by Anyta Sunday
He didn’t go unnoticed, though.
The manor held traces of his cousin everywhere; in the aftershave that spiced the downstairs bathroom; the crumbs left over the kitchen countertop; the instructions Duke left for the help—always punctuated with smiley faces and thank-you’s.
Rohan picked up the latest note addressed to the household staff. With all his travel, he had left Duke in charge of hiring and managing the staff. The man and woman who entered the kitchen were clearly new employees. They wore matching tracksuits and eyed him with surprise.
Tenderness punched through him. Duke had hired staff with Down syndrome.
“Who are you?” the woman with dark curls asked.
“Jackie,” the man said to her, “it’s the master of the manor.”
“That’s Duke,” Jackie insisted.
“No, Duke said Rohan owns the place.”
“How do you know this is Rohan?” Jackie whispered.
“From the pictures.”
“What pictures?” She planted her hands on her hips.
Bruno gave her a look of fond exasperation. “From the album Duke is always leaving out.”
Rohan shook himself free of the thoughts racing through his mind and introduced himself. “Jackie’s right,” he said. “Duke is the real master of the manor.” He pushed today’s note toward them. “He wrote a list of chores that need doing.”
Jackie read over it and cheered. “We can set up for Christmas!”
Smiling, feeling lighter than he had in years, Rohan left the two to organize their day as he drove to work. The manor might belong to Rohan on paper, but it meant something far more to Duke.
A warm thought, knowing Duke could call this manor home, unlike his childhood farmhouse.
When Friday night rolled around, Rohan returned once more to Duke hiding, but this time, he decided it was time for seeking.
The staff had left, but not before Rohan had asked Bruno where the photo album was that Duke liked sifting through.
Lounging in Duke’s room, album perched on his thighs, he called his friend—gym partner and private eye—James.
“You want me to what?” James asked, laughter fringing his words.
“You heard me. Find the boy. I want to know where exactly he stays every night.”
“Have you thought about asking him?”
“Of course.”
“And?”
“I’d rather you find him.”
Another laugh. “Payback for him recording you?”
No. “Yes.”
“God, that boy really manages to wind you up the wrong way.”
“You have no idea.”
Three hours later, James messaged him with Duke’s whereabouts.
Rohan stared at the well-known address and swore. Of course, he’d suspected Duke might head to those clubs. Might want to get his ass tapped.
But until this moment, Rohan hadn’t realized how much he’d hoped Duke hadn’t.
James called Rohan the moment he’d parked his Lexus near the club’s back entrance.
“You can’t go in there, Rohan.”
“You mean, I shouldn’t go in there,” Rohan rephrased.
“A single photo of you in a gay club will be enough to land you in all the tabloids.”
James was right.
He had SmallQ to think of. Everything he’d worked his entire life for.
He gripped the steering wheel and glared at the dark club lit with neon signage.
Damn. He couldn’t risk it.
Rohan drove back to the manor in a pissy mood. Stayed up late, pacing the hallways in a useless attempt to burn off his frustration.
The sudden bang of the front door opening had Rohan striding downstairs.
Duke stumbled through the opposite door, hair wrecked, coat unbuttoned, scarf almost falling off his shoulders. His jeans had a dark stain down one of the legs that Rohan prayed was from a spilled drink, but he knew better.
“Duke,” he said tightly.
Duke started, tripping over the chaise. He toppled onto the cushions with a groaning laugh, one leg and arm flung off the chaise. He turned toward Rohan, gaze finally focusing.
A drunken smile tipped Duke’s mouth. “In my dreams, you didn’t have clothes on.”
Rohan swore, moving forward just as Duke’s arm buckled and Duke listed toward the ground. Rohan scooped him up. All warm, groping limbs, Duke pulled himself up on Rohan, clutching him with a desperation that gripped Rohan’s cock.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
Duke breathed him in, the suction of air at Rohan’s neck eliciting goose bumps. “Can I pretend I don’t want to go? Will you sling me over your shoulder again? Spank me?”
That sounded dangerously appealing. Stoked soft shivers in his belly.
“I warned you about being drunk under this roof.”
“When I was underage. I’m an adult now.” The way Duke emphasized the last words wasn’t lost on Rohan. Duke was desperate for Rohan to see him as the man he was. The very beautiful, sexual man he was.
Rohan cupped Duke’s face, looked right into his eyes. “You’re not acting like an adult.”
Duke hiccupped and his face drained of color. He grabbed Rohan’s sleeves, doubled over, and threw up over their feet.
“Point proven,” Rohan said.
Rohan steered him to the nearest bathroom, pulled off his coat and scarf, and made him hug the ceramic bowl as he emptied his stomach.
“You’re going to rip me a new one in the morning, aren’t you?” Duke said when Rohan returned from mopping the gallery.
Duke’s face was wet, and the bathroom smelled like Duke had overdone it on the toothpaste and mouthwash. Duke leaned against the sink. “Tell me how pissed you are.”
“If you’re capable of talking, strip. Shower.”
Duke tugged off his shirts, a cheeky gleam in his eye. “You probably need a shower, too,” he said with a pointed glance at his bare feet. “You could join me.”
Rohan smothered a laugh, stepped forward, and slapped the stained part of Duke’s jeans. “Didn’t you have enough tonight?”
“Fuck you.”
“Only in your dreams, Duke.”
“Probably better than the real thing, anyway,” Duke said with a pout.
He would hate himself tomorrow. Possibly put more distance between them.
It was a thought that didn’t settle well with Rohan.
“Clean up and get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
He’d make sure they talked.
Rohan twisted and left, Duke’s groan following him.
When Rohan slipped into bed, he fell asleep with Duke’s charming pout stamped into his mind. A pout that Rohan feared might draw him willingly into the mother of all family dramas.
Rohan set his phone on the cookbook stand.
He pulled everything green out of the fridge and whipped it into a smoothie.
Midmorning sun peeked through the frosted windows, clear and dazzling. Everything he suspected Duke would not be.
He called Casey to see how she was doing and find out her plans for the week. “Maybe I can come next weekend? S-stay the week.”
“Sure you can. I’ll organize you a driver.”
“Duke said he’d pick me up and drive me in when I wanted.”
Rohan paused the lip of the blender against the glass. “You’ve been chatting with Duke?”
“Every day since you visited me. He said you’ve bought ten green scarves for me.” Duke had seen them? He must have searched through Rohan’s room, a pulse-racing thought.
“I can’t decide which is best,” Rohan said.
“Duke said none of them were perfect. Yet. But he has faith you’ll find it.”
“When are you two having these discussions?”
“He calls during the day and I say hello.” Casey’s face turned, then she smiled at him again. “I have to go.”
“Love you, Casey.”
“Love yo
u, too. Give Duke a hug from me.”
Not if he could help it.
Duke woke with a raging morning boner and an even more painful headache.
He was more than frustrated. He was screwed.
Or not screwed, as was the problem.
Hot and bothered, he’d thrown himself into a melting pot of sexy boys, hoping to purge Rohan from his system. But he couldn’t commit. Couldn’t follow through with a single offer to fuck or get fucked.
He’d made it to his knees once, until the memory of Rohan gripping his neck, pulling him away from that journalist, killed the moment and he bailed.
He’d come home a drunken mess, and—
Oh, fuck.
“You look like you’re wishing last night hadn’t happened,” Rohan said, sauntering into his room with a large glass of a green concoction.
He sat against the headboard and pooled the blankets over his hard dick. “Last night? I don’t remember last night.”
Rohan’s look indicated that he didn’t believe him but would let him slide. He planted the green goop in his hand and sat on the bed. “Drink.”
Exasperated breath ghosted over Duke’s cheek, drawing his attention to Rohan’s lips.
What would that mouth be like fitted against his? Would Rohan kiss hard with the bite of teeth, or slow, soft, sensual?
His fingers twitched. He wanted to slide them through Rohan’s hair, pull the tips as he steered him into a deeper kiss.
Flecks of gold shone in the shaft of sunlight he sat in. Stupid sun, making him glow, making him more beautiful than he had any right to be.
He finally dipped his nose into a long gulp of the smoothie, masking Rohan’s warm scent of roasted almonds and earth and comfort.
“Not as bad as I thought,” Duke said.
Rohan took the glass and set it on the nightstand. He traced a soft finger over the four fading stamps that ran up the inside of Duke’s forearm. “I know you’re better than this.”
“Better than what? You? Because at least I’m not ashamed of every guy I screw.”
Steel eyes met his. “I’m not ashamed.”
“You tell yourself that when you’re proposing to Bianca the Beard.”
He yanked the blankets from under Rohan, flung them off him, and scrambled over the bed.
“Stop running from me.” Rohan grabbed his ankle and pulled him back. Duke flipped onto his back, his briefs-covered hard-on jutting determinedly between them, obscene enough that Rohan’s grip lessened.
Duke took advantage and cocked his hips.
Rohan let go. Exactly as Duke had anticipated, and he hated that he was right.
“When are you proposing?”
Rohan’s jaw quirked. He slammed his eyes shut briefly, and Duke tried not to read too much into what that meant. “She should be here when you return from picking up Casey next week.”
Casey was visiting the same weekend as Bianca? So he’d have no way of avoiding meeting her? “Where’s Bianca staying?”
“The manor is big enough for all of us.”
The manor, yes. His chest? Not so much.
“Whatever,” he said. He’d figure it out. He always did. “I gotta piss.” He rolled off the bed and stalked out of his room to the bathroom across the hall. Pissed, brushed his teeth, and splashed water over his face.
He stepped out of the bathroom, expecting Rohan to have gone downstairs or, better, to work. Instead, he’d made himself coffee from the machine in Duke’s room.
“There’s one for you, too.” Rohan gestured to Duke’s favorite mug filled with coffee and a splash of milk. Precisely the way Duke liked it.
He cradled the mug and shivered at a sense of déjà vu. The last time he’d stood here and Rohan had sat on that armchair, Rohan had begun unravelling Duke. First with the promise of moving back.
“What do you want to do?”
When you grow up was left unsaid, but it hovered between them anyway.
“You sound like Dad.”
“I just want what’s good for you.”
“I don’t care about SmallQ. I never wanted a position in the company. I lied when I said I was jealous of you.”
“I’m beginning to see that.”
Ask me why I lied. Dare me to tell you the truth.
Rohan studied him long and hard, and Duke caught the quick, downward sweep of his gaze over his body, naked save for thin boxers.
His body prickled with awareness. He needed to get laid.
Rohan sipped his coffee. “I don’t care if you want to write code or serve food. I’ll support whatever your ambitions are. I just want to know you have some.”
“I have some.”
“What do you do during the week?”
“Stuff. Get fucked if I can.”
A laugh. “You’re insufferable.”
“You like it.”
Rohan stood and moved in front of Duke. “Is that why you do it?”
Duke’s pulse spiked, his cock hardened, and nothing could hide his reaction.
Heat shrouded Duke as Rohan leaned forward and set his coffee mug on the shelf behind him. He paused at his ear, eliciting a long shiver. “What if I tell you I like it more when you drop the act?”
Rohan couldn’t believe his eyes.
Duke? A nanny?
The last place Rohan thought he’d follow Duke to was an ice-skating rink.
It was Thursday, which meant free entry for lower-income families. He snuck into the buzzing hall filled with kids and their caregivers.
He planted himself behind the waist-high wall that surrounded the ice. Duke crouched, eye-level with the two young kids and talked to them. They nodded, then skated off to do a slow lap around the ice. The young boy tripped on the last stretch and Duke helped him up, dusted his knees, and calmly continued.
Duke’s face was gently flushed, and he hadn’t stopped smiling.
Neither had Rohan.
Another image of Duke that would remain burned in Rohan’s mind. Thick, tawny-gold hair. Determined glint of his dazzling hazel eyes. A joyous laugh that urged the kids to laugh with him.
Gliding around the rink again, Duke’s casually skimming gaze snagged on him. He halted. The young girl smacked into his leg, and Duke caught her before she toppled to the ice. He gestured them to skate a few horizontal lengths close by.
Duke skated to Rohan, grabbing the rail where Rohan gripped it.
A hesitant grin made Rohan’s pulse quicken. He could see down to the second when Duke donned his bratty mask.
“Here I thought you worked hard for a living,” Duke said.
“Who knew you did too?”
Duke had honed restraining blushes to an art form, but Rohan caught a glimpse of his flushed neck.
“So you’re following me now?” Duke said.
“I wanted to know what you do all day. You wouldn’t tell me.”
Duke glanced at the kids, shrugged. “Satisfied?”
Far, far from it.
Duke had caught him unawares too many times. He wanted Duke to acknowledge the real him. To leave the brat behind him for good.
Or, at least, most of the time.
Duke had been right. His dick liked insolence. A little too much, considering how hard Duke had made him yesterday standing there half-naked with a swaggering smirk.
It’d taken a load of SmallQ work to distract him from pinning his cousin and fucking him into the mattress.
He shoved those thoughts deep. Wouldn’t happen. End of story.
“Why are you looking after these kids?”
“I’m helping out Kyle.”
Hearing a male name said so casually took him by surprise. He couldn’t remember any friend of Duke’s called Kyle. River and Ash, yes. Kyle must be new. “Who’s Kyle?”
Duke’s expression wavered, like he was contemplating being a pain in the ass. He sighed and pushed back from the rail, stretching the distance between them a few more feet.
“A friend. These are his sister’s
twins. Jones and Janine.”
“Why are you taking care of them?”
“She’s doing chemo treatments at the moment. Can’t get an infection.” He glanced at the kids and back. Shrugged. “Kyle is looking after them but has to work during the day. I have time. I’m not amazing at math, but I get by.”
Rohan glanced around the rink, the very one Rohan used to take Duke to as a teen. Things had been simpler then. “Do you bring them here often?”
Duke offered a soft smile that had Rohan clenching the cold rail. “Every Thursday.”
Rohan swallowed. Once upon a time they had talked about giving back to the community. They’d been sitting on these bleachers as they discussed it.
A year later, Rohan had set up a continuous donation to have the rink free on Thursdays. It’d been Duke’s idea. Give all kids a chance to skate.
“Do you look after the kids other days too?”
“If you have more questions, Rohan, hit the ice.”
Rohan rented a pair of blades. He skated with Duke, exchanging stolen glances as they put all their energy into the kids and superficial chats.
For now that was more than fine.
Rohan’s blade caught on a dent in the ice and he stumbled forward, barely managing to keep from smacking the ice.
He straightened to find the twins giggling and Duke barely suppressing a grin.
“Almost fell,” Rohan said.
“Almost?” Duke said. “Looked pretty flailing and dramatic to us.”
“I didn’t taste ice. My knees are still intact.”
“You’re confused, because you don’t normally lose control.”
“If one of us is going to fall ice skating . . . .”
“Dare you to finish that,” Duke said, folding his arms, grinning.
“It will be you.”
Duke looked at the twins either side of him. “Ten bucks to whoever takes him down first.”
Rohan laughed—then scooted quickly out of reach of the charging kids. Round and round they chased him, until he gave in and let the twins tackle him to the ice.
“Duke. Please, help me,” he said between bouts of laughter as the kids jumped on his arms, holding him down.
