IT WAS a quiet journey back in the car, though it was more comfortable than the tense silence on the morning trip. There’d been an accident around Regent’s Park and it took Red much longer than usual to drive through town. He found Carter’s small Audi light and easy to drive, and the fact it had less power than his own higher-spec model meant that he kept soberly within the speed restrictions. On the way, as Carter had suggested, they ordered Thai food from Carter’s local takeaway. Carter had the number on his phone and arranged it all shortly after they left the center. Which was lucky, because the next time Red turned his head to speak to him, he found Carter asleep. Red drove the rest of the way in silence. He didn’t like to disturb him.
Carter let them both into his flat, yawned, apologized absentmindedly, then yawned again. Red wasn’t sure if it had been a good idea to come back with him that evening. But was he really meant to resist the opportunity to have more private time with Carter? He took a firm grip on the bags of takeaway they’d collected at the restaurant down the street, and stepped inside at Carter’s heels.
“I’ll get plates,” Carter said.
“No problem, we can eat from the containers. Look, Carter, if you’d rather just wash up and call it a day—”
“I don’t want to call it a day.” Carter’s interruption had a hoarse thread to it. “I’m fine. I wanted you to come back with me, Red. For supper. For… company.” Carter smiled, but even that looked tired. “Not that I’ve been much company in return, have I? Snapping your head off at the center. Napping in the car.”
“You’re fine.”
“Yeah, right.” Carter grimaced. He seemed agitated. “Um… did I… was there any…. I mean, sometimes I talk in my sleep. Apparently.”
Red resisted the urge to ask who’d told him that, when had they told him, and why the hell were they in his bedroom? “No. You were snorin’ of course, but I just turned the radio up. That discordant, freaky jazz stuff you like is excellent for drownin’ growls.”
Carter snorted. “Charmed, I’m sure. I do feel odd tonight, though. Maybe it’s that flu virus going around.”
And maybe it’s your own stupid internal slave driver. But Red said nothing aloud. “I won’t stay long. We’re both tired.” I understand. Let me sympathize.
“Hell, it’s only a cold. I’m not the sort of person to claim man-flu, you know.”
“Implyin’ I am?”
This time, Carter’s laugh sounded more relaxed. “Red, I know I wasn’t exactly welcoming when you first turned up at the center. In fact, I was bloody rude. But I meant what I said tonight. I’m really grateful.”
“Grateful?” Had he sounded too eager? Carter looked uncomfortable, and paler than ever.
“For your help. The café sign, you know? And all the painting.”
“Yes, of course.” Well, if the most he could get was gratitude for his interior decoration skills, it was still something. “Settle yourself on the sofa. I’ll go and fetch chopsticks and a drink. I’m sure you trust me with your kitchen.” He carried the bags of food out of the living room and along the corridor to the kitchen, calling back over his shoulder as he went. “To be honest, it was good to work with my hands again. At the center, I mean. I did a season at one of our racecourses, several summers ago, which involved muckin’ in with all the odd jobs as well as muckin’ out the horses. But since then, Father’s kept me busy on office work.” He peered into the fridge and frowned. There were hardly any provisions in there apart from a box of eggs, a carton of milk, beer, and some hard cheese. Was Carter surviving on takeaways? He lifted out a couple of light beers, knowing that Carter often preferred that to wine. “I miss workin’ with the horses, I must say. I’d have been a great jockey—well, if I hadn’t got too damned tall and too damned heavy.” He laughed and pulled out the cutlery drawer, selecting two pairs of elegant chopsticks. Carter may not have had Red’s money or upbringing, but he had plenty of taste. “I’m hopin’ you’ll let me help out again at the center. There are plenty of things I can turn my hand to.” He tipped out the containers into bowls from the counter beside the sink, and arranged them on a tray. The sharp spiciness of green curry wafted into his nostrils. “Do you know, I think Father misses havin’ me around? He’s called me more times in the last week than he ever did when I was workin’ for him. Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t have anyone in that management team who has the balls to argue with him. The man needs challengin’. Methinks that’s where I got it from, eh?” He turned around in the kitchen, re-familiarizing himself with where the glassware was. “I’d like to talk about a few plans I have for the center. If you don’t have time tonight, we could go for coffee tomorrow. A drink. Whatever. We haven’t been out for dinner for weeks. What do you think?” Say yes. Say yes, you’ll go out with me again, just like a date, just like that wet night, sheltering under a restaurant awning, and a sweet, shocking kiss….
About then, he realized Carter wasn’t answering. In fact, he couldn’t hear him moving about at all. Red turned abruptly, a premonition nagging at the corner of his mind. “Carter?” He heard a soft thump from inside the lounge. “Carter?” The premonition threatened to evolve into full-blown panic, and Red ran back into the room.
There was still no answer from Carter, but now Red could see why. Carter was lying on the carpet in front of the sofa, facedown. He was totally still. He’d fallen awkwardly, his arm twisted underneath his torso, emphasizing the fact he hadn’t gone deliberately to the floor.
Of course he hasn’t! He’d passed out. Too many long nights, stupid eating habits, hassle with those bloody kids, and now he, Red, was adding to the stress. Red didn’t know whether to be angry, horrified, or sad. He dropped to his knees beside Carter and lifted him gently into his arms. Carter’s face was very white, his eyelids a dark, bruised color. Red held him for a moment against his chest, listening to his breathing. Carter’s heartbeat was faster than the usual beat, but his breathing was steady. His eyelids were flickering too, as if consciousness wasn’t far away. Red thought he should probably call a doctor, but it didn’t look as if Carter was in any immediate danger.
Carter’s eyes opened a fraction, but Red could see his gaze was unfocused. “Red? Shit, I….” He slumped against Red again, as if the mere act of speaking was too much to bother with.
“Come on, man,” Red said, softly. “You need rest.” Slowly, he took a proper grip and lifted them both to standing. Carter moaned. “Yeah,” Red said in a soothing voice. Whatever, as the young people would say. With a fair amount of awkward shuffling from them both, he supported Carter along to the bedroom. Not that he’d ever been in Carter’s bedroom, but he knew his way around the flat. He’d been here a few times before with Miles, along with Zeke who often stayed over at Carter’s, especially when Miles was away, and Zeke and Carter were in the middle of a reminiscence session. Carter was a brother to Zeke in all but name—and, in Red’s opinion, a damn sight better one than Jacky Roswell had ever been.
The room was cool, but not uncomfortably so, and Red had time to approve of Carter’s style. Good quality carpet underfoot, bold but single-color bedding, and walls painted in a neutral shade. No items of clothing thrown over the chair in the corner, no drawers left half open, no shoes tumbled on the floor inside the doorway. Red made a mental note to clear his own bedroom when he got home to his flat. There were no pictures or ornaments on the wall, apart from a small sketch portrait that hung over the head of the bed. Red knew that was one of Jacky Roswell’s famous sketches. It matched in style the set of six that now hung in Zeke’s gallery in a private room, and which had once been the subject of major theft, blackmail, and tragedy. Red knew Jacky had done this particular sketch when he and Carter were lovers. Carter had always treasured it. Red bit back the taste of jealousy in his mouth and helped Carter stumble to the bed. He pulled back the quilt and watched the other man lie down.
Carter leaned his head back on the pillow and yawned. His eyes opened and he smiled at Red. Even though it was a rather aimless, bemused smile, Red felt a flush of relief. The status had moved from fainting to sleeping, and he felt more able to handle this. “Carter?” He kept his voice low. “What can I get you?”
Carter smiled sleepily. “Tea, please,” he said calmly, as if he were back in the center again. “No milk. Half spoon sugar.”
Red almost ran down the hallway back to the kitchen. He made a mug of tea in a ridiculously short time, ignored Carter’s instructions and added four spoonfuls of sugar—he’d remembered all those programs where people needed hot sweet tea to recover—and then rushed it back to the bedroom. To his relief, Carter was still calm and propped up against a pillow. Red put the mug carefully into Carter’s hands and watched him blow on the surface, then drink it down. Dammit, he had an overwhelming urge to feed it to him, spoonful by spoonful.
“Cute,” Carter said. His voice was slurred as if he’d been drinking alcohol, but he was still smiling.
“What is? The tea?” Was he hallucinating?
Carter chuckled. “The nurse,” he said and winked at Red. But before Red could ask how many fingers he was holding up, to check Carter’s sanity, Carter handed him back the almost-empty mug, slipped down in the bed, and rolled over onto his side. One more loud yawn and his breathing settled to a normal sleep pattern.
Red watched the dozing man for a while. Carter’s face had regained some color, and he seemed to be relaxed and comfortable. But he was still fully clothed. As gently as he could, Red eased off Carter’s boots and socks, then pushed the covers far enough back to pull down his jeans. His fingers grazed against Carter’s hip as he tugged the denim down the other man’s legs. Lying on the mattress in his boxers, Carter didn’t stir, but Red let a slow, guilty shudder ripple through him. He wondered if this was the nearest he’d ever get to intimacy with Carter Davison—when the guy was asleep and unknowing. This had to be what it felt like to be a voyeur. He took Carter’s shirt off, rolling him gently to one side then the other, peeling down the sleeves very carefully. Carter wore a T-shirt underneath, so Red guessed he’d be warm enough for a while.
When Carter shifted onto his back and grunted in his sleep, Red drew back. There was a small bump under the thin fabric of the T-shirt, just around where Carter’s right nipple would be. Had something slipped down there when Carter collapsed? But there wasn’t anything in the pocket of the shirt, and Red had never seen Carter wear any jewelry around his neck. Red didn’t want to go probing around in case Carter woke up and caught him in the act or, God forbid, his hands weren’t able to stop themselves, and continued on down Carter’s chest, over the planes of his torso, stroking skin and hair, reaching to touch and caress and bring pleasure to them both—
Carter grunted again, and Red snatched his hand back as if he’d been caught by the Grope Police. But as he did, his knuckles brushed the bump and felt the shape of thin, hard metal against the nub of Carter’s nipple. Red’s cock hardened painfully against the front of his jeans, an instant before his mind worked out what it was.
A nipple ring?
He nearly came on the spot.
“MOTHER?”
Ellen De Vere clutched the phone to her ear more tightly. “Red? Is that you?” She glanced at the clock beside her bed. She’d been on a shoot in New York the previous week, and was still getting used to the time zone changes after coming home. But 1:00 a.m. was unmistakable. “What’s up, hon?”
“Can’t I just call up my mother to talk?”
“At 1:00 a.m.?” Ellen made a very unladylike snorting sound, and heard her son chuckle on the other end of the line.
“Okay, I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized the time. Did I wake you?”
“It’s okay. I’m awake now, like you.” Ellen pulled herself to sitting. Alexander was lying beside her but it took a lot to wake him once he was deep asleep. Even so, she kept her voice low. “Are you at home?”
Her son paused on the other end of the line. She could hear his heavy breathing. “No. Not my home.”
Ellen drew a deep breath. “Darlin’, I’m not in the mood to chat while you’re lyin’ in some young man’s bed—”
“I’m not. Mother, please. I didn’t mean…. I’m at a friend’s. He’s not well, so I helped him to bed. I’m just sitting on his sofa at the moment while he sleeps.”
Another pause. Ellen’s curiosity was piqued. She knew most of Red’s closest friends, including Miles and Zeke. And she also knew her son well enough to know who else he cared for, even if he didn’t admit a name to her. “Can you call anyone for him? Someone to help out?”
“No. I mean yes, I probably could. There’s no family, but he has friends….”
Ellen waited out another pause, then said softly, “Like you.”
Red let out a breath, as if in relief. “Yes. That’s why I’m staying here.”
Ellen of course knew that Red usually spoke in unconscious mimicry of her own Texan drawl, though hers had been Anglicized over the years in this country. But now he’d dropped it altogether. He sounded young, like when he was a boy, on his way to boarding school at the beginning of a new term.
“Do you want me to come over, hon?”
“Goodness, no.” Red chuckled. “Not that I don’t love your company. But I’m fine on my own. I’ll just wait until I know he’s sleeping normally, that it’s nothing more serious than overwork and stress.”
Ellen nodded, though of course Red couldn’t see her. “You’re a carin’ soul, Red. I know you like to play the fool, but you won’t hide that from me. People may think you enjoy bouncin’ from bed to bed—”
“Mother.” Red groaned.
“But I know you’ve been sleepin’ alone recently.” Red’s intake of breath was all she heard. “No, you may not know how I know. Call it my intuition.”
“You’re a witch,” Red said, but there was only fondness in his voice.
“Son, sex is not always a hunt. You don’t have to be either fox or hounds. Not that Alex and I have any truck with that kind of sport, but it’s an analogy. You Brits are so fond of them.”
“Aren’t we just?”
“Take your time, Red, to decide what you want. The bed-hoppin’ is fun, but it’s a distraction. I’ve been hopin’ you’d tell me you’ve finally realized that for yourself.”
“It’s nothing, really. I just haven’t had the appetite for dating. It’s nothing more than that. A break, that’s all.” He made a tutting sound. “I’m not exactly comfortable, talking about this with you, Mother.”
Ellen smiled to herself. “You’re decidin’ what you want, and that’s fine with me. I won’t ask anythin’ more. You come and tell me what’s happenin’ when you want.”
Red sighed softly over the line.
Ellen snuggled back down in her bed. “You need to talk some more?”
“No.” Red chuckled again, softly. “Thanks, Mother.”
“Look after Carter,” she said. “If you care that much, he deserves it.” As she disconnected the call, she was sure she heard another laughing “Witch!” from Red.
CARTER stirred and rolled onto his side in the bed. His eyes opened and he took a deep breath. For a brief moment, he couldn’t recall where he was. Then he saw the familiar walls of his own bedroom. He was aware immediately and instinctively of two things. One, that he hadn’t suffered a nightmare. Nowadays, he knew the minute he woke up how bad his night had been from the ache in his limbs, and the tightness of his cheeks from where he’d been in tears. And two, something was out of kilter. It was still dark and it didn’t feel like the right time to be waking from a night’s sleep. And yet he felt refreshed enough to get up. He peered at the clock but didn’t believe what he saw. It couldn’t be 2:00 a.m. It couldn’t. Could it?
There was a sudden rustling noise from outside the room. Was someone there? Unexpected visitors in his flat were getting to be a habit. There was an indefinable scent in the air, like a man’s cologne. It wasn’t Zeke’s; Zeke usually smelled more of turps and paint than cologne. God. Had he brought someone home? For some reason, he didn’t panic, just slid over to the side of the bed, climbed out, and padded along the corridor to the living room. He paused at the open doorway. “What the hell?”
Red started and a flurry of papers slid off his knees onto the floor. He swiveled around to look over the back of the sofa, his eyes wide and blinking hard behind a pair of stylish horn-rimmed glasses. “Carter? Is that you?”
Red! It was only Red. Well, maybe not only. Carter ignored his immediate reaction, which wasn’t so much relief as a bewildering excitement. “Um… yes. I live here, you see.” He peered in the dim light of the table lamp, trying to see Red more clearly. “Unlike you. Not that I’m being inhospitable or anything, Red, but why are you still here? It’s nearly 2:00 a.m.”
“Is it?” Red sounded distracted.
“Will you tell me what’s going on?”
Red gathered up the papers he’d dropped, tapped them together, and placed them on the side table. “I had a few ideas for the center, so I pilfered some sheets of waste paper from your recycling box and thought I’d jot things down while I had a quiet moment.”
“Not that.” Carter sighed. “Why you’re here, not what you’re doing.”
“Lookin’ after you,” Red said simply.
Carter blinked hard. He moved into the room, but it wasn’t until he reached the sofa that he realized he was dressed only in boxers and his T-shirt. He stared down at himself. “Did you undress me?”
Red gave a rueful smile and pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “You collapsed, remember? Well, maybe you don’t. But you were facedown on the floor in front of this sofa, which looked damned near a collapse to me. I thought the best thing was to get you to bed. I just steered you into the bedroom.”
“And undressed me.” Carter rolled his eyes. There was a light flush on Red’s cheeks. Was that warmth or embarrassment?
“Your virtue’s safe with me.” Red turned on his worst Cockney impression. “I never touched ’im, your ’onor.” He scooted across on the sofa and gestured for Carter to join him. “Is that disappointment I see in your expression?”
“Don’t be an arse,” Carter said. As he sat down, not quite meeting Red’s eyes, he saw a rolled up, woolen cloth on the arm of the sofa. He recognized it as the throw from over the back of his armchair. Had Red De Vere been napping on his, Carter Davison’s, sofa? Wonders would never cease. Then his stomach rumbled. “Oh God. The food! We brought back food, didn’t we?”
Red laughed. “Boxed up and in the fridge. It’ll do you for the rest of the weekend.”
“But you must be hungry—”
“I’m fine,” Red said firmly. “I’ve had plenty of coffee. It won’t do me any harm to miss a meal. I could do with losin’ a pound or two.” He patted his belly, which of course drew Carter’s gaze irresistibly down. Red’s belly looked very tight, with barely an ounce of spare fat.
“I didn’t really collapse. Did I?”
“You’ve been overdoin’ it. Don’t deny it. You’ve been keepin’ Pam and the others at bay, but I knew things were bad when we came back tonight.” Red winced and corrected, “Last night, that is. I could see it in your face.”
Carter opened his mouth to protest, but he just felt too relaxed to argue. Besides, Red was right and Carter realized he didn’t want to fight with Red. Not at the moment.
“So how do you feel?”
Carter shrugged and settled back into the sofa cushions. “Pretty good, really. It feels like I had a good, deep sleep. Almost as if I’d been drugged.”
“Not guilty. It was just hot, sweet tea. But do you want something to eat now? Not the takeaway, which will need careful reheatin’. I could make you scrambled eggs, or an omelet.”
Carter stared at him.
Red looked aggrieved. “Well, I can’t believe you’ve missed the fact you don’t have any damned ingredients in your fridge, and my culinary skills aren’t the most inspirin’ at the best of times—”
Carter held up his hand. “Please, no. I’m not hungry. I’m fine. I’m just marveling at the new model Red De Vere.”
“The—?”
“The nursing model,” Carter said. He softened his voice, hoping Red wouldn’t be offended. But he couldn’t help smiling.
Red flushed but smiled back. “It looks like we’ve both been under some stress. We should compare worry lines sometime.”
Carter frowned, alerted by the harsh tone of his voice. “Are you still being hounded by the press?”
“Not so much since I took myself out of city life. Some boy band or other just split up, so there’s been plenty of other celebrity gossip to keep ’em amused.”
That was how he saw himself, Carter thought. As entertainment. What must it be like to be a celebrity? What kind of horror, to have people camped on your doorstep, watching what you did and with whom, just waiting for you to mess up so they could report it gleefully to the world?
“Anyway,” Red continued, “this isn’t about me.”
“I’ve just been eager to get things done. I may have overestimated my energy levels.”
“And taken it out on anyone tryin’ to help you.”
Carter felt misery roll in the pit of his stomach. “Shit. Have I been that testy?”
“Yes, you have. But I’m sure everyone will forgive you, so long as you change your tryin’ ways.” Red smiled tiredly and ran a hand over his face. “It’s still early to be gettin’ up. Do you want to sleep some more? I can leave, or….” His face looked strained. “Or I can stay a while.”
Carter hesitated for only a couple of seconds. It gave him a strange but pleasant feeling to have Red curled up on his sofa. To get out of bed and see him there. No demands, no forced interaction, just… greeting him. Carter couldn’t remember the last time he had a relationship with a guy that didn’t bring its own load of tension. Or had that only been Jacky? It was so difficult to think of life before Jacky. And now, he was beginning to realize fully, it was proving equally hard to build a life after him.
But Red? Red was fun and witty and civil and bloody good company. And he wanted to help. He wanted to be here. Not just because he wanted Carter sexually—Carter wasn’t blind to that, and Red had never made a secret of it—but as a friend too. It had been good to work with Red at the center, both of them out of their usual element, doing the same work, aiming for the same goal. And how had Carter expressed that? Repaid that? With irritation and withdrawal.
That kiss outside the restaurant, last month…. Carter felt his nerves tingle as he remembered that. And where it might have gone, if PA-Jim hadn’t arrived to pick up Red. With irritation and withdrawal. It was the complete opposite of what Carter really wanted, wasn’t it? His limbs felt soft now, his nerves still pleasantly befuddled from the sleep. And for a brutally honest second, he let go of the control over his emotions and allowed them their head.
Red looked at him across the seat of the sofa, those daft glasses on the end of his nose, the blond hair messy, the eyes tired but bright with concern.
You have to do something, Zeke had said. To change things. To move on. Had Carter reminded himself recently how gorgeous Red was? Only every bloody time they met. It wasn’t as if Carter hadn’t always known that: hadn’t been drawn to Red De Vere since the day he met him, even if Red had seemed an arrogant, promiscuous prick at the time. Carter had decided sensibly that he wouldn’t be acting on that attraction: they weren’t each other’s type. But since then, of course, Red had proved himself a good friend, charming companion, and with far deeper and more compassionate intelligence than he showed in public. And most of the resistance to getting closer had come from Carter himself—his own inhibitions, his misguided caution, his clinging to the past. And where had that got him? Arguing with Zeke, his best friend. Confusion and cruelty toward Red, a man he might have feelings for. Sleepless nights, ghastly nightmares. Facedown on the carpet, Red had said. How humiliating.
“Stay,” he said quickly. “Please. Just until I go back to bed.”