CARTER sat rather self-consciously at a table in the quietest corner of Mama Mia’s Pasta Restaurant. He picked up his glass of sparkling water, sipped it, and put it back down. He’d repeated the move a dozen times already. There wasn’t much left in the glass by now. A bowl of garlic dough balls sat ignored on the table in front of him, slowly cooling. He’d avoided looking at the other diners as much as possible, but the only other choices of view were the ivy leaf-design tablecloth or the evening drizzle falling on the umbrellas of passersby outside. He was getting tired of both.
What the hell was he doing here tonight? He needed to rest and sleep more than he needed to socialize, let alone inviting the other tensions associated with this evening’s date. His weariness seemed to be bone deep, unlike a more usual tiredness. It had been a manic time at work, and he’d found it difficult to transfer the management of some of his projects to other staff after he’d arranged to change his hours. But he was used to working hard, so he wasn’t sure why he felt as drained as he did. The excitement of developing his role at the youth club had been a light at the end of the tunnel, though. It was all he needed at the moment, all he could cope with. Or so he told himself.
The plump Italian owner, Nino, bustled up to the table with a fresh bottle of water. Carter hadn’t asked for it, but he was a regular here, and they were easy friends. The guy knew Carter took his time in ordering and eating, but was a thoughtful and appreciative customer.
“You are waiting for your guest?” Nino asked.
Carter often bristled at being quizzed, but Nino always pitched his tone as sympathetic rather than inquisitive. “He’s… um… held up, I expect.”
Nino smiled gently. “He is often late, yes, but he arrives in style.” He discreetly picked up the bowl of neglected dough balls, murmured he would replace them when the other man arrived, and bustled away.
Carter was startled. He wasn’t worried about meeting friends or even boyfriends as a gay man—and the staff here had no problem on that score—but did Nino think he’d seen some kind of a pattern with Carter’s guest? A relationship? Carter had had a few dates since Jacky’s death, but he couldn’t remember bringing any of them here. Recently, he’d only met Zeke or other friends here. There’d been nothing else to see.
He glanced over to the bar area and Nino lifted a cheery hand in acknowledgement and winked. Obviously nothing else to see wasn’t going to cut it with Nino, Carter thought wearily. He half lifted his hand in return, meaning to call for his bill and go home.
Then the chair opposite him was pulled out and a man quickly sat down. He had a long raincoat on, the fabric glistening with rain. A silk scarf was wrapped around his neck at least twice, half obscuring his face. His blond curls were flattened to his head with the damp.
Carter started to laugh.
The man scowled at him. “What the hell’s so amusin’?”
“You, Red,” Carter said, bluntly. “Sidling in here like some kind of spy. Or add a battered fedora and you could be something out of Raymond Chandler.”
Red made a snorting noise that wasn’t just blowing the rain off his nose. “Just keepin’ warm.”
“Keeping a low profile, more like.” Carter felt a glimmer of sympathy for Red. His slender face looked very drawn. “Have you thought about wearing a false beard?”
“I can’t find a suitable tone for my colorin’,” Red snapped back. “And they’d still find me. I’m damned if I’m hidin’ away just because of their rabid greed for humiliatin’ people in print.”
“But you are.”
Red opened his mouth and shut it again abruptly. He gave a grudging smile. “Yes, I suppose so, smartarse.” He shrugged out of his scarf and coat and folded them carelessly on the spare seat beside them.
Carter found himself fascinated by the play of emotions on Red’s face. The man could leap from distress to irritation to amusement in seconds. Then he realized his gaze had settled for too long at Red’s mouth, and he quickly looked away.
Red’s eyes had narrowed, as if he’d followed the scrutiny. “At least they’ve given up askin’ for interviews by now.” His tone held weary irritation. “What’s worse is the procession of calls from gay porn sites, askin’ me to audition. Or not to bother, as the case may be, they’ll take me on my current resume.” He grimaced.
Carter gestured to Nino and the owner came over with a new portion of dough balls and a large glass of dark red wine.
“Excellent, my favorites,” Red said eagerly. “You always know what a man wants, Nino. And how’s your daredevil nephew gettin’ on?”
“He’s out of hospital now, Mr. De Vere, thank you for asking. It will take some months for his leg to heal, but he’s in the best and safest place now.”
“That’ll teach him not to skateboard on the side of the canal.”
Nino laughed, shared another couple of comments about the weather and families, and then left to serve another customer.
“Damn,” Red muttered. “Just realized he saw right through the incognito thing. Maybe I should wear the shades next time.”
Carter stared at Red’s glass. Red hadn’t actually ordered a drink, yet Nino knew what he liked. Dammit, Carter did too. When Red was late arriving at other evenings out, Carter often ordered for him in advance. Red was always very easygoing with what was on the menu, but Carter didn’t mistake the gleam of pleasure in his eyes when Carter got it exactly right. Good God. Perhaps Nino had good grounds to think this was something more than… well, than what Carter thought it was.
“To gossip.” Red lifted his glass to Carter in a wry toast.
“It’ll pass, Red. Gossip always does.”
Red looked at him closely. “Spoken from experience?”
“That’s not what we’re talking about.”
“But you’ve suffered the whole thing yourself, Carter. Bein’ pursued by media stories, whether right or wrong. I’m not askin’ you to go through it again, just bein’ sympathetic.”
Carter waited for another waiter to visit the table with the main menu. He watched Red as he thanked the young man, who flushed and then weaved away to another table. People tended to flush around Red all the time. Miles had once explained—bluntly, and in front of all four friends—that Red should be more prepared for that effect, because unless you were used to it, the full force of Red’s charm and good looks was like being hit by a cricket bat. The bloody man didn’t even have to say anything or smile specifically at a person; he just embodied glamor and sensuality.
But Carter also knew Red meant what he’d said—he genuinely was just being sympathetic. During Jacky Roswell’s life, the media had relentlessly hounded the flamboyant artist. Carter had kept as much distance as he could, but being Jacky’s regular lover was always going to drag him into the public eye. And oh, what material Jacky gave them! It wasn’t just his art that fascinated the general public, but his lifestyle: the gambling, drinking, throwing scenes in public, the very blatant and promiscuous bisexuality. Jacky had been a poster boy for all the wrong things. It was all Carter could do to keep as far in the background as possible. But when Jacky died—and in such a spectacular way, burned to death—it looked like it’d all start up again. It shamed Carter, but he’d been almost relieved that the media attention shifted instead to Zeke, Jacky’s surviving brother.
“I’m sorry,” Red said quietly, breaking his way into Carter’s thoughts. “Brings it all back, doesn’t it? I didn’t think that through. Forgive me.”
“It’s okay.” Carter was unexpectedly angry with himself, not Red. “It was a long time ago, Red. He lived, he died, and we’re all getting over it. End of story.”
“No need to snap the official version at me,” Red said, rather shortly. “I mean it. I know how deeply you felt. How deeply you still do. Just want to help you in copin’, that’s all.”
How did Red do it? He appeared to be frivolous and slightly camp, an arrogant and spoiled kid. Yet ever since Carter had met him, he’d displayed flashes of great perception, seeing things in Carter that Carter wasn’t necessarily keen to show. Red’s family was rich and glamorous, and appeared to dote on him. His accent was affected, his boldness in business famous, his hedonistic lifestyle infamous. Yet Carter knew Red had brains and compassion under all that outrageous behavior. Red had been Miles’s stalwart friend all through his developing relationship with Zeke, and he’d always shown Carter respect too. And for reasons that Carter never let himself examine too closely, he’d accepted Red’s invitation to drinks on one incautious occasion—and continued to do so.
“I’m sorry too.” Carter looked at where Red rested his hand on the table, palm up. Before he could overthink things, he reached out his own hand and clasped Red’s. “I meant, this isn’t about Jacky.”
“I’m not arguin’ that,” Red said quickly.
Carter could feel Red’s pulse in his wrist, a fast, steady beat. “It’s about you making a spectacularly stupid-arse mistake and getting caught out.”
“Well, just say what you think, Davison. Don’t hold back, now.”
Carter smiled. “Like I said, I’m sure the scandal will pass.”
They were both looking down at their clasped hands. Carter thought he should probably drop the touch now but found he didn’t want to. Red’s skin was smooth and warm. Carter couldn’t remember the last touch that had felt so intimate, apart from Zeke’s careless hugs. His occasional dates had been friendly, but rarely passionate. That was what he wanted. Wasn’t it?
“Bloody sad.” Did I say that aloud?
“Some things are,” Red said. “Some journalists definitely are. You must be the only person in London not askin’ for the negatives.”
Carter couldn’t help it. He imagined Red at that hotel toilet door, blond hair tousled, momentary confusion in his eyes, then fury directed at the paparazzi ambush. His immediate rush to cover up and defuse the situation. His lithe body; his languid grace; his sure, athletic movements. And his total, stark nakedness. A flush ran all the way down from Carter’s neck to the pit of his belly.
Red didn’t miss that. He sucked in a breath and his eyes suddenly brightened. “Well, well. Can I take that as a positive sign?”
“What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You got warmer,” Red said softly. “Your pulse jumped. You’re still holdin’ my hand.”
Carter didn’t know what to say. Red had become a good friend over the last few months, and Carter wasn’t exactly over-blessed with them. But he couldn’t deny Red was also a bloody seductive man—not just because of his blond aristocratic good looks, but his confidence and his charm. And, of course, his determination. That almost always got him what he wanted.
Almost, Carter thought. He’d held Red at arm’s length since the beginning, despite… well, he had. Strangely, that satisfaction brought no comfort with it.
Red gave an uneven laugh. “I’ve got so little to build on, Carter, I need some hope.”
“Red.” Carter took a deep breath, moved his hand away, and picked up the menu. He hoped to God his hand wasn’t shaking visibly. “I value your friendship. I’m just not in the market for more. You know that, we’ve discussed it plenty of times before. I want peace, you want fun—”
“Please don’t presume to tell me what I want.” Red’s sharp tone made Carter blink hard. “I’ve always been happy to tell you myself, and I don’t think you’ve ever known me to lie.”
“No.” Carter swallowed carefully. “No, I haven’t.”
“You know what I want, Carter. I’ve never been coy about it. I’ve told you I want you, and not just for fun. Dammit, with the length of time I’ve been chasin’ you, who could possibly call it fun?” The joke was a familiar one, but this time there was a new poignancy to Red’s question.
Carter was saved from replying by the waiter returning to take their orders. Both of them ordered carelessly, as if on autopilot. The waiter looked uneasily between them, inevitably sensing the tension. Red ordered another glass of wine, and as the waiter turned and left, Red also took a deep breath. A smile lightened his expression again. “I’m goin’ too deep, too fast again, eh? After the hotel debacle, a few of my exes were dragged out for salacious quotes, but I can’t say any of ’em ever complained about that.”
Carter rolled his eyes but smiled too. Red was returning to a light touch, and Carter was grateful for that. “I heard you were out with Miles earlier this week, in town for the awards. Things were fine there with the press. And you’ve always courted publicity, Red.”
“Sure I have.” Red still seemed disturbed. “But this feels different.”
Carter laughed and picked up a dough ball. The garlic butter was greasy on his fingers, the aromatic smell tantalizing to his taste buds. He suddenly realized he was very hungry. “You don’t really want to be last week’s news, do you?” He popped the dough ball in his mouth and chewed.
“What?” Red’s voice rose. “You think I’m such a publicity whore I welcomed it? I liked bein’ shown in all my glory in the papers? I like the jokes and cartoons that have sprung up all over the bloody city?”
Carter had read some of them himself. They’d been quite witty, especially the ones that featured the bunch of dried fern. He swallowed the garlic bread too quickly, and started to cough.
“Dear God.” Red sighed. “You do think that.”
“No. Of course I don’t. If you knew what I’d been saying to Zeke just before I saw the story—” Too late to bite that back.
Red’s eyes narrowed again. “Well, you did say I’d been spectacular, hon.”
Carter didn’t know whether to laugh or scowl. The bloody man was incorrigible. “Spectacularly stupid, Red. Just leave the subject alone, okay?”
“You know what?” Red’s eyes had grown serious again. Carter would have dropped his own gaze but felt a coward for doing it. “I would leave it alone, Carter, if I thought you genuinely didn’t want me. That’s another popular misconception about me, hon—that I pursue what I want until I get it. But I never pursue anythin’ that doesn’t welcome it, believe me. And with you, y’see, I’m gettin’ mixed messages.”
Carter was ready to protest, but something in Red’s look made him pause. Red De Vere had that easygoing attitude at all times, but what would push him to real anger—to real distress? And did he, Carter, want to be the cause of that? “Maybe you’re right. If so, that’s not fair of me.”
Red shrugged. “There’s no one else, Carter. I can wait as long as you damn well want. But not if you’ve already decided.”
What did Red mean, no one else? Carter was startled. He’d always assumed Red’s interest in him was a kind of game, that Red was still dating gorgeous young men and having a riot of a sex life, regardless. And… shit. Carter felt an unfamiliar stab of embarrassment. That vision hurts.
At that moment, the waiter sidled up. Red turned his attention to persuading him that no, of course it wasn’t an inconvenient time to deliver their order. The food arrived, steaming plates of pasta and rich sauce, with crisp salads and fresh drinks. The moment for soul-searching and difficult answers had passed. When the waiter left the table, Carter willingly rejoined the conversation when it returned to Red’s unfortunate escapade at the Hilton.
“Father was furious, you can imagine. In fact, I’m lookin’ for a new job right now.”
Carter was astonished. “He fired you? Your father?”
Red shrugged. “Not exactly. But before you think I’m throwin’ some kind of diva hissy fit—” he glanced at Carter, who did nothing but raise his eyebrows. “He has suspended me from work for a few months. Says I need to find another direction—other ambitions. He wants me to get involved in another project in the meantime.”
“I doubt he’d ever considered the porn site offer,” Carter said, wryly.
Red laughed loudly, turning the heads of a couple of other patrons. “You’re a witty smartarse, Carter, I admire that in a man. But maybe I am ready for change. Maybe Father’s right.”
Carter was still bemused by Red’s mood tonight. They usually had a good laugh, and often a heated discussion or two over a variety of subjects, from current affairs to the latest movies. For example, Red had an unfortunate penchant for cheap horror flicks, while Carter preferred artistically praised movies, often with subtitles. But while he couldn’t find anything to like about teenagers being sliced up one by one in ludicrously vulnerable settings, Red always seemed to have sensible things to say about Carter’s preferences, as if perhaps he’d seen those movies too but still enjoyed the horror. Whatever the topic, an evening with Red was always entertaining.
Tonight, though, Red swung from vivacious to serious, from charming to self-absorbed. He seemed unusually on edge. And agreeing with his father? Carter knew they worked together and had plenty of respect for each other. But Red hadn’t always agreed with him. Miles had told Zeke and Carter several stories about the De Vere men’s verbal fights, and Red’s frequent rebellions against the sobriety of his father’s life.
Carter was maybe more perturbed by how he felt about it. About what Red would do now, how he’d make changes in his life, how he worried for Red. What the hell was all that about?
“So what’s new with you?” Red was asking. He was tucking in to the food with enthusiasm.
“I’m involved in a new project myself, actually.”
“An engineering one?” Red had always been interested in Carter’s work, and Carter enjoyed talking about it to him.
“Not exactly. I’m still on contract at the firm, but I’m taking some time out to work at the youth center. The council has found enough money to take on new staff—that’s me—and give it a facelift this spring. It’s sorely needed. The plumbing and electrics need a major overhaul, and they’re currently rebuilding the kitchen and storage areas. Hopefully they can also afford to equip the games room. And I’d love to develop the sports field in the back of the building, but that’s a big investment of money we don’t have at the moment.”
“And you’ve got the skills to help with all that.” Red wasn’t asking, but stating a known fact. Carter appreciated that more than he would admit. It wasn’t that he’d ever been jealous of Jacky Roswell and his talent, despite the man having so much popular fame. That had been far more than Carter would ever have wanted. But Jacky had never been interested in anyone’s job unless it was in the art world. He’d seemed unable to comprehend anything happening outside of that. A charming trait when you moved in those circles, a frustrating one when you didn’t. Carter had thanked God or his equivalent many times for sending him people like Zeke and then Miles to keep him stable and sane. Now he had Red to count among those friends too.
“Well, I hope so. I’m effectively working on the project at the center, then also acting as liaison between the council and the construction companies. That’s where we think my experience is useful. And we’ll be starting the redecoration soon, and kitting it out with new equipment. It’s a big job and we don’t have many permanent staff. I’m hoping the young people will help out—”
“But that’s perfect!” Red interrupted, his laden fork midway between the plate and his mouth. “I can help as well. You need a helpin’ hand and I need somethin’ useful to do.”
Carter nearly choked on a pimento. “No.”
“Why not? It’s a good cause, a great one. Somethin’ I can certainly contribute to. And I’d like the chance to work with you.”
Red’s eyes were twinkling. Obviously, he genuinely thought it was a good idea, that Carter’s refusal was just politeness. And to Carter’s alarm, his adrenaline had spiked as if all his senses agreed. But not his head, surely?
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not your kind of thing, Red. I can’t afford to have people dabbling. Don’t take offense, but I don’t have time or appetite for that.”
“Don’t take offense, you say, but actually, I do.” Red’s voice had tightened again. “You don’t give me the benefit of the doubt. Don’t bother to consider whether I can do it. Whether I genuinely want to do it.”
“It’s not that. You work hard, I know you do, but your world’s entertainment and finance, at management level.”
“Useful skills in whatever discipline,” Red said.
“You play hard too.” Carter didn’t like the obstinate expression on Red’s face. He wondered again what it would be like to cross him, seriously. “You mix with celebrities and businessmen, Red, not young people and volunteer workers. You have people to fetch and carry for you. You earn huge amounts of money and can buy the help you need.”
“Dear God,” Red said. The waiter had started over to ask if they’d finished, but then he looked at their faces and made an abrupt change of direction to a table at the other side of the room. “I really thought more of you, Carter.”
“What the hell?”
“I thought you were more perceptive than that. Determined to make your own decisions, rather than following gossip and prejudice.”
Carter stared at him. He felt sick, and it had nothing to do with the food. “Are you playing the fool again?”
Red ignored the question. “I’m tired of all this, Carter. I can’t get past the money with anyone, it seems, not even you. I can’t get past the family, the history, the social status.”
“Look, I didn’t mean—”
“Get this straight, I’m not apologizing for it!” Red totally ignored Carter’s protest, another unusually uncivil reaction. “I love it, always have. I like working and I like playing too. I like spending my money and making more. Okay? But even though I know that’s not all there is, it’s like a cloak over the whole damned thing. I can’t do anything as myself. I have to be Red De Vere, public property, larger than life, cabaret and clown.” He stood, almost as abruptly as he’d sat down, and reached for his raincoat off the back of the chair.
Carter watched Red silently for a moment. Then he caught Nino’s gaze and motioned for the bill. Nino shook his head, either communicating that they’d settle up another time, or that Red had already arranged it. Either way, Carter knew they should both leave.
They walked out together into the rain, side by side, but studiously not touching. Carter pulled up his coat collar and paused on the pavement. It was only a short stroll to the Tube station, but he didn’t want to leave Red with this mood over them. He felt strangely bereft. At what point had the evening gone so wrong? He was pretty sure he’d been the one to step out of place. How could he make amends?
In the end, it was Red who spoke first. “This hasn’t been much of an evenin’, has it? I didn’t mean to sound off like that.”
“You know how I know you’ve recovered?” Carter said gently. “Your drawl is back. You dropped it when I pissed you off.”
Red shrugged. There was bitterness in his tone. “Can’t keep a good clown down.” His mobile chirped a tune and he flipped it open to read a new text.
Carter glanced at Red’s face and saw that same drawn expression he’d seen all night, and even in the grainy newspaper photos. He took Red’s arm and pulled him back into shelter under the awning of the restaurant.
“Jim’s out and about tonight. A party with a new girlfriend.” Red’s gaze was fixed on the cars driving past through the puddles, their lights arcing off the standing water.
“Jim? Is that a new PA?”
Red nodded. “He’s offered to pick me up on his way home. I think that’s best.”
Sometimes after a meal Carter and he would go on for a drink at a club, or finish up at Marty’s, which stayed open late for friends. They usually had more to talk about: work, their mutual friends, Red’s amusing showbiz stories, his latest viewing of those outrageous movies. Tonight, Carter felt the tension between them and knew it wasn’t all of his making.
“Can we drop you off somewhere?” Red asked, politeness restored.
Carter turned to face him. “I’m fine.”
“I know that.”
Carter lifted a hand to Red’s cheek. There was the slightest hint of stubble on the skin. It was unlike Red to attend any event without being perfectly turned out. He must have come straight to the restaurant without any time to change or shave. Carter didn’t ever seek compliments, but he felt oddly flattered by that.
“Come and look around the center,” he said. It was empowering to say what he wanted for a change, rather than what he thought he should. He wondered sometimes who set those restrictions on him, if not himself. “See if it really is something you’d want to be involved with.”
“You mean that?”
“Like you, De Vere, I don’t make a habit of lying.”
“That’s great, I’ll do that. And soon.” Red chuckled, his first expression of genuine happiness all evening. It was enchanting.
Carter felt a sudden leap of excitement. Without stopping to investigate the feeling, he leaned forward a couple of inches and caught Red’s chuckle in his mouth, pressing his lips on Red’s. He tasted garlic, red wine, and stray raindrops. He thought he’d kissed Red before—maybe just a social kiss, on the cheek, or in the air in that ridiculous way Zeke kissed his sponsors?—but it was nothing like this. Nowhere near as rich, and sudden, and poignant as this.
Red tensed up, just for a second, then relaxed into the kiss. He didn’t grab at Carter, or tug him nearer. He just put his hand on Carter’s arm and held him. Carter felt the warmth from Red’s body through his coat, through his clothes, and through his own veins. It was heady. He’d often wondered what it’d be like to kiss Red De Vere: he was honest about that with himself. It was different from anything he’d imagined, and yet a hundred times better. Red’s mouth was tender, his hand firm but not possessive. Had Carter thought Red would throw him to the pavement and fuck him there and then? Red had never made any secret of wanting him. And there were all those mad stories in the glossy papers that played Red out to be a wild child, a sexual predator. But when Red slid his other hand behind Carter’s neck, it was a gentle touch, a guidance rather than a grab. He kissed Carter slowly, savoring him. Carter let his tongue dart into Red’s mouth, tasting him more. Craving him more.
“Maybe not such a bad evenin’ after all,” Red murmured against Carter’s cheek. His lips kissed the edge of Carter’s mouth. Carter could feel Red’s smile against the skin.
Carter gave a soft laugh. He felt extraordinarily light—relieved, even. He let his head rest against Red’s, their foreheads touching. A few stray raindrops pattered lightly on his neck. For a few moments, their breathing matched, the soft panting slowing to a steady warmth.
A car horn tooted from the curbside across from the restaurant.
“PA-Jim.” Red made the name sound like a curse. “Damn guy hasn’t been on time for an event since he started the job. Hell of a time to make up for it.”
Carter pulled back slowly and glanced over at the stationery car. He sighed. The hapless PA-Jim stared across the road from the driving seat of a hired Mercedes, his eyes wide in the expression of bemusement and nervousness that so many of Red’s PAs wore. His poor—or, in this case, perfect—timekeeping would probably lose him the gig now.
Beside him, Red pulled his collar up tighter around his neck, ready to dash across to the car. “And you don’t want us to take you anywhere?”
“No thanks. Go on, you’ll get soaked if you hang around any longer. I know I will.”
“You’ll call?”
Carter smiled at Red and wondered how often Red had been the one to say that. “Yes, of course. Now go!”
He watched Red run over to the car, raincoat flapping around his knees, his strides long and athletic. Jim popped open the passenger door for Red to climb in, then drove off. As they passed Carter, he could see Jim wincing at whatever Red was saying to him. Carter waited a moment before making his own run for the Tube station. He listened to the drum of rain on the restaurant awning and the swish of cars passing, careless of the chill and damp in the air. He lingered over the memory of Red’s hand on his arm, the touch of Red’s mouth on his.
You don’t want us to take you anywhere?
Carter couldn’t help but think that Red had already done that.