By CLARE LONDON (30 page)

I admit that I was turned on enough to give him encouragement. My body had been crying out for attention other than my own handshake. I’d left a lot of things behind when I walked out of Sussex Square that day, but unfortunately my desires hadn’t moved on as successfully. Sometimes I thought it was difficult to remember being intimate with anyone. But that wasn’t true, of course. I could remember very, very well—but I didn’t dare let that memory in. It led to long, stiflingly hot wet dreams… and anguish.

But when Will kissed me, it was all wrong, you know? He was enthusiastic and he tasted great, but our tongues licking at each other seemed more of a shock than a thrill. He was pleasantly muscled, but when I put my arms around him, his limbs always seemed to be in the wrong place. He was the wrong shape, the wrong feel. Sexy in his own way, but not pressing the right buttons for me. Where I expected the scrape of evening stubble, my lips brushed against a clean-shaven chin. Where I expected taut dusky skin, there was tender pale flesh. I stretched out my hands to his shoulders and found he was much narrower than I thought. When his hands came up under my shirt to run over my chest, his fingers were tentative and his palms weren’t damp with that sweat that comes from desperation and pure animal need.

It was totally my fault. I should have known it all along. Things weren’t going anywhere, and I didn’t like to mislead Will. I just wasn’t ready for anything more serious, not yet. If ever. I hoped we could just stay friends. He was fine about it—well, he smiled and said he understood. Though I didn’t see him in town for a while, and to be honest, I thought he might have been avoiding me.

SO THINGS were back on an even keel. I was comfortable with Jack and Louis. I’d offloaded the guilty secrets. I was going to become a Normal Citizen again, and my life was back in my hands. I had a steady, straightforward, and legal job. I was possibly going back to college. Yeah, I was living up to my promise to Stewart at last. I was happy.

Sort of.

I reckoned my head was the straightest it’d ever been. And yet, emotionally, I felt the worst I’d ever been. I struggled with moods of depression and often had to be bullied to go out, even if it was in Louis’s very charming way and I enjoyed myself when I got there. When Will and I had been going out, I preferred quiet, discreet places. Occasionally the words or gestures of an anonymous person in the street would strike a familiar chord and pure feeling would just swamp me. Sudden exhilarating excitement—then cruel memory—and then just pure misery.

The guys tried to help like the good friends they were.

“You need distraction,” Louis said. “You still have Will’s number?” He wasn’t unkind, just pragmatic and always enthusiastic about the next opportunity life had to offer.

“Give yourself time,” Jack said. “You did the right thing, and everything’s coming together for you, isn’t it? Just leave the dating thing alone for a while.”

I shrugged, not meeting his eyes. He knew how I felt. I’d have gone mad before now if I hadn’t known there was at least one person in the world who did.

“Max?”

I shrugged weary shoulders.

“I know you’re lonely. I know how that is. But it’ll come, I’m sure, one day.”

What will? I thought bitterly, though the bitterness wasn’t directed at Jack. What will come? Resignation? Amnesia? Comfortable celibacy? Jack surely didn’t mean true love. Only guys like Jack and Louis found that. I was glad I’d never faced more serious criminal charges, that Stewart’s murderer had been found, that the bad days with Peck and Baz had been laid to rest. But I still felt punished—and that it had been disproportionately harsh.

I’d been the man who was avoiding anything controversial in his life. And then proceeded to fuck it all up because of one handsome man’s nod to me over a drink at Compulsion. All I had left of that were painfully erotic dreams, a fading scar on my left cheek, and the soft touch of a cashmere sweater that I shamefully kept under my pillow most nights. Perhaps this was what a broken heart was like. Bloody well felt like it. Underlying every step forward, every success, every pleasure in life I had, there was a small, still, persistent ache inside.

And never any news from Seve. Even though that was what I’d demanded, wasn’t it? Time alone to sort out my life. Time for us both to put things straight. I suppose I thought he’d ignore me like he often had in the past. If this was growing up, I reckoned it was overrated.

But… didn’t I say that some things did change?

THE call came on an early Saturday evening, on—surprisingly—Jack’s mobile. He and Louis were experimenting with new pasta sauces in the kitchen. There was a hell of a lot of laughter and the occasional clatter of a dropped spoon, and I suspected that there was going to be nothing edible out of there for a while. I knew Louis was cooking in nothing but an apron and a pair of cutoffs that were the living embodiment of “shorts.” I also knew Jack was too easily distracted when it came to his boyfriend. But they were happy enough, and it left me free to brood while pretending to fix the scratchy reception on the TV in the living room.

I heard the trill of Jack’s phone in the background. The theme from CSI—it always made me smile. Then I heard the sound of his feet coming up the corridor. The door swung open and he stood there, staring at me. The look on his face was both tentative and excited. I also couldn’t miss the smear of tomato sauce on his cheek and the single string of spaghetti on his sleeve. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, and he looked almost guiltily flushed.

“It’s for you, Max.”

He handed the phone to me, then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. I was confused. There were people who rang me nowadays. For work, for the occasional night out. But no one rang me this late. And not on Jack’s phone. I put it to my ear.

“Max?”

The voice was as deep as always, that depth that curled my toes and spoke to the heart of my need. But it was quiet now. Maybe a little nervous.

“Seve? Shit. Where are you?”

“I don’t… let’s not say at the moment.”

“You’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

There were some muffled noises in the background, but they gave me no clues. What else could I say? I sank down onto the couch again because my legs were suddenly weak. Nerve endings that had been cauterized for months sprang back to life. My gut churned, and not from hunger. “How are… how’s your mother? Are you still keeping a low profile?” There’d been a time at the start, when I first went to the police, that I thought they might be bugging my phone in case Seve contacted me. You know, him being a Medina and possibly tainted by association, to say nothing of secretly disposing of a dead body from his own kitchen. Jack had rather drily told me I was being paranoid, and when I saw how much was going on, I realized it was arrogant of me to think anyone was interested in my love life that way. And Seve never contacted me, anyway.

Of course.

So I pretended I’d stopped waiting for it.

“Mama is fine. We’re both okay. She’s going to do some work for the family business from… Spain.” Had he been about to say here? Was he still in Madrid with her?

There were a few moments of silence while I wondered what mobile rate Jack was on and if it was going to cost him a fortune if I just kept this line open for the rest of my life, listening to Seve breathing.

“I wanted to call you before, Max, but I wasn’t sure.”

I marveled that there was a time I’d never have heard those words from Seve Nuñez.

“I didn’t want to add to…. Did they give you a hard time?” His voice sounded halting, as if he’d been trying to train himself to be conversational. Trying to phrase words that would be appropriate. It hurt a little to hear Seve like that. I wondered what he’d been through since he left.

“Nah.” I smiled, though of course he couldn’t see me. “I mean, they charged me, but I haven’t had to go to jail. I’m seeing a probation officer each week and keeping on the straight and narrow. I’m Mr. Honest Citizen now.”

“You always were,” came the murmur.

“Look, Seve. About your uncle—the business… I’m sorry—”

“No, don’t be.” His voice was sharp. “Mama was angry and distressed, but she understands now that my uncle was wrong. It could not go on that way. Once she realized what was happening, she made sure my uncle was removed from the board. And she passed over the evidence they needed to pursue a case against him.”

“I know. I heard.” How much had Seve lost? Money, belongings, status? I had no idea how much was wrapped up in the business and how much might have been private. There was silence again, and I threw words into the gap like pebbles into a crevasse. “They found Peck, you know. He was—”

“Don’t tell me any more,” Seve interrupted. “Don’t waste our time on a shit like him.”

His vehemence startled me. “So what are you doing nowadays?” I asked. God, it sounded like a something-for-the-weekend chat at the barber’s.

Seve gave a low laugh. “I lost my job at Compulsion, obviously. Mama has managed to retain control of a few of the businesses, but only a small number of them were viable. One is in pharmaceuticals, a remarkably resilient industry, and I’m helping to run that now. It’s a very small concern, and I am involved at a relatively low management level so far, but it is… surprisingly satisfying.” He cleared his throat. “It deals in medical pharmaceuticals, not recreational, before you ask.”

I opened my mouth to protest, and shut it again. It was just such a joy to hear his voice, even distorted slightly as it was over the line. “So you’re doing well?” I wished he’d say my name again. It sounded so good in his steaming-hot-chocolate tone.

“Max.” He sighed. “It’s a slow path. Trying to get businesses going again—legitimate ones. I’m… well, I am using another name for the time being. A different history, let’s say.”

“Wise move. I expect your social security number’s flagged at every celebrity magazine. As soon as it appears, they’ll be on the quest for a story. Probably bring the boy band with them.”

“I expect so.” Another small laugh. “Your humor….”

“What about it?”

“Nothing. Just… I miss it.”

The brief silence this time was quite companionable. Then I got scared he’d ring off and I started gabbling again. “Are you seeing anyone, then?” How crass, I groaned to myself. How moronic, how pathetically clinging—

“No, I’m not.” There was a pause. His tone had sounded strangely flat.

“Seve? Are you still there?” No, please, please don’t go….

“Yes, I’m here. What about you, Max?”

“Who, me? Seeing anyone?”

“Yes.” The tone was dry now. “Is there a better choice on the honest side of the street?”

“Maybe!” I snapped. The arrogant smartarse—

“Don’t!” The phone vibrated against my ear with the exclamation. “I didn’t mean….” Another sigh, more like a groan. “I’m still not very good at saying the right thing, Max.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Perhaps that’s what I miss from you, Seve.” More silence, while I forgave him everything but couldn’t tell him. My fingers were numb from gripping the phone so tight. “Seve?”

“What is it?”

“I’m thinking of retraining for the future. Youth counseling.”

Pause. “That’s good.”

I was rambling on. “If it works out for me, I’ll go looking for a permanent job somewhere as soon as my probation finishes.”

“You might move away from Brighton?” What did that sharpness in his voice mean?

I took a deep breath. My chest felt constricted. Ideas were springing to mind whether I wanted them to or not—whether I thought any of them were good or not. “I don’t know. It depends where the jobs are and what I want to do with my life in the longer term. I mean, I like it here, and the guys are still okay with me at their flat. And it’s not worth moving lock, stock, and barrel until I know where to go… even what country,” I added rashly. “But I wouldn’t rule it out.” This was the first time we’d talked at length about the mundane things of life—about work, money, somewhere to live. This was weird. “Seve?”

“Yes?”

“What’s the job situation like in Spain?” My heart was hammering so hard I couldn’t hear my words clearly.

“It’s… it’s not good.” Maybe he heard disappointment in my silence. “But that’s the same everywhere. You could find something, I’m sure.”

“I could learn the language. It has a lovely sound. Of course, at the moment I only know two beers, please, and that’s because Pedro in the site office taught me for a laugh—” Fuck. Talk some more crap, why don’t you. My hand was shaking around the phone.

Seve’s voice broke in. “Don’t move without telling me.”

“I’m on probation, Seve. I can’t go anywhere without letting everyone and their dog know.” I sounded just a little too sharp. “Why, are you thinking of calling again?”

There was a hissed breath on the other end of the phone. “If that’s a brush-off, I know I—”

“No!” I yelped. “Call me, Seve. I mean it!” God, did I mean it. God, was I scared of fucking things up!

More silence. I was terrified I’d lost the connection. But it seemed that neither of us was putting the phone down just yet.

“Max….”

“Yeah?”

“It’s no good. This is not working for me.”

“Sorry? What isn’t?”

“Everything. I miss you.”

“Seve.” I didn’t know what to say.

“I understood that you wanted to be alone—that you had things to do. That… maybe it had come to an end for us. That it was just….”

“Just what?” A casual fuck, like I’d once said?

He didn’t rise to my bait. “I have tried to move on. I have tried to keep away.”

“Seve….”

“It’s no good. Like I said,” he continued doggedly, “I don’t want any other.”

And look at me, I thought. I dragged my way through the days like I really was in jail. I did my work and I paid my dues, and I ached throughout it all. I brooded, I obsessed on the pain inside me, and I wallowed in the loss of one of the few things I ever truly wanted. Some days I never contributed more to a conversation than a couple of sentences. I reckoned I was a better wooden spoon than I was a friend to Jack and Louis.

I wanted to say it all aloud, but my throat felt dammed. I couldn’t date anyone else—I couldn’t forget Seve’s skin, fragrant with its unique musky smell; his soft dark hair; his lips tangling with mine. His delight in touching me, in running hands through my hair, his strong fingers gripping my arse. I couldn’t forget the feel of his strong arms round me—his legs pushing between mine—the incredible, anguished ecstasy of being fucked by him. My nights were a mess of frustrated tears and aching balls. I wanted all those things I told him about—the company, the argument, the teasing, the sharing. And I wanted them with him. Yeah… it was pretty obvious I felt the same.