The Administration Series (91 page)

"Oh,
please
." Warrick looked as disgusted as he
sounded.
"Don't insult my intelligence. I saw you walking out of the
bar with
her. I can recognise conversation when I see it and that was
not
it."

"She's — "

"I know perfectly well who she is. Ellin. She works for
the
university at the AERC. And her husband works for SimTech.
And,
incidentally, thank you so
very
much for putting me
in such
an uncomfortable position at work. I assume you met her at
the
dinner last week?"

"Yes." He decided to skip through this as fast as
possible.
Relentless honesty until Warrick got bored and went away.

"I should've know better than to take you," Warrick said.
"I
do
know better. Have you ever actually turned down
an
opportunity for sex in your life? Or even thought for a
moment that
you ought to?"

Toreth could recognise a rhetorical question when he
heard one.
Even if he'd heard wrong, that wasn't a topic he was
touching with a
two-foot shock stick.

"Yesterday wasn't the first time you had sex with her,
was it?"
Warrick continued.

"No."

"No. I could tell." His voice changed, became more
measured. "An
interesting choice for you, I thought. Because, since she
works in
the building and since her husband works for me, I happen to
know
that they're separated."

That was news to Toreth. "What?"

"Didn't she mention? I thought she might not have. She's
a good
judge of character. She was using you," Warrick continued
with grim
satisfaction, still tinged with acid anger. "I'd arranged to
take
visitors from P-Leisure for a drink to the bar you were
walking out
of. If we hadn't changed the plans, her almost-ex-husband
would have
been there with me. I doubt his reaction would have
impressed my
guests, which was no doubt her intention."

The devious bitch. Toreth stared at him open-mouthed,
then
laughed. "All right, no, I admit it — I had no idea. No
wonder she
kept looking at her watch. Well . . . don't worry, I won't see
her
again." Not that he'd been planning to, but the concession
sounded
good. "And I'm sorry about nearly fucking things up with the
sponsors. But no harm done, anyway."

"No harm done?" Now his inflection could've etched glass.
"Asher
was also with us, who of course you know. And she knows you.
So I
was treated to her valiant attempts to pretend she hadn't
seen the
two of you. Strangely enough, my definition of fun, broad as
it is,
doesn't extend to having my friends witness someone very
publicly
touching up my, my — "

Warrick stopped dead, took a deep breath, and walked
away, over
to the window. Toreth saw his face reflected faintly in the
glass,
eyes closed as he struggled for calm. He looked so fuckably
good — pale and furious and on the edge of losing
control — that Toreth
could barely resist pinning him against the wall there and
then.
With an effort, he limited himself to going over to stand
behind him
and resting his hands on Warrick's shoulders.

"Touching up your what?" he asked.

When Warrick didn't answer, Toreth ran his hands down his
arms,
down to his hips, and murmured, "Want to fuck?"

Warrick stood absolutely still for a long moment, then
shook his
head. "Yes. God help me, yes I do," he said, despairingly.

Toreth leaned forward, his mouth right against Warrick's
ear.
"Now?"

"Yes."

"Here?" Long, hot breath, and a brush of lips that made
Warrick
twitch against him.

"
Yes
."

He let his hands roam, pulling Warrick close as his body
relaxed
and surrendered to his touch. Really, it was too easy, but
somehow
that didn't make it any less exciting, or Warrick any less
desirable. He wondered briefly when he was going to get
bored with
this, with Warrick. There was no sign of it happening yet.

"Like to fuck
me
?" he whispered, suddenly
wanting it,
and knowing that Warrick would.

"Mmh . . . oh, yes."

Yes. Here in his office, over his desk — something to
remember when
the paperwork got too boring. Toreth disentangled himself
and
activated the comm. "Sara, no calls and no visitors.
Absolutely no
visitors."

He heard her snigger as he broke off the connection, so
he
voice-locked the door, just in case her sense of humour was
in
overdrive.

And that was the end of the argument.

"Refill," Dillian said, waving her glass.

"Sorry, gorgeous, that was the last of the bottle."

"Oh." Dillian thought about tomorrow, then decided there was nothing she had to do that she couldn't cope with hung over. "Open another one."

"Another?" Cele's voice rose in mock surprise. "A second bottle? On a weeknight? Where will this decadence end?" She finished her own glass, then patted the arm of the deep sofa. "You'll have to get it. I have comfort-induced paralysis of the legs."

Dillian fought her way off the sofa and picked a rather circuitous route over to the kitchen area. Opening the wine cupboard, she looked over the selection; Cele's collection of wine was as eclectic as the rest of the contents of her flat-cum-studio.

"I never asked," Dillian called over, "but why is the floor covered in cushions?"

"Present from an admirer. I met a man in a bar, and we finished up talking about soft furnishings. I had to flee the scene before the domesticity killed me. Pity, because he had stupendous legs, and hands to die for."

"And instead of roses he sent you three dozen cushions?" Dillian asked as she returned with a bottle of Zinfandel.

"Yep. Except that it was six dozen cushions. The rest are upstairs. When they were all heaped together they frightened me." Cele held out her glass as Dillian opened the wine. "A million single men in that place, and I homed right in on the fabric fetishist. I have an unerring instinct for the honest-to-Christ weirdos."

Looking up at the bedroom balcony, Dillian could see edges and corners, plain, lacy and tasselled, poking out between the posts of the balustrade. She poured the wine, then sat down beside Cele.

"What are you going to do with them?" Dillian asked.

"Well, they were a gift, so I'll pass 'em on. From now on, no one leaves here without one. Mind you, Lord only knows who'll take the pink cowhide prints." She gestured with her glass to the corner of the room, where the offending cushions lurked. "And there are four of those. You're lucky, though — you get an early pick. In fact, you can take one for Keir as well."

Dillian surveyed the plentiful choice. "I'll give him that huge fluffy zebra pattern one with the orange fringe. It'll clash with everything he's got. And everything he's ever likely to buy, come to that."

Cele chuckled. "You're evil. I like you." She drank a couple of mouthfuls of wine and sighed happily. "Well done you, for thinking of a new bottle. So, now we've finished examining the house of horrors that is my love life, what's new on the Dillian front? Or back."

She'd been dreading this. "Nothing."

"You said that last time. And the time before. And — "

Dillian hit her with a green-spotted yellow cushion. "I know, I know."

"So who was the last one?" Cele asked, unabashed. "The blond love god? What was his name again?"

"Thorulf." Dillian sighed. "Yes, he's the current last. He wanted a relationship with someone who spends more time on Earth than off it. Not that unreasonable."

"No stamina, that was his problem. Wasn't there anyone on Mars?"

"No. Or maybe. There were a couple of vaguely-interesteds but they never came to anything in the end."

"'Vaguely'? What's wrong with these men? Are they blind?"

"I just — " She shrugged. "I haven't been in the mood."

"For almost two years? Come on, sweetheart, this is getting desperate. Sex is one of the great joys of life. Even Mr Joined-at-the-hip-to-his-corporation has finally noticed that."

"I know." Dillian sank lower into the sofa. "Don't remind me."

Cele raised her eyes. "Lord, don't start that again. You should be pleased. The last time I saw Keir he looked like a dog with two tails."

"The last time
you
saw him, maybe."

"Oh? But I saw him only . . . " Cele paused. "Well, not more than a few weeks ago, I'm sure. I thought he looked grand."

"On the surface, maybe. But — well, I usually ask about them when I see him. I want to be sure that Keir's okay, that's all. And lately he just says everything's fine, then changes the subject. It's like he doesn't want to talk about it. That isn't right, surely?"

"Mmm . . . I hate to say it, but perhaps it's the reception he gets?" Cele held her hand up. "No, don't. It's just that, to be honest, you do glower a little when one of the forbidden names comes up."

"Why are you always so fair to them?" Petulance crept unbidden into her voice. "First it was the Bitch Queen, and now it's
him
."

Reaching over, Cele tapped her arm. "There's nothing wrong with Seven Inches," she said seriously.

Dillian felt her mouth twist into a grimace, but couldn't stop it. "Of course not. I mean, he's probably clinically disturbed, he beats Keir up and he kills people for a living. Oh, and he screws around like a tomcat on testosterone. Just what
I
look for in
my
boyfriends."

Cele frowned. "If you know that he beats him up, then you know more than I do. Are you serious?"

"Well — " Dillian struggled with the truth and then sighed. "Okay, hits him, then." She caught up with the conversation through the slight fog of alcohol, and realised Cele might well have no idea why that was different. Not that Dillian was sure it was. "Sorry. Do you know about that?"

Cele nodded. "I talked to Keir about it last year, before you came back from Mars."

"Oh, okay." The slight delay again, before her brain worked through the information. "You — " This time the shock of betrayal left her momentarily speechless. "You
knew
? You knew all about it and you didn't tell me?"

"Keir asked me not to. I promise that I did my in loco Dillientis thing for you. I made sure he was okay and there wasn't anything out of control going on. But I've got no business discussing his sexual kinks with anyone. Not even you."

"Oh, God. Cele. I can't believe it." True. Really true. And, in some illogical way she couldn't articulate, yet another thing to blame
him
for. "I was so worried about Keir. I didn't know it was . . . well, that it was like that."

"Hey, I'm sorry. I had no idea you were in a flap over it."

"I didn't know what to say to him. It's so stupid, but if it had been a woman instead — if Keir had been, I mean — it would've been so much easier. I wanted to talk to you and I didn't dare because I had no idea what you'd do."

Cele set her wine down and moved across the sofa, then eased her arm round Dillian's shoulders, pulling gently until Dillian surrendered and leaned into her.

"I'm really, really sorry, sweetheart," Cele said. "If I'd known, I'd have said something, I promise, whatever I told Keir. Oh, no. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like some hapless little forest creature that's about to be shot and eaten. All big dewy eyes and twitching nose." Cele's eyes widened mournfully, in imitation of a miserable baby deer.

Despite herself, Dillian laughed. "I look like nothing of the kind."

"Yes, you do. Well, maybe not the nose, but your bottom lip was quivering." Cele grinned and put her finger on Dillian's mouth.

Dillian hadn't thought anything at all about the embrace, or at least nothing more than familiar, tactile Cele, wanting to take away any pain no matter how accidentally inflicted. The touch was something else. It brought an acute awareness of her own mouth, lips and tongue, and that all she had to do was part those lips a little and everything would shift.

She spent too long thinking about the could bes, and Cele took her hand away. "Sorry," she said. "My mistake."

They moved apart, taking mirror image sips of wine as the tension eased.

"Everything's okay now, isn't it?" Cele said after a moment. "With Keir, I mean. Now you know it's all good clean consensual fun?"

Good clean consensual
what
? "Not really. I know Keir says he wants it, but I don't . . . I find it hard to believe. Blindfolds or furry handcuffs or whatever is one thing, but this is — it's not healthy. It's certainly not normal."

"I never thought you were so narrow-minded."

"Narrow-minded!" Dillian sat up. "I'm nothing of the kind! Keir's got
bruises
, Cele. It's
not
healthy. God only knows what he sees in the man."

Cele winked. "Well, I can't speak for God, but
I
know."

"That's right, so you do." Sober, she wouldn't ask, but wine and curiosity combined irresistibly. "Go on, then. What was he like?"

"I never kiss and tell," Cele said with absolute seriousness.

All she needed, of course, was encouragement. "First of all, that's an outrageous lie. And secondly, I'm only asking out of concern for Keir."

Cele pretended to choke on her wine. Dillian waited until the performance finished, then said, "Well?"

"Well — " she held up her hand, " — purely out of concern for your beloved brother, obviously, I shall reveal all. To start with, aesthetically, he was mmm-mmh." She kissed her fingertips. "Heaven. Sculpture in motion. And although he's been wearing a lot more clothes when I've seen him recently, everything looks to be as I left it. He must spend a truly insane amount of time working out." She cocked her head. "That's a sign of insecurity, mind you."

"And he really is . . . ? Dimensionally speaking."

Cele snorted with laughter. "I might be a millimetre or two out, but he's thereabouts." She leaned back and stared up at the balcony above. "Why do you suppose that everything else has been metricated since forever but we still measure penis length in inches? Mind you, it wouldn't sound half as snappy as — what would it be in centimetres?"