Jonah was going to be the death of him. The man had his head in such a whirl, it rivaled a carousel. Every day Rafe promised himself to stiffen his spine and push Jonah away from him. The relationship was dangerous. Exposure would ruin both of them and possibly destroy the show, which already teetered on its last financial legs.
But it was his growing feelings that were even more dangerous. Rafe constantly reminded himself he was leaving, that he had a past to return to and no future with Jonah. Yet he couldn’t stop the emotions that crashed over him every time he glimpsed Jonah across the carnival grounds.
He desired him physically, his body tensing and his cock swelling from one of those glimpses, but he also wanted him on a level he didn’t want to think about. Hearing Jonah’s laughter or his enthusiasm as he talked about his beloved Shakespeare was the highlight of Rafe’s day.
During daylight hours, when he was busy, it was quite easy to keep his vow not to drag Jonah off to some secluded spot and steal a kiss or touch, but at night…the show put to bed, the midway gone dark…all Rafe could think of was making his way to Jonah, wherever he found him.
Jonah showing up soaking wet on his doorstep, hair slicked to his head, raindrops beading on his eyelashes, had sent such a powerful jolt of desire though Rafe that he’d honestly felt as if someone had punched him in the chest.
And, as if rain-wet wasn’t gorgeous enough, Jonah had looked even more beautiful completely nude in the lantern light. The curve of his arse, the sight of his legs spread and held high while he offered Rafe his backside… Jesus, Rafe couldn’t see straight when he remembered it.
“Pay attention!” Parinsky’s voice snapped Rafe from his reverie. How long had he been dwelling in fantasy? “I’m trying to tell you I think there’s sabotage afoot. Those Orcully Brothers may be behind some of the so-called accidents that have been happening.”
“I’ll consider that possibility,” Rafe said, striding away from the man, “but right now we’ve got to get on the road.”
Another day of travel lay ahead of them. Treanor hadn’t been able to get them into one of the usual villages because the town commission had decided the show brought riffraff into the area. Rafe had been annoyed and worried when the advanceman told him that they’d have to bypass the hamlet, but now the loss of those performances was a blessing since they’d lost time due to Lancelot’s burial. They could spend two days on the road and make the next setup with time to spare.
Usually Rafe would sit on his perch, drive the horses, and think about nothing in particular. Road time was rest time. But today Rafe’s thoughts weren’t particularly restful. Parinsky was right. Too many coincidences had been happening of late. Lost tools, props, and costumes; the rip in the main top’s canvas; the canceled bookings; the death of the lion—although really, poor old Lancelot had been living on borrowed time since the day of his rescue.
Rafe had grown up in the company of ruthless men. Men in his family pursued wealth and power using a dizzying array of methods, so he tended to see the hand of man when misfortune came to call. But could ruthlessness be in play here? It made sense the Orcullys would want to hurt their revenue, forcing Rafe to sell out to them, but they would need someone on the inside to accomplish their goal. Could one of Rafe’s own people be working on their behalf? He found that impossible to believe.
Thoughts of vague menace made him wish he could hunt for answers. He shifted on the wagon seat and wished Jonah was there to distract him with arguments about Shakespeare or maybe quote some biblical passages and try to puzzle out their meaning. The lad might have left behind the family that had turned its back on him, but its culture still clung to him, giving him that appealing smalltown innocence and fascination with the world. Rafe almost laughed out loud at himself. He currently sounded as corny as any gee-shucks American.
A deep peal of laughter came from two wagons back, followed by a fit of coughing. Jonah was riding with Sam, and Rafe wondered what he’d said to make the big man laugh.
Avoiding Jonah’s companionship would be good in the long run, Rafe reminded himself. In the short run, the sensation plaguing him was reminiscent of the lonely first days in school when he’d been ignored by his older brother. Eventually he’d understood that this was the way school worked and had found his own friends.
A showy figure on horseback drew alongside his wagon and slowed to keep up with the pace of the plodding team. “Pasted the bills in New Buckle,” Treanor said cheerily. “All signs are good for a two-day run.”
Rafe nodded. “Good.”
Treanor touched the edge of the plumed hat he always wore in his role as advanceman and cantered away. Rafe watched him go and wondered if he was off to glower at Dimitri and pretend to flirt with a stony-faced Jamie, or perhaps Treanor would catch some sleep in the back of a jolting swinging wagon. He’d been riding hard for hours.
Rafe yawned and revisited the possibility that someone inside the carnival was trying to damage the show. He couldn’t imagine such a thing. Everyone worked hard—even Parinsky. If Rafe told them he must leave—when he told them, rather—perhaps the strange tensions would vanish. But he should wait until closer to the end of the season. If he said something too soon, he’d lose his edge of authority and become a lame duck instead of a good leader.
Rafe shifted on the bench, leaned back, and went into a light doze. He fell into a half dream in which Jonah sat next to him and sang.
When he snapped awake, the voice didn’t stop. Jonah was singing, his voice drifting from the other wagon, and what a sweet, clear voice he had. Rafe held the reins with one hand and palmed his eyes with the other. Perhaps the man was trying to torture him from a few dozen yards away. He could almost hear the taunt: This is what you’re walking away from.
He stayed wide awake for the rest of the ride.