was simultaneously having the best and worst time of her life.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re gay, right?” Rick froze with his glass to his lips. “Not in the closet, I hope?” Bailey’s smile warmed the blue of his eyes like the sun on the ocean. “Or, worse, in denial yourself?”

  Rick took a deep swallow and put his glass on the bar with deliberate care. He stared into it rather than meet the penetrating blue gaze. “Don't know what you’re on about, mate.”

  “Oh come on, my friend. My radar never lies.”

  Rick blinked. “That’s a real thing?”

  His smile widened. “Maybe. But, yeah… It helps when your picture is on Grindr.”

  Rick’s belly clenched, threatening to lose the potent mix of neat spirits. He took a careful breath before saying, “I’m not on Grindr.”

  “Not anymore,” Bailey said, putting his head on one side. “Pity.”

  “Can you stop?” Rick said, stealing a glance to ensure that no one was within earshot.

  “What’s the problem? It’ll be ‘next year’ in less than an hour. It’s cool now. Didn’t you get the memo?”

  “It still matters to some people, especially when you’re…like me,” Rick spat out.

  “What? Gorgeous?”

  The hot blue of Kim’s eyes sent fire dancing along his nerves and he had to take a moment to manage his reaction. “Mixed race.”

  Bailey narrowed his eyes. “Tell me why you care about what that sort of people think.”

  “It’s not about caring. It’s about functioning. Achieving. In the real world.”

  Bailey sipped his whisky. “I find the real world distinctly overrated.”

  “That’s because you have that choice.”

  “You think so, huh?”

  “Well,” Rick said, giving the beautiful, white, upper-middle-class man an assessing look.

  “Now who’s making snap judgements?”

  Rick tasted guilt on his tongue but Bailey’s smile hadn’t slipped and the knowing light was still in his eyes. “I’m wrong, then?”

  Bailey snickered and ordered two more drinks. “We both know it’s impossible to ever know the whole truth about someone else…especially after only one drink.”

  The bartender brought the drinks and Bailey raised his. Rick hesitated a moment, glanced back to where Cecily was engrossed with family and board members then picked up the glass and clicked it to Bailey’s.

  “Cheers,” he said and downed the whole measure. “So, you really from Greenwich?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “There’s something in your voice…a slight accent?”

  Rick examined him closely but his expression seemed to hold nothing but mild curiosity. “My family lived in the North for a while, when I was a kid.”

  “Newcastle?”

  Rick sipped his own drink to buy time. “Sunderland. But we moved here when I was ten.”

  “That must be it then. And now you’ve reached the dizzying heights of junior analyst at Swanson and Gerrard, huh?”

  Rick went still. “How do you know that?”

  “You can’t work in this city without knowing who these lot are,” Bailey murmured, sharp eyes taking in the room. “And the vacancy you filled, well”—he raised an eyebrow—“quite the hot ticket.”

  “Yeah?”

  Bailey examined him a moment longer then laughed softly. “Let’s just say no one was expecting your predecessor to resign so soon after getting his promotion. It caused quite a stir.”

  “I was lucky,” Rick continued, swirling his drink round his glass. “So you’re in finance too?” he added, even though he was certain he would have remembered this man from his research.

  “Private consultancy,” Bailey replied after a beat. “So tell me. How are they?”

  “How are who?”

  “S&G.”

  “I’ve only been there a week.”

  “And got invited to a private family event.”

  Rick examined him again, uncertainty prickling the edges of the warmth that had been gathering in his belly. “Why do you want to know?”

  A corner of Bailey’s mouth turned up. “Just interested.”

  Rick narrowed his eyes. “If you’re looking for insider information, you’ve come to the wrong guy.”

  “I’m not,” Bailey said, putting his drink down with a mischievous smile. Then, taking in Rick’s expression, grew serious. “I swear. I’m not fishing—or not for what you think, anyway.”

  His glance slid to Rick’s mouth, causing a very different reaction to when Cecily Swanson had done the same thing. Rick swallowed, lowered his gaze to where one of Bailey’s long-fingered hands rested on his black-clad thigh, tantalisingly close to his crotch.

  “So, what’s your story?” Bailey continued in a quieter voice.

  “My story?”

  “Yeah. Why’d you take yourself off the market? You spoken for?”

  Rick stared hard at his glass to stop himself from returning the loaded look that rested, hotter than fire, against the skin of his neck. “No,” he said levelly.

  “I sense there’s a ‘but’?”

  “I’m putting my career first right now.”

  “Uh-huh.” Rick dared to look up. Bailey was gazing at where their hands rested on the bar, almost touching. “You know regular sexual release does wonders for productivity, right?”

  “Look, Mr Bailey—”

  “Kim.”

  Rick took a breath. “Kim. Thanks and everything. I’m flattered. You’re…” Rick stopped himself, but not before Kim’s dev
ilish smile widened. “You’re very attractive. But I’m not here to socialise.”

  “Okay, I hear you, big fella. Just let me lay something out there for you, in the spirit of a new year, a new start and…increased productivity.” Bailey drew his stool closer to Rick’s. “I know this place pretty well. There’s a storage room, just up the corridor. No one goes in there this time of night—”

  “I can’t.”

  A hungry light warmed the ice blue of Bailey’s eyes and he held himself very still.

  “I’m serious. No one here can know I’m…” Rick glanced around but still no one was looking their way. He lowered his voice further anyway. “I’m not in denial. And I’m not in the closet. I’m just playing the game.”

  Kim nodded, the set of his mouth now serious. “So I won’t tell anyone.”

  Rick emptied his glass. The drink burned down his throat but couldn’t douse the flames in his belly. “I really can’t.”

  “Tell me you don’t want to and I’ll drop it,” Bailey added, his eyes never leaving Rick’s.

  Rick gripped the glass. He closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see the guy’s face, but that just allowed his mind’s eye to conjure the image of what the man might look like, backed against the wall, shirt open, perfectly-styled hair dishevelled, lips parted…

  Rick shook his head and opened his eyes. Bailey was close enough that their elbows were touching. “It’s not that I don’t want to—”

  The spark in Kim’s eyes made Rick’s chest clench and groin throb, and he cursed his self-imposed dry spell with abandon.

  “I am the soul of discretion,” he said so softly that Rick almost didn’t catch the words. “Believe me… I know how to keep secrets.”

  Rick glanced over his shoulder. Harry was leading Cecily towards another group of people clustered near the piano. Her father still sat at the table, his attention absorbed in his board members. Antoinette Swanson stood off to one side, her hawk-like gaze switching between her husband and her daughter.

  He took a shuddering breath. “Where’s this room?”

  Kim’s smile widened to a grin. “Take a left out of here and a right by the stairs. Go through the service door—the key code is one, two, three—then go through the first door you come to. Shall we say five minutes?”

  Rick stared at his empty glass for a long moment in which his heart pounded against his ribs then nodded. Kim stood. The hand he rested on Rick’s shoulder sent electricity sparking down his back then the guy was gone.

  The time on his phone read eleven-o-six p.m. Rick ordered another Jack Daniel’s and downed it. He prevaricated between wishing one of the Swansons would remember he was there to hoping that, for the next few minutes at least, they would forget he ever existed.

  He checked his phone. Eleven-o-nine p.m. Cecily hadn’t looked in his direction again. Maybe Ella had been wrong about her after all. Then he thought about the little exchange over the cocktails and winced. But at that moment she was so engrossed in a conversation with her fiancé, her face tight and his flushing red, that Rick doubted she’d even be able to pick him out of a lineup.

  He rubbed his damp palms on his trousers, his mind once again helpfully filling itself with images of the handsome stranger and musings about what his skin might taste like.

  Eleven-eleven p.m.

  He found himself in the corridor without remembering even making the decision to move. He turned left then right at the stairs in a sort of daze. He stood in the hall for a long moment, slightly behind a marble statue, until there was a lull in the people moving between the restaurant and the reception, then he punched in the code into the keypad on the service door and ducked through.

  The corridor beyond was low-ceilinged, utilitarian, lit by strip lights and filled with the smells of cooking meat and the distant clatter of silverware. The contrast to the sumptuousness he’d just left was jarring. His palms were damp again when he tried the handle of the first door. It opened. The room beyond was dark. He just had time to form the impression of stacks of chairs, folded tables and shelves of linen when a firm hand grabbed his arm and pulled him in.

  The door shut with a bang and plunged him into darkness, then a hot mouth was on his. Rick groaned, feeling his last shred of control come undone. Kim tasted like springtime and Jack Daniel’s. He was shorter, so slid his fingers round the back of Rick’s neck, pulling his head down to deepen the kiss. The man’s body was warm and firm against his and the erection pressing into Rick’s thigh made him shiver.

  When Kim’s free hand fumbled at his fly, he gasped. He reached blindly for the fastening to the man’s trousers, fingers and skin hot and feverish. Kim made a strangled sound when Rick managed to get his hand into Kim’s pants. Rick almost didn’t hear it over the thunder of his own pulse as Kim slid his hand into his boxers and tightened it around Rick’s erection.

  “Jesus,” Rick swore.

  “Just ‘Kim’s’ fine,” the man panted, and Rick could feel his smile. Rick backed him against a stack of chairs, desperate for more friction. It had been so long that he’d almost forgotten what it was like to have another human’s flesh pressed against his. Kim made a noise low in his throat and shifted his legs so Rick could lean between them, then began to pump his cock while delving his tongue into Rick’s mouth.

  Rick swallowed his taste and sank himself into the feel of Kim’s hand. He smelled like citrus and sandalwood, a startling but enticing combination. Their pace increased and soon all Rick’s senses were filled to bursting with the storm building under his skin.

  “Tell me when,” Kim panted in his ear.

  Rick moaned and increased his pace, the answering quiver in Kim’s flesh sending an extra fizz of excitement prickling over the top of his own. He suddenly wished for light. He wanted to see what that striking face looked like when he—

  “Oh God. Now,” Rick forced out, lightening gathering under his belly.

  Kim dropped to his knees and took Rick into his throat. Plunging into the wet tightness jerked Rick right over the edge like a fish on a line. White-hot fire exploded behind his balls and poured up, out of him and into Kim’s mouth. The man’s fingers dug into his hips and he moved his head back and forward, once, twice, until Rick was quivering and empty.

  Rick’s legs trembled and he had to clutch at the back of a chair to stay upright. Kim got to his feet and kissed him again, slowly, languorously. Rick could taste himself in Kim’s mouth and a deep shudder of pleasure made his knees weaken further.

  He broke the kiss to whisper, “Did you…?”

  “Oh, yes,” Kim murmured against his lips. “Have no worries on that account, my friend. It was everything I expected…and more.” Rick smiled but then Kim was stepping aside. The loss of heat made Rick shiver.

  “Well,” Kim’s voice was heavy in the dark, “that was…diverting.”

  Rick tucked himself back into his trousers, grateful that the darkness hid his blush. “Yeah,” he fumbled. “Thanks. I…I think I needed that.”

  “I know you did.” Kim spoke right next to his ear, his scented breath brushing the delicate flesh. “But I guess you want to get back before anyone notices, right?” Rick handled the uncomfortable feeling his words generated carefully, like he wasn’t sure if it might be dangerous. “It’s fine,” Kim said softly, as if guessing his thoughts. “We all have to play the game sometimes, right?”

  “Right,” Rick managed after a moment.

  Kim opened the door a crack and the sudden light made Rick blink. Kim chuckled softly and helped him straighten his tie. “No one will ever know. Except you, of course. The real you, that is.” He smiled and laid one of his long-fingered hands against Rick’s chest. “And how does the real you feel about meeting up sometime?” Rick opened his mouth, even though he had no idea what was going to come out, but Kim continued, his expression tightening. “I get it. Career first. But…this was fun. I like fun. And, well…don’t ask, don’t get.”

  Rick’s thoughts chased each other ro
und his brain for a long moment. As they were still catching up with themselves, he said, “Sure. I’d like that.”

  The smile on Kim’s face smoothed away the tightness that had crept into it. He got out his phone, put in the passcode and handed it to him. Rick input his number and returned the phone, aware of a warmth as intense as it was alarming blooming in his chest.

  “Great,” Kim said, pushing some commands. “I’ll dodge you so you’ve got mine. There.” Rick glanced at the missed call notification on his phone screen and nodded.

  “Got it.”

  Kim squeezed his hand. “See you in the New Year, Rick. Maybe wait a few minutes before leaving, okay? The staff here are usually in someone’s pocket.”

  Rick stood in the near-dark after Kim slipped away, staring at the number on his phone screen. He took a breath, stored the number and stepped back into the corridor, firmly shelving any more thoughts of lithe, blue-eyed strangers.

  He left the staff corridor behind with his hands in his pockets, resisting the temptation to glance round to see if any eyes followed him. Stepping back into the dimly lit bar, he felt more relaxed than he had all evening and sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whatever fate had brought Kim there that night.

  He stepped firmly on his swell of disappointment when he registered that the blue-eyed man had not returned, and instead he nodded to Lloyd Swanson, who raised his glass in reply. His wife’s sharp gaze landed on him and Rick managed a smile for her then scanned the crowded room for Cecily.

  “Dick Bennett, is it?”

  Rick turned a pleasant smile to the heavyset man who had appeared at his elbow. “Rick, actually.”

  “Rick,” Harry Gerrard-Hanson said, surveying Rick like he was something unidentified but unpleasant he’d just stepped in. “Cecily wondered where you’d gone.”

  “Just the bathroom. Did she need something?”

  “No,” Gerrard-Hanson stated flatly, eyes dark. “Though it’s nearly midnight and she wants us all together for the countdown. But first, I have a couple of questions.”

  “Of course,” Rick said, moving to the bar and ordering another Jack Daniel’s, his mouth suddenly dry. “Shoot.”