Fall Apart Page 9

  Outside the store, before they’d squeezed into Alarik’s rental car, he’d been a breath away from a display of affection that would’ve alarmed those nearby at the least and at most scandalized them. It was the fresh, never seen before appeal in the other man’s expression—his features didn’t hide his thoughts and Alarik ached with the power of being wanted and wanting back.

  Attraction, it would seem, was not going to be an issue. Taking a full breath, however, was.

  Damon had chosen a small restaurant, off the beaten path, and they were seated at a table for two in a secluded corner; the best seats in the house when competing with a crowd of churchies just released from Sunday morning service. Across from him, Damon was glancing out the window, his forearms braced on the table and his fingers intertwined. The hair on his arms was light and the musculature beneath the skin, even when relaxed, was the cause of infinite pleasure on Alarik’s part.

  “Looking at you puts me in mind of one of those fellows you might see in Outside magazine,” Alarik said, waiting for Damon’s gaze to travel from the view to him. “I can just see you doing dare devilish things in dangerous locations.”

  “Outside magazine, huh?”

  “Definitely. Ratty green cargo shorts, frayed at the hem, a harness with carabiners and rope, climbing shoes, bandanna… And, of course, you’d be in search of your shirt that I’d hidden far above you on the mountain top.”

  Damon laughed, running his hand through his hair sheepishly. “I assume that the waistband of my underwear would also be showing?”

  “Are you out of your mind? There’s no room in the budget for frivolities like ‘underwear.’ I can already see you’d be impossible to work with, making demands like that.”

  The grin on Damon’s face was catching and Alarik decided he wanted to steal this man away and hide him from everyone else in the world. He’d keep him trapped on an island without access to shirts of any kind. There would be afternoon activities involving flexing of various muscle groups. Maybe Zane would give him a loan so he could buy an island.

  “Anyone ever tell you how they’d photograph you?” Damon asked, his head tilted thoughtfully as he looked over Alarik’s features.

  “With the number of models I’ve infuriated over the years, they’d probably tell you that I’d look best hanging from a tree branch by the neck.”

  Damon made a noise of disagreement. “I can see you in a lot of different settings, but my first choice would be black and white. You’d wear a suit with the shirt collar open, leaning against a really sexy car. An old Austin Heely 3000, maybe. The second choice is simpler: the swim shorts from the first Bond movie with Daniel Craig.”

  Alarik gagged. “My skin is paler than women of the Victorian Age. You’d regret that decision immediately.”

  “Says you.”

  “Yes! Says me. Emphatically.”

  Damon acted as if he was about to respond, but changed his mind at the last second. His gaze flashed around the restaurant and back to his hands on the tabletop.

  “Tell me what it is you’re thinking,” Alarik demanded softly. The breathlessness was wearing off, and he was on surer footing. Calm. You are equal to this.

  “Why did Mandy never bring up your name until now?”

  Alarik leaned an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand, taking a moment to think that over. Damon was right; it didn’t suit her usual behavior. She meddled out of love. Always. It was possible she didn’t want to assume that because she had two gay friends, they had to meet and begin dating immediately.

  “She waited until just recently to tell me about you, as well. I think she believes I’m enchanted with my life as it stands. She’s always had trouble seeing past what she thinks of as my ‘exotic, nomadic lifestyle.’”

  Damon straightened. “She talks about you like the photography is the only thing that matters to you.”

  Alarik gave a humorless chuckle. “For my entire adult life I’ve lived for the photography. In my really artistically depressed, self-indulgent moments, I consider it the only thing that’s truly mine.” He pulled a mock sad face that made Damon’s lips lift. “Such bullshit, I know. Poor me. Beautiful locations. People. Events. Boo hoo. It’s…It’s just that as much as part of me is a nomad, there is an equally large part that wants home. Stability. Warmth. The familiar. That part is growing louder all the time.” Realizing he was exposing himself with such an obviously personal tone, he sighed and finished apologetically. “No job is purely glamorous, is it?”

  “No. I know what you mean, though,” Damon replied. “I love my job, but I’d probably love it a lot more if I didn’t work with every single person in my family all the time. I go out a lot—hiking, testing merchandise before we ever put it on the shelves. Dad can’t do it. Jess, my sister, has Davey and isn’t really an ‘outdoors’ type, and mom is busy trying to make sure all of us don’t kill one another, so I take advantage and hit the dirt roads…”

  Alarik loved hearing Damon talk. The longer he spoke, the more comfortable he sounded and it didn’t feel so much like a date.

  “I take my camera everywhere, it’s almost always on me, so I can find that perfect shot—the light, the tone, the subject. I might’ve taken a few of you that fit the description.”

  “You took pics of me? Aside from that running one you wanted?” Damon’s face lit in surprise.

  “Yes. I’m going to lure you in with promises of seeing them.”

  A doubtful expression was Damon’s only response. Alarik hated when he looked away. He wanted those eyes open and on him. He wanted that focused attention.

  “Damon,” he murmured. “I’m only teasing.”

  “I know. You didn’t scare me.” Damon answered uncertainly, his blue eyes shadowed by hair that was falling over his brow. “I was just wondering at your confidence. The way you carry yourself and say whatever’s on your mind. I’m not used to it. You act like taking a drive to ask someone out is an easy way to spend a Sunday afternoon.”

  Alarik wanted to swipe that lock of hair out of the way and lift Damon’s chin with his fingers. He wanted to kiss those teasing freckles and rub his thumb over the lush mouth on display in front of him.

  “If you only knew! I’m wretchedly insecure in ways that might surprise you. Confidence is learned. I learned to pursue what I want a long time ago. Right now, I want to get to know you. I want your attention. I thought of you before I fell asleep last night. I woke up this morning and seeing you was on my mind. I know there’s risk in honesty like this. I could go too far, scare you away, but there’s also a thrill in not wasting time on games.” Alarik reached out a hand and clasped it around Damon’s wrist, gripping it tightly. “You seem to me like a man who hasn’t the time for the coy back and forth of does he, doesn’t he, will we, won’t we… At any rate, I no longer have the time for it.”

  Alarik looked up from where his fingers were wrapped around the warmth of Damon’s skin and tightened his hold until he knew the other man’s attention was entirely focused on him.

  “Now, tell me,” he commanded, “Have I been too bold?”

  Damon was watching him with wide eyes that seemed to be asking if this was for real and Alarik drew a breath that he knew would sound erotic were they alone together.

  “So silent,” he murmured. “I’m afraid you leave me no choice, Mr. Wright.”

  He tugged on Damon’s wrist, pulling them close over the tabletop, and he kissed him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Damon’s eyes closed, then popped back open as Alarik’s warm lips brushed over his and drew back. It was over in half a breath. The hold on his wrist loosened and Alarik eased back into his seat, letting his fingertips brush over the back of Damon’s hands as he pulled completely away. His grey eyes were silver-white in the light slicing through the window and his usual look of mischief was absent. In its place there was only intensity of purpose.

  Damon swallowed and touched his fingers to his lips. That was a moment’s taste�
�not enough to satisfy the curiosity that had been building since last night. This was so totally unexpected. It was supposed to be a wedding and a reception weekend with his sole concern making sure Luke didn’t keel over. Instead, Damon was on a sexy, emotional roller coaster ride. In twenty-four hours time he’d experienced the out of nowhere memories of an ugly breakup with Kenny, Andrew’s fourth attempt to scramble his brain, and the sudden, steady advance of a desirable man who was clearly the mild alter-ego of a superhero.

  Alarik continued in silent watchfulness, waiting for Damon’s reaction, but beyond reliving it all over again, Damon had nothing to offer. Wouldn’t it be inappropriate to crawl over the tabletop, scattering drinks, ketchup, and mustard in his wake, to…what? Beg for more? Scare the little kids at the next table with some seriously adult content?

  Alarik cocked his eyebrow and it was amazing how such a small movement could carry such power. Damon felt himself wanting to be obedient to the unspoken demand while the truant part of him recoiled at this unexpected reaction.

  “We should probably do that again sometime…” he said, voice husky. Like right now. On the table. In your car. In a bathroom stall. A goddamn alpaca farm. Fucking anywhere!

  Alarik eased one arm up onto his seat back, amused. “You only say that because I’m playing hard to get.”

  A thought occurred to Damon and he blurted it before he could package it into a cue that actually fit the conversation. Although, he didn’t particularly trust himself to continue a discussion about kissing without needing the server to come by and dump ice over his head every so often.

  “You said you have an open schedule for a while. How open?”

  “Very,” Alarik said crisply, the sound of victory in a single word.

  “Meet me at the store tomorrow morning. Eight thirty.”

  “What do I get in exchange?”

  Damon shook his head. “Tomorrow is payback for that kiss. Wear comfortable shoes.”

  Alarik moaned playfully. “Comfortable shoes? That doesn’t sound very stimulating.”

  “Wait until you hear the part about sunscreen and bug spray.”

  Another long pause greeted him and Damon took note of the calculated way that Alarik watched him. It made him wonder if any amount of posturing and planning on his side would ever out-scheme his lunch date.

  The lunch they ordered finally arrived and as Alarik shook out his napkin, he gave a single nod. “Eight thirty. Comfortable shoes.”

  Damon held out his hand and they shook on it.

  Deal.

  The conversation took a neutral turn and Damon didn’t have to try so hard to be coherent. Alarik was a great conversationalist, but the languid appeal inherent in his gestures and expressions was very distracting. He looked as though he’d be equally comfortable on the verandah of a mansion, or in a business conference room, as he was at this hole-in-the-wall café.

  It was no wonder. He’d apparently grown up in London, raised by his aunt and uncle. Mandy had gotten it wrong about the uncle being a diplomat, though he did work for the Finnish Embassy. She’d never mentioned in her Alarik Elo For Dummies lecture series that he wasn’t actually English. He was born in Helsinki to Finnish parents and raised in London. There wasn’t any direct mention of what had happened to his folks, but Damon got the idea that they were still around and not at all a part of Alarik’s life. The other man spoke of his aunt and uncle as though they were all the parents he’d ever needed.

  Damon tried to imagine a world without his mom and dad, growing up in the shadow of dignitaries, emissaries and VIPs. He didn’t think he’d hold up too well at their dinner table under what had to be pretty strong scrutiny. He was a kid from Ventura; his world was valuable, but limited in scope, and Alarik’s upbringing was completely opposite his own.

  It was difficult not to weigh himself in comparison.

  However, the moment those thoughts entered his head, he shoved them out. The only thing he’d trade about his childhood was his dad’s poor health. He’d make his father healthy, able to do everything with his kids that he wanted to do. That’s all. Damon’s life was rich with friendships and it was rooted. There was nothing wrong with that. It was simply different.

  Damon was still a man of means, even if he wasn’t a man of money.

  Alarik came across as a hard worker with more than the usual hard working man’s need to get what he wanted. He had a spark. He didn’t brag; he was compellingly earnest. Relentless. Passionate.

  Damon wanted him more than he’d wanted anyone in a long time.

  ***

  His mom’s call to duty was waiting to be carried out so Damon had Alarik drop him off at his truck. They didn’t kiss again, but there was this moment as he reached to open the car door that Alarik leaned in close. He breathed in through his nose as he inched nearer and when his mouth was hovering over Damon’s ear, he chuckled. Goosebumps shot up like rockets over his entire left side and his dick slid onto center stage with top hat and cane, ready to fucking dance.

  “Until next time, Mr. Wright,” he said in a velvety soft whisper.

  Damon swallowed and half-fell, half-climbed from the car. He wasn’t as good at this as Alarik. His brain was shooting out electrical pulses so quickly that he felt like a live wire near rushing water. He waved weakly as he got behind the wheel of his truck and watched Alarik’s car leave the lot. All the extra energy thrumming through him made him itch. The uneasiness that always came knocking when eligible men appeared was easier to dismiss when Alarik was beside him or across from him, weaving whatever magic it was that he weaved. When he left, Damon didn’t enjoy the sensation of shakiness—fragility—that his departure caused. He’d been alone a long time and this needy response to a man was foreign and unforgiving. It lashed whip-like against him, angering him…weakening him.

  No one he’d ever known had this effect on him. Damon wasn’t even aware he could feel this way until now.

  He drove to his parent’s after texting Todd and demanding his presence for dinner. It was a veiled plea for the familiar and for the steadiness he currently lacked. He tried to pretend it wasn’t about that, making excuses that Jess could use a distraction and she hated Todd almost as much as he hated her. The two of them were unable to find a redeeming quality in one another going on twenty years now. In the end, though, Damon knew as much as having Todd around would keep everyone occupied, it was also to save himself from drowning.

  Davey crowed his name as the truck came to a stop. He was playing tee-ball in the way of four year olds everywhere. Very poorly.

  Damon slammed the driver’s door and jogged across the lawn to pull his nephew into a hug. Those little arms around his neck and the excited wriggling grounded him and he set Davey back down with a contented sigh.

  “Come play,” Davey demanded, gesturing wildly with his plastic bat.

  Damon gave him a push toward the tee. “Gimme a minute to talk to your Grampa.”

  Leo Wright was doing the one-eyed sneak nap in a chair on the front porch. His color was good today, Damon noted with relief. Instead of wearing the battery pack for the device that helped pump blood through his heart, the LVAD, he’d set it on the table beside his chair. He seemed comfortable where he was, his hands resting gently in his lap.

  At the sound of Damon’s foot on the bottom step, his eyes blinked open and he grinned at his son.

  “Hey, Pops,” Damon reached out and grasped his dad’s knee for a second.

  Leo took a look at him and then he took a second, closer look. “What’s with you?”

  “What?”

  “You high?”

  “What?” Damon almost screeched, his skin going tight.

  “Your eyes look wild. Shifty.”

  Damon sat in the chair across from his dad and kicked his feet out in front of him, indulging in a stretch. “That’s the giveaway for drug use, is it?”

  “That’s what they say on all those legal shows.”

  “I’m not high,” he mutte
red, shooting a quick glance through the porch railings to see Davey knocking over the tee again.

  “I hear things about you.”

  Damon lifted a hand to hide the smile that flew to his lips. His dad had been watching The Godfather again. He’d “heard things.” That meant that ma closed up shop and dropped the British Invasion bomb. He wondered if she still thought the accent was great, or if her generally suspicious nature had ended that momentary weakness.

  “She actually said something nice about this one, but she said it in a mean way,” Leo whispered, looking over his shoulder to make sure his wife wasn’t going to jump out from behind a potted plant and smite him.

  “Oh, well, if she said it in a mean way, the world hasn’t tipped off its axis.”

  “She said he has the look of royalty, or a cologne advertisement, but he probably knows it and because of that he’s more likely to be a little shit.”

  Damon groaned at the same time that Davey loudly whined his name. “Mom knows how to cover her bases. She’s right about two of those four things, if it makes you feel better knowing.”

  His dad’s eyes lost the glimmer of amusement and he carefully adjusted the way he was sitting. Damon knew something big was coming because, like his mom, his dad didn’t typically delve into the very personal areas of his son’s love life. His support was complete and enduring, but he didn’t think it was his place to go digging for details.

  Not that he really wants to dig, Damon thought.

  “Davey, you wait patiently for your uncle!” Leo scolded his grandson with a barely raised voice. Davey went into full pout mode, but he was quiet about it. “What’s this young man’s name from today?”

  Damon’s throat tightened as an image of Alarik’s face took over his mind. He had to clear his throat twice in order to speak. “His name’s Alarik.”

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  The memory of that heated moment in the car and Alarik’s whispered words made him flush. He made a noise that was supposed to be a “yes.”