Page 15 of Finding Grey

“If you insist, Dante.” Sean said my name slowly all right, but rather than being flirtatious, an undeniable hint of mockery coloured his tone. He knew the game, but he wasn’t inclined to play. A slow smile crossed my face as he turned away. Oh yeah, he definitely didn’t like me.

We passed several bedrooms before I spoke again. “This house is a little big for just me.”

“We usually have entire bands stay, sometimes with their partners,” he said over his shoulder. “The house can accommodate up to ten people at a time. It’s not often we have only one guest.”

“I work best when I’m on my own. Less distractions.” I didn’t addusuallyto the end of my sentence, although with the way my gaze glued itself to his arse as he walked in front of me, I knew the word belonged there. Sean entered a doorway on the left and my perfect view was cut short.

I followed him into a large, airy room. My luggage had been placed at the end of a king-sized bed that called my name the instant we crossed the threshold.

“Your private bathroom is through here,” he said, pushing a second door wide, “and the walk-in wardrobe is opposite. I’ll be providing all your meals and taking care of the house and grounds while you’re here. I can also run basic errands if necessary.” Everything about his tone was pleasant, modulated… fake. I hated fake. “Think of me as your go-to man for whatever you need during your stay.”

I didn’t need much, but I’d just added the desire to hear Sean’s voice crack to the end of my growing list of wants. Bending to place my guitar case in front of the nearby dresser, I favoured him with a grin. “Aren’t you the host with the most.”

The barely perceptible narrowing of his eyes wasn’t lost on me. “It’s all part of theFull-Service Package.”

In other words, I’d paid a shitload of money to have him at my beck and call, and I’d be an idiot to assume he was here for any other reason. The stark reminder was unnecessary. I had no illusions about my life, or the fact it was populated by transactions more often than affection. But it would make for a trying couple of months if the man couldn’t at least pretend to tolerate me.

“I’ll leave you to get settled. If you need anything, pick up the phone and dial one hash to reach me. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“And you’ll give me that tour?” There was no real need for us to shake a second time, but I offered my hand anyway. Something about his aversion to me, the way my very existence seemed to annoy him, inspired a perverse desire to dig further under his skin. “I wouldn’t want to get lost. Who knows where I’ll end up?”

Those lips pressed together again as he came forward to accept my hand, but this time he seemed to be fighting a wry smile. “It’s a viable concern with rock stars, I’ll admit. I wouldn’t want to have to file a missing person’s report on the first day.”

Sean’s teasing made me smile. Perhaps there was hope for us yet. I looked into his eyes as we shook, really looked—all up close and personal.

Grey. Sean’s eyes were grey.

An eternity passed as I stood there, staring at him. Not just at his eyes, though. I’d come across men with grey eyes before. As colours went, it wasn’t so rare. Sean was different. With his light-brown hair and his square jaw, he possessed a Grey-ness that had been lacking in other men. For a moment, I imagined I could laugh and pull him against me. Finally. After all these years.

Found you.

Sean cleared his throat. “Is something wrong?” The low intensity of his voice, the way his breath came fast in his chest, implied my overly dramatic response had somehow been mirrored in him. “I’m gonna need my hand back.”

The spell broke and I released him but, even so, I couldn’t tear my gaze away. “You, ah, you remind me of someone I haven’t seen in a long time.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat, wishing beyond all hope. “Have we met before?”

He shook his head. “No, we haven’t. You must be thinking of someone else.”

My heart plummeted. Of course, he wasn’t Grey, or he would have told me so the second we met. Grey would never hide from me.

“My mistake,” I muttered, feeling a sudden, desperate need to get him the hell out of my bedroom so I could jerk off and get some sleep. “If we had met…” I hurled a smirk in his direction as I picked up my duffel bag and dumped it on the bed, “I’m pretty sure you’d remember me.” Yanking the zipper of my bag open, I started unpacking. “Thanks for showing me to my room,” I added without bothering to look up. “You can go now.”

There was nothing quite like clobbering someone with a broadside of arrogance to make them back off, and the straightening of Sean’s spine told me I’d hit my mark. Too easy. But as he turned to leave, I realised I needed to know one more thing. “Do you sleep here in the house?”

He stopped in the doorway, turning to look at me over his shoulder. I chanced meeting his gaze. Every inch of him was Grey-ish and gorgeous.

“No.” Proud and firm, the word punctured the air. Sean Kelland wasn’t a man to be cowed by cheap shots from the likes of me. “I have a flat on the far side of the pool. Close enough to be useful, but,” it was his turn to smirk now, “we won’t be intruding on each other’s privacy.”

Christ. I wanted to bite him. The colour of his eyes had nothing to do with that. “Good.”

Being attracted to Sean, by itself, wasn’t such a big deal. I was used to holding myself in check around men I was attracted to. I could look, but not touch. Seduce with my words, but never follow through with my body. The biting ache spawned by the contradiction had become as much a part of me as any melody I’d ever composed. Sharp and sweet, there were times it flayed me alive. But if I’d been forced to go to bed each night, knowing Sean slept in a room down the hall? That would have been a whole new level of pain. His twin storms and tight arse might have proved more temptation than even my ironclad will could resist. Now was not the time to put my career at risk for the sake of an imitation.

“Good night, Sean.” My gaze dropped again, a final dismissal.

He left the room with slow, easy strides, but his voice, as it drifted back down the hall, held a distinct note of sarcasm. “Good night, Mr Sinclair.”

After he was gone, I sank onto the bed and buried my face in my hands. How the fuck was I supposed to handle this? I had work to do. I wouldn’t get far by lusting after the help or indulging in ghosts best forgotten.

Keep your head down, Dante.

Write the new album.

Be a fucking rock star.