Fall Apart (11 page)

It was a junior varsity stunt.

Truth be told, he’d only met Pershall twice and they didn’t exactly speak. It was a handshake, head nod kind of thing. The first time, Pershall seemed star struck when Zane noticed him. The second time was after nearly a year had passed and suddenly, the guy was surrounded by an entourage that was so over the top Zane had laughed. Usually actors had their “handlers” and Zane was one who preferred a couple of very close advisors to a herd of kinsmen. They were
actors,
not goddamn feudal landowners. Pershall moved around like he was nobility.

Zane didn’t have a grudge against him, but if he kept popping up like this, getting in the way of his work, he’d whip one up quick.

His eyes flicked up to the TV screen, saw that it was one of the many sad parts of the movie, and then shifted to Mark. The spoon was halfway to the other man’s mouth and slowly began to lower back to the bowl at the same time that Mark’s eyes began to blink rapidly. Zane grinned and reached for the first script, a military/action flick entitled,
Unit, Corps, God, Country
. He was supposed to get a feel for the character of Captain Avery.

It was
meh
. The scenes were choppy and uncomfortable and he couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or due to a rush job. He read ten pages and tossed it aside, knowing it was more about abs, pecs, and arms than Unit, Corps, God, or Country.

The second script was a drama and Zane had heard that Sophia Kirkland accepted the starring female role. She was a lot of fun to work with, but he didn’t know if the job was for him. Her part was that of a well-bred politician’s wife who discovers a string of extra-marital affairs involving her husband. There was murder and mayhem and intrigue and evil political machinations, but it wasn’t ringing Zane’s bell. He set it aside with the first script. It was a no-go.

Zane let out a long exhale as he picked up the third entitled,
Nowhere, Idaho
, and for the first time in a long time, he couldn’t put a script down.

***

From a very young age, Alarik was taught at the school of his aunt and uncle’s supper table. Their home in London invited a near constant flow of guests, many of them dignitaries, and he became used to seeing important strangers across the table for breakfasts, luncheons, teas, and dinners. His aunt had made it a game for him to come out of his shell and interact with men and women that a child his age would normally have no purpose meeting. For the larger parties, he was to decide on a topic, run it by his aunt and uncle, and then pursue that subject with three different guests. When he climbed into bed afterwards, he reported on what he learned.

It was his aunt and uncle’s typical genius at work. Turning a shy child into a young man strong enough to form his own opinions and express them good-naturedly. They had three standards when it came to interacting with anyone: eye contact, attentiveness, and calm.

So far, Alarik was doing a bang-up job with searching for eye contact, and he was practically memorizing the words Damon was saying, but no matter his internal struggle, he wasn’t able to remain calm. He was hiding it as best he could, but he was shifty and on edge in a way completely unfamiliar to him. Reminding himself that Damon was just a man (For God’s sake!) was pointless.

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.

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.