Ashes of the Day (3 page)

“Come, my friend,” Conrad urged. “Was it not you who pointed out that we cannot always be there for them? It’s still too soon for them to return to San Francisco. I have people there who will still remember their mother and my attachment to her. It isn’t likely anyone will make a connection, but it’s not impossible that they might do so. If I were to return with the two of them in tow, dangerous conclusions might be drawn. Give it a couple of decades more and most of the danger will be behind them. You’ve said it yourself, they need more experience standing on their own two feet, anyway.”

“How like you to throw my own words back at me,” Damian grumbled. “But why
not
let me stay with them? I can stay in the background and let them make their own decisions. If that’s what’s worrying you, you should know me better.”

“Quietly,” Conrad cautioned, glancing around to make sure they were not being overheard. “Ask yourself, how would it look to people if I left you behind? Especially now, after we’ve been seen together. Jared believes us to be a couple still. If he were to hear I’d agreed to deprive myself of your company, simply so that you might coddle our two fledglings, what would he think?”

Damian snarled. “
Ay, Dios mio
. We’re
not
a couple, are we? So you deprive yourself of
nothing
by leaving me behind. As for Jared, I neither know nor care what he may think. And since when have
you
ever cared what
anyone
thinks?”

“Since I’ve had the children’s well-being to consider,” Conrad replied, lowering his voice even more and closing the distance between them, until they were standing practically toe-to-toe. “For their sake, I’m forced to consider what
everyone
might think.”

Not a couple?
It was all Conrad could do to keep the beast muzzled.
How dare he throw that in my face?

It had been Damian’s decision that they not be lovers. That was the condition he’d set for agreeing to help Conrad with the twins. How many times in the thirty years since then had Conrad regretted having given in to Damian’s demand? But what choice did he have? His situation had been so desperate, his need so great, that he’d have readily accepted whatever outrageous terms Damian might have felt like asking for.

To be fair, Damian had asked for nothing more than was reasonable. And Conrad would honor his promise, out of gratitude, if nothing else, for as long as necessary. But in his heart of hearts he would never fully accept it. And he would never stop hoping that someday Damian might change his mind.

Damian dropped his gaze. “If your mind is made up, I suppose there’s no use in my trying to change it. It is for you to decide, after all. I will, of course, do whatever you think best.”

Would he really? Conrad jumped at the chance. “I’m glad to hear you say so. Because what I think best is for you to accompany me to San Francisco.”

“What?” Damian turned startled eyes in his direction. “You’re not serious?”

“Indeed, I’m very serious.”

“Why? In what capacity?”

Conrad shrugged. “I’m surprised you need even ask.” He’d make it an order, if he had to, but he was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. “You know Claudia has never been one to be discreet. Imagine how awkward it would be if I were to return to San Francisco alone at a time when our entire world is abuzz with rumors that we’re back together. It could raise all sorts of questions as to what I’ve
really
been doing all this time. On the other hand, my prolonged absence from the nest, even my inattention to my other duties would be fairly easy to explain, were we together. You have always been a powerful distraction, my dear. Everyone knows that. But, if you’re not with me…”

“So that’s what you’re proposing? That we carry on a…a charade of sorts?”

“There’s still a lot of work to be done in order to safeguard the children’s future. Surely you realize that? We have quite a ways to go before we can relax our guard where they’re concerned.”

“I know. I understand all that,” Damian said impatiently. “That’s not why I’m asking.”

“Well then?”

“What of us, Conrad? How are
we
to live? If it’s just an act… Can I assume that we will each still be free to take other lovers into our beds?”

Conrad wasn’t sure which of Damian’s words provoked his temper more, “other lovers” or “beds”. Why the plural? Why must they continue to keep to their separate beds? Why should he be expected to bear with equanimity any more of Damian’s affairs? “Of course,” he growled. “I’ve told you time and again that I do not keep slaves. Nor have I ever expected that you would wish to live like a monk.”

“Well, that’s a blessing,” Damian muttered. “So, might I also expect to have my own set of rooms then, at least—separate from yours? And the freedom to come and go as I please, to do as I like within them?”

Conrad gritted his teeth. If that’s what it would take, so be it. “Yes. Within reason. If that’s what you wish. But, Damian, you
do
realize we must be discreet? We must work to present a united front while in public.”

“It won’t be easy. And we’ll
both
have to be discreet for this to work.”

Conrad sighed. “I realize that, but if people do not truly believe we have reconciled with one another, if they suspect it’s merely an act, that could increase the danger to the twins as well. On the bright side, we need only keep it up for a few decades or so. After that…” He shrugged. After that, either things would change, or he would invent some other excuse to keep Damian at his side. And, if even that failed, he would let him go.

If that was what Damian truly wanted, how could he say no?

“
Sí
, s
í.
That goes without saying. You know I would never do anything to cause the children harm.”

“Not intentionally, no,” Conrad said in agreement. “Nor would I. Their well-being is of the utmost importance to me.”

“To me, also.” Damian glanced away, his jaw clenching as he cast his gaze over the crowd. “Very well,” he said at last. “I will do as you ask. But now, if you’ll excuse me, I-I’m suddenly feeling quite famished. I think I need to find something to eat.”

He walked away without so much as a backward glance in Conrad’s direction. Conrad had to fight the urge to howl in anger. He should feel more content with tonight’s work. He should at least feel relieved that he had found a temporary solution to his most pressing problems. Instead, all he felt was an ache that reached all the way to the depths of his soul. If only they were actually getting back together, rather than just pretending it was the case. But that was not to be. Not yet. For that he would maybe have to wait for another day—or perhaps for yet
another
millennium to dawn.

Chapter Two

San Francisco, California

Christmas, 2009

The look in Conrad’s eyes stole Damian’s breath away, but it was his words that threatened to overwhelm him. “The truth,
mi amore
, is that you’ve always been my greatest strength…”

Damian dropped his gaze, unable to meet that penetrating stare any longer. As he stammered something in reply, the rest of Conrad’s words continued to echo in his mind.
“Whenever I’ve been at my weakest, it’s to you I’ve turned
…
for comfort, for support…”

He shook his head in amazement, successfully squelching the urge to open his mouth and argue the point. He hadn’t always been strong or supportive. There were times when he, too, had been weak or selfish or acted impulsively. Not as many times as Conrad liked to claim, of course, but upon occasion. And he’d made mistakes too—terrible mistakes, for which he’d paid dearly.

But only a fool would ruin this moment by mentioning such horribly inconvenient facts. For all the complaining he’d done about Conrad, about how he cut short every conversation Damian tried to have with him, how he never wished to discuss matters in-depth, this was one occasion when Damian found himself in complete agreement with his lover’s laconic philosophy. Why waste time talking when there were far better ways in which they might communicate all that they were feeling?

Damian clasped his hands around Conrad’s head and shifted closer until their lips met in a fierce kiss. A surprisingly helpless-sounding groan rumbled in Conrad’s throat. Damian reveled in it. The taste and the feel of Conrad’s mouth on his was so perfect, so familiar, so absolutely right. As was the sense of peace he felt when Conrad’s arms tightened around him.

There had been times, especially recently, when he’d felt fear while in Conrad’s embrace, times when Conrad’s enormous strength, and the realization of how much pain he could cause, had left Damian daunted and desperate to hide it. This was not one of those times. He felt cherished tonight. Loved. Safe.

Heat flared as Conrad’s hands roamed over Damian’s back, exploring every inch with a touch that was at once both possessive and needy. Fingers pressed harder into Damian’s flesh. If he’d been human, they might have left bruises. All they left him with now, however, was the stark realization that he was dressed in nothing but a thin silk robe. Even that seemed too much of a barrier. Damian peeled his mouth away from Conrad’s, pulling away only far enough to deliver a series of small bites—lower lip, chin, jaw, ear, neck.

“Damian.” Conrad’s voice shook as he breathed his name, making it less an order this time than a plea for him to continue.

Damian’s legs shook too, as he struggled to stay upright to not fall immediately to his knees as that voice, that sinful voice, worked its usual magic on him. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself away. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he complained as he extricated himself from Conrad’s arms.

A frown etched itself across Conrad’s brow. Growling impatiently, he tore off his shirt and flung it away. “Better?”

The sight of Conrad’s rugged chest and arms and shoulders, the strong muscles of his abdomen with the golden dusting of hair trailing over it to disappear into the waistband of his pants, caused Damian’s mouth to water. He shrugged, deliberately nonchalant. “It’s a start.” Then he did sink to his knees, grateful for the thick, velvety pile of the Kashan carpet that cushioned the impact.

The carpet had been billed as an antique, originally intended to grace the palace of some nameless shah or maharajah. Damian had picked the carpet out himself when he’d redecorated Conrad’s study shortly after they’d first taken up residence here. At the time, he’d been thinking only of making himself indispensible to Conrad, expressing his gratitude for having been brought here. And perhaps giving himself an innocent-seeming excuse for spending as much time as he could in Conrad’s private quarters.

The idea that he might someday be welcomed here for reasons that had nothing to do with housekeeping, that he might someday be in a position to put this carpet, and some of the other furnishings perhaps, to such very good use, hadn’t so much as crossed his mind. Back then, he’d seen no reason to even hope he and Conrad would ever be intimate again.

Leaning in, Damian lavished Conrad’s abdomen with kisses and gentle bites, then coasted his tongue along the hard ridges of muscles.

“Damian.” Conrad murmured his name again, partially in protest this time. As Damian set to work undoing the fastening of Conrad’s pants, Conrad’s fingers speared into Damian’s hair. Did he mean to pull him away, or press him closer? Damian wasn’t sure. He suspected Conrad wasn’t certain either.

Damian’s fingers stilled. Fighting against the hold on his hair, he pressed his face against the front of Conrad’s pants. “Please,
querido
,” he breathed softly, taking a moment to run his open mouth over the thick bulge of flesh that tented the soft linen, to breathe in the musky heat. “Please let me.”

He never could understand why Conrad seemed so frequently reluctant to be pleasured in this fashion. Not that it
never
occurred, of course, but Damian was allowed to indulge himself like this far less often than he wanted. It was almost enough to make him wonder which of them actually enjoyed the act more.

For his own part, he craved the taste of Conrad’s flesh—his skin, his seed, his mouth—every bit as much as he craved the man’s blood. He ached for the feel of Conrad’s cock filling his mouth, stretching his jaws, almost stealing his breath, just as he ached to feel it filling and stretching his ass. Most of all, perhaps, he loved the sense of power it gave him to know Conrad’s pleasure was in his hands, his to bestow, to hasten or delay, even to withhold if it suited him. He loved knowing that Conrad was his…

The thought made him pause. That, he supposed, was the very answer for which he’d been searching, the real reason behind Conrad’s reluctance.
Fabuloso
. A five-hundred-year-old mystery solved within seconds, proving once again that Damian was undeniably a fool, because he should have known the answer from the start. He
had
known it. Conrad his? That could never be—as Conrad had made abundantly clear to him the very first night they were together.
You will belong to me, Damian, not the other way around
. And so it had been.

How many times had those words echoed in Damian’s mind? How many hours had he wiled away devising means by which he might convince Conrad to recant them? Not that Conrad had ever repeated the statement, but neither had he given Damian any reason to suppose he’d changed his mind.

Conrad was ever a generous lover, lavishing attention on his partner, doling out pleasure upon pleasure… Sometimes, however, Damian needed more. There were times when the need to shake Conrad’s confidence, to watch him come undone—no, to
make
him come undone—was absolutely overpowering. Times when what Damian needed, more than anything else in the world, was proof that all that power, all that formidable strength, all that very questionable control, was his to command.