With or Without Him (5 page)

Haris hid his smile. “Did the stain come off?” He’d dipped his sleeve into something sticky last time he’d worn it.

“Absolutely. Mr. Patel’s shop might be a long grueling journey by Tube from here, but the man’s ability to remove unidentified substances from your expensive garments and not put creases where none were intended has assured his place at the head of the rest, no matter how inconveniently situated his premises happen to be.”

Haris took the hint. “Thank you for fetching it for me.”

“It’s my pleasure, sir. As is every little thing I do for you. A complete joy.”

Haris rolled his eyes.

“Oh look. A dog hair.” Wilson gave a dramatic sigh. “I miss Sam.”

“You could have kept him. You could have kept any of them.” There’d been plenty.

“There are so many other poor animals out there. All alone, not enough to eat, unloved, uncared for, desperate for a kind touch, for a warm home.”

“I’m sure there are.”

Wilson seemed to be running a one-man pet rescue service.

“When they land on our doorstep, what am I to do?” Wilson asked. “Who could be hard-hearted enough to turn away a starving dog? I feel it’s my duty to find them warm, caring homes. Just as you did for me, sir.”

Haris harrumped.

Wilson gave another dramatic sigh. Haris knew he wanted a pet to keep but wouldn’t admit it. His valet’s shoulders remained in a permanent droop, his face a study in depression as if a personal black cloud hung over him. Wilson would have given him the news that his car had been accidentally crushed by a meteorite in the same tone as telling him he’d won the Euro lottery.

He finished brushing the tux and Haris let his arms drop. “Will I do?”

“Most assuredly, sir. Indeed, you will shine like a beacon to the extent that no one will be listening to the music, they will be entranced by—”

“Enough.”

“My lips are zipped. More than zipped. Sealed as effectively as two items secured by super glue could be.”

Haris doubted it.

By the time they were in the car and on their way to Greenwich, the super glue had worn off and Wilson was babbling again. Haris tuned him out. He didn’t particularly want to attend this evening’s concert. He’d rather have written a check for the music school and stayed at home working, but in an uncharacteristically weak moment, remembering his brother, Adil, and the racket he’d made on his twelfth birthday with his new drum kit, he’d said yes when Wilson had placed the invitation in front of him. Haris hoped they played something quiet and soothing and not an unmelodious modern composition which was bound to give him a headache.
Shit. I’m turning into another Wilson.

“Excuse me for interrupting your valuable thinking time, sir, but I believe we are being followed again. The same car has been behind us for the last two miles.”

Haris looked over his shoulder without concern. “The white Fiat?”

“Yes, sir. Something is obscuring the license plate. Do I have your permission to lose our pursuer?”

“Try not to attract the attention of any traffic cameras or cops.”

“As usual, you offer such sage advice.”

“You could try pulling up to see if he stops too?”

“A confrontation? An excellent idea. I’m certain I can talk the man out of any aggression so you don’t need to fear, sir. Should the worst happen, my will is in the bedside table.”

Haris smiled. He suspected the pursuit was a figment of Wilson’s overactive imagination. He’d claimed they were being followed a few times over the last week.

“He turned off, sir.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.”

“I was looking forward to demonstrating my considerable prowess with the fire extinguisher I keep in the glove box should my arthritic knees impair my jujitsu skills.”

Haris laughed.

Wilson dropped him off outside the college. Haris grabbed his coat from the backseat and told him to go home. That brought on the argument he expected, but he was the boss and he won. Just.

Bypassing the reception line inside the entrance, he headed for the bathroom. If he had to sit through a few hours of torture, he might as well do it with an empty bladder. He didn’t bother asking for directions, assuming there’d be a Gents’ somewhere near.

After he’d wandered down two deserted corridors, he was about to turn back when he saw the sign he’d been looking for. As he pushed open the door, Haris heard someone retching and almost reversed out again, but the need to take a leak pushed him toward the cubicle farthest from the one occupied.

“That was me throwing up,” said a man and flushed.

Haris opened his mouth and then closed it. Too much information and he didn’t think a response was required.

“Well, you asked,” the guy snapped and Haris realized he was talking on the phone and not to him.

“But you said nine. I’m busy until… No,
this
is important. I can’t just… But… I… Okay, okay, I know.” The belligerence had gone from his voice. “As soon as I can get… No, I won’t… No, don’t ask Jeremy. I’ve told you I’ll come. I won’t let you down. Now fuck off because I need to throw up again.”

Since he didn’t hear any sounds of retching, only a quiet voice muttering, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Haris assumed that was a lie. He waited until the door banged as the man left, and then Haris unzipped.

On the way back to the entrance hall, he spotted Kevin Flowers, the corpulent head of the music school, standing just ahead of him. He was talking in a loud, arctic tone to a tall, dark-haired guy whose back was to Haris.
Oh God, what a fuckable backside. Narrow hips, tight butt, long legs.

“I’ve already rearranged this once,” Flowers snapped. “Good grief, you leave it until now? You couldn’t have told me before?”

“It’s an emergency,” the younger man said. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”

Haris recognized the voice from the bathroom. He wore a tight black T-shirt, black pants and black boots, and a tribal tattoo snaked around his forearm. An astonishing surge of lust sent Haris weak at the knees. The overwhelming desire to trail his tongue around the black lines of the tattoo and down to the crease of that tight butt drove all the moisture from his mouth and inevitably sent blood rushing south. He felt like he’d been hit by a bus.

“What sort of emergency?” Flowers demanded.

“A bad emergency,” Temptation mumbled. “Matter of life and death.”

Haris’s gaze swept from head to toe and jerked back to the tight backside.
Stop looking at it.
He snapped his head up.

“I’m not happy, Tyler. Yet again, your attitude disappoints me. I expected a more appropriate level of commitment from a third year student. It was against my better judgment that I gave you this opportunity. There were others who deserved it more.”

The younger man clenched his hands behind his back until his knuckles whitened, then flicked his wrist over and over with his thumb. “Sorry.” The word was forced out.

Haris smiled. Not sorry at all then.

“And what respect do you show when you turn up dressed like this?” Flowers hissed. “I gave strict instructions male students were to wear a tuxedo.”

“I ripped the jacket and then I found I’d dropped something on the pants.”

“You could have hired a tux.”

“If I’d had time.”

“You don’t even have a shirt and pants?”

“Not that are clean.”

“And couldn’t you have at least shaved?”

“I did. This morning.”

Flowers glared. “Well, I’m not putting you on first.”

“Please.”

“You’re not going on first. I have everything balanced.” Flowers exhaled noisily. “You can follow Sally and go fourth. You better apologize to everyone you’re disrupting.”

The student stalked off, leaving Haris disappointed not to have seen his face.

“Haris.” Flowers extended his hand as he approached. “So pleased you could come.”

Haris shook his hand. He’d sat at the same table as Flowers at a charity event, made some complimentary comments about his commitment to bring music to the whole community, and ended up being sent an invite for this evening.

“Problem?” Haris glanced in the direction of the retreating butt.

“He always has been. Now, let me introduce you to a few people and find you a glass of decent champagne.”

He wondered who ended up with the stuff that wasn’t decent.

The orchestra was tuning up by the time Haris entered the auditorium. He chose a seat at the rear in case his ears insisted he needed to make a quick getaway, and draped his coat over the back of the unpadded chair. He resigned himself to an uncomfortable couple of hours, though he was curious to see whether the student’s front was as enticing as his back. The four months since he’d had sex with anyone likely explained the pleasurable shiver in his gut.

Haris’s life revolved around getting up, going to work, coming home late or even later depending on whether he had any commitments. He worked hard, earned a lot of money, bought expensive clothes, wore a ridiculously expensive watch and owned two obscenely expensive cars. He’d achieved the success he’d aimed for and proved a point to a father who wasn’t listening. So why didn’t it feel enough? He almost wished they
had
been followed tonight. Then he thought about what had come before the life he had now and knew how lucky he was to be here at all.

When the noise of the orchestra died down, he looked up to see Flowers standing on the conductor’s podium.

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman. For those who don’t know me, I’m Dr. Kevin Flowers, head of the music school. Thank you for coming to our concert.”

Ten minutes later, he was still talking and Haris sighed. If Flowers didn’t shut up soon, he’d revise down the sum of money he intended to donate.

“Before we begin tonight’s program, I need to inform you about a change in the order of play. Tyler Bellamy will be performing
before
Sally Greene. Thank you.”

Tyler Bellamy.
Haris rolled the name around in his head.

The music wasn’t as bad as he expected. He generally didn’t like listening to stuff he’d never heard before but there was enough variety to stop him falling asleep, though a long violin solo made him yawn. The students were all fresh-faced and keen, and Haris found it hard to believe he’d ever been like that. He envied them their talent. He couldn’t play anything but the stock market.

He didn’t even know if Tyler was gay, but now his interest had been triggered, he accepted he was waiting for him to walk on stage. The conversation in the bathroom, the pleading with Flowers, the clenched fists, the flicking of his wrist, the tattoo, the taut backside, the fact that he clearly pissed Flowers off, it all turned him on. Then Tyler strode onto the stage, and Haris’s world froze.
Oh God.

Tyler gave a short bow to the audience before he sat at the piano. He looked like a vampire prince out of a Manga magazine with his angular pale face, dark stubble, untidy straight black hair, bruised eyes and black clothes. Haris thought he’d never seen anyone so beautiful in his life. He swallowed to bring moisture into his mouth. Didn’t work.

The auditorium was silent. Tyler stared at the keys for a long moment before he raised his head, gave a cock-lifting grin and began to play.

Oh fuck.
Haris dragged the program over his lap. He thought he’d long outgrown inappropriate boners but it seemed not. Every cell in his dick and balls pleaded for Tyler to be gay. He played with a mesmerizing intensity and at a speed that verged on the barely possible. Haris couldn’t tear his gaze away. Actually, he suspected that even if Tyler had been playing Chopsticks, he’d have been just as fascinated.

He took in the way he arched his neck, the ripple of muscles flexing in his arms, the shifting tattoo, the raven-black hair flopping over his eyes, the gap between his upper and lower lip and that secretive smile on his lips. Where did he need to go tonight? What emergency was there?

Not hard to imagine himself brushing his thumb across those sensuous lips, threading his fingers through that dark silky hair, pressing his more muscular body against Tyler’s long slender one.

I want to fuck him.

The intensity of his desire shocked him.

Haris could have watched for hours, but all too soon Tyler brought the second piece to a thunderous crescendo, stood, bowed and stalked off the stage while the audience still applauded. He pushed to his feet and yanked on his coat to hide the bulge at his groin.

A few moments later, he stood fidgeting next to the college gates on the side closest to the underground, and knew he was an idiot in more ways than one. He’d assumed Tyler would use public transport to get to his emergency, but he had no idea where he would emerge from the college, or if he’d use the Tube or the bus or even a cab. He might leave by the exit on the other side of the campus. That he was on the point of stalking a guy he fancied had to rank among one of the most stupid and childish things he’d done in years. But when he saw Tyler hurrying in his direction, his heart jumped, and he stepped into the shadows and let him pass. Though the sensible half of his brain yelled at him to go home, the less sensible half insisted he follow.