Page 47

Chapter 5

“ M y property starts here,” Marc said as he steered down a narrow, paved driveway.

“How big is it?” Royce caught himself staring at Marc’s hands on the wheel. Such elegant hands with long, slim fingers. Artist’s fingers. He tapped his index finger on the leather at times and at others, he squeezed or stroked around the wheel—like he loved the sensation of leather under his palms. He was tactile.

Michael had been like that.

The sharp pain in his chest stole his breath, and he forced himself to look away at the rolling hills and thick stands of trees. Like before, anger rushed in. If he didn’t watch himself, this whole job would turn into a nightmare.

“How big is my stretch of land?” Marc asked. “Not that large. Five acres. It has my home and a guesthouse where Lilah is currently living. Then lots of trees. I like the privacy.”

That might not seem big to Marc, but to Royce that was a lot of space for someone to hide. Just like it had been at Geoffrey’s. Darkness was falling and as he turned back to the man he was to protect, he could still see him in the waning light, see the way his thick brows made him seem pensive—even at rest.

Marc glanced at Royce, as if feeling his gaze, but said nothing.

The strange intimacy of them alone, in the dark car, wasn’t lost on Royce because there was a palpable tension that seemed to stretch between them like live wire. The hair on his arms crackled, and he curled his hands into fists in his lap as Marc looked back at the driveway. Royce didn’t want to fucking feel anything like that. Not again.

The house came into view—a large Mediterranean style two-story with stucco that looked gray in the low light but was probably more of a warm color because the entry and a turret-style rise were covered in multi-colored stone. The house fit the man: sophisticated and continental, yet warm. Like the looks he kept giving Royce.

Then, there had been that note in his “yes” earlier. Fuck . How could one word convey such lust and submission—like he’d drop to his knees in a hot second with one command from Royce’s lips? He shut his eyes and took a deep, calming breath, then opened them when Marc shut off his car.

“Come on, I’ll show you around.” He slid out of the car, all grace and long legs.

Royce shook his head as he got out and reached into the back seat for his bag and hanging clothes. This job might very well kill him. And the man coaxing memories of Michael out of hiding had him feeling off center. Marc was nothing like his Michael—not really. He had a lot more money and a worldly air that he would have found off-putting. Michael had been a quiet, shy writer who’d never ventured out of Virginia.

No, nothing like this man who flew all over the world and bought sweet cars in Milan.

Michael’s fingers had been long, slim, and elegant like that, too. And he’d run them over Royce’s body like he’d been created out of something precious.

It was too early in the year for these memories. These fucking feelings. He had months before the anniversary of Michael’s death.

“Royce?”

He looked up when Marc called, realizing he’d been standing in the doorway of the garage.

Something in his expression must have worried Marc, because he took a few steps closer, those brows lifted in question. “Are you okay? You looked…God, you just looked so…desolate all of a sudden.”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, expecting Marc to flinch at the sheer blast of antagonism in his voice.

But that wasn’t what he did. No, that wasn’t what he did at all. The man shuddered . It had been subtle, but the reaction was so fast and so utterly responsive, Royce felt like someone punched him low in his gut. The heat and blood shot there so fast, he had to be bruising. He couldn’t look away as Marc cleared his throat and stepped back. The desperate need that flashed through his blue eyes seared into Royce like a hot iron. He couldn’t help the two intent, forward steps he took then, the desire to put his hands on the man so strong, he forgot where he was for a moment.

It came back to him when he dropped his bag.

Cursing under his breath, he swiped it up and forced himself to shove all emotions aside. Years of practice made it easy. When he finally looked around, he felt nothing.

Not one fucking thing.

He frowned when he realized they weren’t inside the house. Brick floor, beige stucco walls, a fountain…and stars twinkling over their heads. “A courtyard?”

Marc nodded and slid his hands into his pockets as he looked up. “I’m not sure what to do with it—that’s why there isn’t anything out here. But it’s really nice, especially at night. I thought I’d bring an easel out here to paint but never seem to find the time.”

“So you’re an artist, too? You don’t just buy art?”

The smile curved his lips, softening the intensity his brow line brought to his features. “I wouldn’t call me an artist, not really. And what I do is a lot more than buying art. Most of the time, I don’t buy. I show. I have a show coming up, so you’ll see. Good stuff, too. Maynard Keene, a local gem I found by accident. He was doing street art by the river, and the man has more talent in one hand than I have in my entire body.”

But Marc Foster wanted that talent. Wanted it with every breath in his body and Royce could almost feel the need and the faint despondency coming off him. The man had more layers than an onion, which happened to be one of his favorite foods. “An artist named Maynard Keene?” He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Change a letter and add one, and you have one of my favorite artists.”

“Same here. I like Keenan in every one of his bands. I even order his wine.” Marc turned, opened a door, and walked into his house. “I have some in the wine cellar. I could grab us a bottle if you’d like. Have you tried it?”

“I haven’t, but I don’t drink on the job.” Royce frowned at the door leading into the house from the courtyard. “You don’t keep that locked?”

“To me, it’s like an interior door. I keep the one from the garage locked.”

Royce looked at the windows on the first floor and the ones visible on the second. “The windows?”

“Do I keep them locked?” Marc poked his head back out the door. “I’m not sure. We’ll have to check.” He disappeared, his smoky voice lingering as he called out, “I went right, into the kitchen.”

He slowly followed, taking in everything as he walked through a hallway with the foyer and front door on one end and the kitchen on the other. A half bath opened off to the side. And art. So much art on all the walls. Sculptures and artistic little doodads covering different surfaces. It was an endless explosion of color and items that grabbed the eye.

“I know this kitchen is ridiculous for one man who doesn’t cook. My housekeeper makes wonderful meals. You’ll have to tell her some of your favorite dishes. She’ll get a kick out of making them for you.”

“The same housekeeper you said has arthritis?” Marc had filled him in on several things in the car.

“She loves her job, and I really like her, so she’ll work for me until she doesn’t want to—arthritis or not. I may get her help at some point, though. The house is kind of large.”

The Mediterranean feel spilled into the kitchen with its brown granite counters, square tiles, and copper accents. Warm, rich wood stretched over one wall, covering the refrigerator and oven. That room opened to a large family room he’d filled with leather furniture and more of the wood accents, including a wall of shelves around the television. More art filled those shelves. Marc sure liked color.

“When the cameras are installed, we’ll want a couple in this kitchen, so we can get all angles. Quinn is good about camouflaging them, too, so don’t worry they’ll be spotted.”

“How many cameras do you think I’ll need?”

“At least one in each room, including your bedroom. Not the bathrooms, though with the medication concerns, that might be a good idea.”

“No, I don’t like that.” His frown changed his entire face—the fierce look suiting him a little too well. “I’ll move my medications into the bedroom in the bedside drawer.”

“Does the drawer lock?”

Marc shook his head.

“I feel it’s best to keep all that under lock and key to be on the safe side. I can have one installed in the drawer.”

“That could make Lilah suspicious.”

“Your sister goes into your bedroom? Through your drawers?” He’d be keeping his bags secure for sure, then.

He rolled his eyes. “No place is sacred to Miss Lilah. As the only girl in our family, she had run of everything as a child, and she hasn’t changed as an adult. She comes and goes as she pleases and has walked in on me a few times I wish she hadn’t.” He leaned against the counter. “That’s why I said you’ll have to put on an act at all times here. Like this conversation now? She could be walking in as we speak. In fact,” he paused and grinned. “I hear the courtyard door now.”

“She comes in that way, too? Good to know.” Royce moved fast, circling the kitchen island to stand in front of Marc. He had slouched against the counter, putting him a little closer to Royce’s height. He hated going up on his toes to kiss anyone, so as Royce heard her coming into the kitchen, he wrapped one hard hand around the back of Marc’s neck and pulled him into a fierce, open-mouthed kiss.

He swallowed Marc’s gasp and focused on making it look like anything but a first kiss. It needed to be a kiss between two men who hadn’t seen each other in a while. A kiss between two men who believed they were alone. Two men who were about to fuck. So, he held Marc’s neck in a tight grip and opened his lips with his own. He pressed his body into Marc’s, noting that he’d jumped into the program fast. Marc melted against him, his heat seeping through their clothes to warm Royce, his tongue coming out to play. And those gorgeous fingers dug into his back with a strong, heady grip.

Royce listened to her footsteps as they stopped. He took in her squeak of surprise and the silence that followed. He kissed Marc thoroughly, and it took everything he had not to get lost in it because it felt so much better than he’d expected. His cologne, his lean, hard body and plump lips were going to Royce’s head. And sending blood rushing south. There was nothing he could do about that.

Besides, a hard dick would make this look all the more real.

“Really Marc? Do his tonsils taste good?”

Shock froze Royce just as he felt Marc stiffen against him. The hint of derision in her tone made the hair on the back of his neck curl. He slowly let go of Marc’s mouth but not his neck. Instead, he tucked Marc’s face into his own neck as he turned his head to look at Marc’s sister. Marc’s harsh breaths were hot on his skin.

When she caught his hard stare, she took a step back, her spine hitting the wall. He slowly let go of the man against him, ignoring that everything in him screamed to pull him close again, and he didn’t imagine the reluctant way Marc pulled free of him. Blue eyes met his, and he instantly knew that Marc was staring long enough for the utter shock to disappear from his gaze.

Marc cleared his throat and stepped away from Royce, and the mantle of smooth sophistication fell over him with practiced ease. “I told you my boyfriend would be staying here and that I was picking him up today. What did you expect to see when you just walked right in? You go through the garage. You saw I was back.”

She crossed her arms. “I didn’t expect to see you doing that in the kitchen.”

“Doing what?” The anger in Marc’s voice cut like glass. “Kissing my man? In the privacy of my own home?” He took a step closer to her, his voice dropping into a deep growl. “Maybe you should rethink breezing into my house for a time, Lilah.”

Lilah had enough grace to look ashamed. Briefly.

Royce watched in fascination as she slowly let out the tension she’d been holding in her body and softened as she stepped closer to her brother. “I was just surprised, that’s all. I’ve never seen you kiss anyone.”

“You have seen me kiss, Lilah.”

“Not like that I haven’t.” She threw a quick lip curl at Royce. “That was something completely different.”

“Maybe because,” Marc paused and held up a hand, “maybe because, once again, I was kissing my boyfriend in the privacy of my own home. You’ve seen polite kisses in public. You’re the one who walked in knowing how much I was looking forward to him being here.”

“I guess I just thought that you’d do that sort of thing in your bedroom.” She walked around Marc and held out her hand. “I’m sorry for the awkward first meeting. I’m Lilah Foster, and you are Royce…?”

“Costas.” Because she was the one who made the meeting awkward, he didn’t acknowledge the rest of her statement. She looked a lot like Marc with the same dark hair, hers in a fall of black that draped her shoulders. Her eyes were also the same blue, and she even had the full lips. Good looks ran in this family, but he preferred the sharpness of Marc’s features.

She waited for him to say more, but all he did was let go of her hand and tug Marc close again. The man wrapped an arm around his back and leaned into his side. His instinctive compliance made Royce itch to cart him off to a bedroom, to see just how acquiescent he could be. He had this air of smooth elegance and control, yet Royce knew without a doubt, there was a natural instinct to give, one the man had probably only ever shown in private.

If he even had.

Lilah’s gaze flicked down to his tattoo sleeve and her nose wrinkled. So, she hated body art in addition to gay people—because her feelings for her brother blasted loud and clear. There was affection, yes, but she struggled with his sexuality. He tightened his arm around Marc but didn’t let up on the stare he knew was burning a hole in the woman. She should love her brother unconditionally. Period.

“Well.” She cleared her throat, her discomfort visible in her hard swallow and darting eyes. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be at the gallery show coming up. I thought I was going to be out of town, but my plans changed. Richard and Gabriel are going, too.”

“Fine.”

She flinched at Marc’s hard tone and stared at her brother, a faint, bleak expression coming and going on her face so fast, Royce almost missed it. He’d been trained to read expressions, to know when someone was lying, when they were holding out. His years as an enforcer had taught him well.

“Okay, then.” She sighed and started backing out of the kitchen. “I’ll just leave you two alone.” She disappeared down the hall.

Royce waited for the sound of the door and when it didn’t come, he met Marc’s eyes. Marc cocked his head, sending a strand of silky looking hair to fall over his eyes. He blew it out of the way, shook his head, then grinned. Royce wasn’t all prepared for his next move. Marc turned and pushed him against the counter, then took his lips in another searing kiss. This time, he came with the pressure and ferocity, and Royce’s first instinct was to push him away because he wasn’t ready for all that heat again, but Lilah was obviously still in their vicinity, so instead, he gave in.

He wrapped one arm hard around Marc and sent his other hand into that fall of hair, cupping the side of his head and opening to his hot, seeking tongue. The kiss drew out, that electricity from earlier crackling so hard between them, it rippled over the surface of Royce’s skin. He wondered if Marc felt it, too.

Marc was feeling something, because he groaned and pressed harder against Royce.

The faint sound of a door closing followed, and Royce turned his face, breaking the kiss. He pushed Marc back and they stood, staring, both catching their breaths.

But now, the glitter of raw desire in Marc’s gaze burrowed deep into Royce and settled. He had no idea how this job was going to play out. None at all.

Marc shifted under the sheet, unused to sleeping in pajama pants. He preferred being nude in his bed or at least just in briefs, but that wouldn’t work with the bodyguard stretched out on the chaise lounge not ten feet from his bed. Fuck, it was like he could feel him in the room. He had the curtains closed all the way, so not a hint of light showed. He could hear him breathing, yes, but it was his presence Marc felt so keenly. The man took over a room just by being in it. Like his surprisingly slim, wiry frame somehow took up more space. Like the Tardis on Doctor Who .

Marc swallowed a laugh at that thought, but Royce had something about him. Something big and kind of scary. He didn’t even have to speak.

He’d turned bossy, talkative Lilah into nerve-wracked mush with one glare. Marc had known very well that was what Royce had been doing when he’d buried Marc’s face in his neck. He wanted to groan with the memory of how damn good the man had smelled, how hot his skin had been against his lips. He’d wanted to lick and bite. Explore all his tattoos. Throw him on the floor to crawl onto his dick.

“Marc?”

Royce’s deep voice in the darkness of the room made him shiver. He moved his legs restlessly. “Yes?” Shit, had that sounded breathless?

“What’s the deal with your sister?”

“She’s coming off a painful divorce and trying to get back on her feet. She?—”

“No, I mean what is it with her and your sexuality? You’re a grown man, so she’s had plenty of time to get used to it.”

Marc rolled onto his side and propped his head up on one hand. “It’s not that she doesn’t support me.” How to put this? “She and my brothers all think this is a phase and that my love of the art world makes me think I have to be gay. Like it’s a persona I’ve taken on to better fit in. Gabriel said something to that effect once.”

There was silence for a few moments, then, “That’s a crock of shit.”

He snorted. “It is. I came out to them in my teens, and I’m twenty-eight now, so they’ve had plenty of time to come to terms with the fact that I am most definitely a gay man. Lilah, in particular, has more trouble with it. Especially when she’s confronted with the physical aspects of what I do in bed with men.”

“How much older is she? I expected her to be closer in age to you.”

“Thirty-eight, so she’s ten years older. My brothers are eight and twelve years older.”

“So you’re a late-life baby.”

It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway. “I am. I came as a big surprise to them all. They had their little family, all perfect with three children, then I came along to mess things up for them.”

“Surely that’s not how it went down.” There was rustling as Royce shifted on the chaise. “You were probably spoiled rotten. You seem like you might be.”

“Spoiled?” Marc barked out a laugh. “Maybe a little. But no, I was more ignored by my siblings. Considered an annoyance. And if you mean spoiled because of how I live, I did inherit money when my parents died. But my house? My cars? I earned all of this on my own. I have an eye for spotting talent, and I know how to make that talent a financial success. I used my inheritance to start my first gallery. That’s it. The rest is hard work.”

Royce was quiet for a long time, and Marc rolled onto his back and scratched at the itchy line the elastic waist had left on his abdomen. He’d spent a fortune on these Marino wool and silk sheets and liked them better against his bare skin.

“That’s impressive.” Royce finally said, his voice more hushed as if he were getting sleepy. “I’d like to see some of your art. I noticed you didn’t show me one of the rooms upstairs. Is that where you keep it?”

Marc closed his eyes. His lack of artistic talent was the single most painful constant in his life. He’d worked hard and could never seem to find that certain something that would set him apart from others. The muse had eluded him. The bitch . But he wasn’t ready to share all of that with his bodyguard, not even if the man kissed like he could absorb a man into his skin.

“I have nothing to show you,” was all he said.

Royce stayed quiet after that.