Worth Keeping (4 page)

He moved toward the door and Nick stood, paralysed. “Owen, you have no bloody shoes on, at least let me find you some to wear—”

Owen waved a hand. “I’ll be fine barefoot. See you around, Nick.” Owen opened the door, walking out into the front garden.

Socks chattered frantically, jumping onto Nick’s shoulder, grasping strands of his hair in his little fists and pulling fiercely.

“Ouch, Socks, enough already.” Nick’s eyes watered from the hair-pulling; at least that’s what he told himself. With a sudden screech, Socks catapulted off Nick and went scarpering out the door. Nick moved after him. The monkey was pretty outdoor-savvy but Nick worried one day he’d disappear over the cliff in a fit of exuberance, or be taken by one of the hawks that sailed above with regular abandon. He found his monkey perched on Owen’s shoulder, paws twisted in his black hair.

Owen shrugged apologetically. “He won’t let go and I didn’t fancy chunks of my hair going missing pulling him off. Can you call him off?”

The sea breeze blew through Owen’s hair, lifting strands, causing them to flutter like thin, ink-black streamers. Seagulls screeched above and the spray from the sea hazed the air. Owen’s eyes were red rimmed and Nick wondered whether he’d been crying. A surge of protectiveness infused his body and he cursed himself.

You shouldn’t be getting involved, Nicholas Mathers. You’re a complete fuckup and he’s not much better. Stay away from this one. He’ll break your bloody heart. And he won’t want your damaged goods.

But Nick ignored every warning his head was giving him as he reached out, plucking his pet from Owen’s shoulder. Socks relinquished his hold on the hair he held and came willingly into his arms.

Owen looked amazed. “That was easy. He’s pretty obedient isn’t he? You’ve trained him well.” There was a note of wistfulness in his voice. “Right, I’m off. Thanks for rescuing me from the crazy monkey again.” He turned to go and Nick grabbed his arm. Owen winced.

Nick’s face fell as he realised he’d grabbed Owen’s injured arm and he let go swiftly. “Christ, sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m a bloody klutz.”

Owen shook his head. “It’s okay.” He stood uncertainly. “Did I forget something?”

Nick blew out a breath. “No. But I can’t in all honesty let you go.” Owen frowned and Nick hastened to qualify his statement. “You need some space, that’s obvious. But I’d rather you stay here in the spare room where I can keep an eye on you then let you go into town and do God knows what to yourself.”

A faint glimmer of hope sparked in the other man’s eyes. “You want me to stay here, with you?” Owen’s body stilled. Socks chirped quietly.

Nick nodded. “At least until you get yourself back on your feet and decide where you’re going. You washed up on my island. It’s only right I get to take care of you for a while. It’s a fisherman’s responsibility to look after the catch of the day. And you have no bloody shoes on either. What kind of an impression are you going to make asking for a room at Rose’s B and B?”

“I got the
impression
you wanted rid of me as soon as possible.” Owen wasn’t making this easy for him. His chin tilted up stubbornly and Nick sighed in exasperation.

The man might be older than him but he was acting like a teenage brat.

“I know what I said. I’m a grumpy arsehole early in the morning. Now do you want to stay here for a while or not?”

“Does that offer work both ways?” Owen leaned over, tucking a strand of wayward hair behind Nick’s ear. Nick drew a deep breath. Even that slight touch made his pulse race.

“What do you mean?” Nick asked. “Which offer?”

“You want me to stay here so you can keep an eye on me, stop me doing something stupid. Do I get the same courtesy? Are you going to stand on that cliff again anytime soon?”

Nick swallowed and felt an ache in his chest that hadn’t been there before he’d met this irritating man. It radiated through his heart and his stomach and turned his brain to mush like a chemical toxin.

Owen waited expectantly. “Because if it doesn’t then no thanks. I’d rather not watch someone else destroy himself. It’s tough enough managing my own self-destructive tendencies.”

“I won’t be jumping off the fucking cliff,” Nick growled. “God, you are one cheeky son of a bitch. I wouldn’t be any good looking out for you if I was dead, would I?”

Owen smiled faintly. “That’s the way I see it. It’s kind of a two-way thing.” He looked at Nick slyly. “And enough of the insults. You should respect your elders.” Owen looked more relaxed. Colour had returned to his face and there was a new ease to his body.

Nick snorted. “Two years doesn’t make a big difference.”

“I
do
like younger men,” Owen mused, a wicked glint in his eye. “And you lived up to expectations this morning so...”

Nicks face reddened. “Yes, well, enough of that.” A thought struck him and he cleared his throat. “Just to be clear.
That’
s not the reason I’m inviting you to stay. I don’t need a fuck buddy. I have one of those already.”

Disappointment at his words crossed Owen’s face. Nick’s heart raced at the implications of that look.

The person he saw for that with any regularity at all was Daniel Smith. They’d met during a chess match about eight months ago. Nick had gone back to Daniel’s house and found his new friend’s warm mouth around his cock and it had escalated from there. But another session like the one with Owen this morning, or even more—Nick’s cock lurched at the thought of actually wrapping
his
mouth around this man—might be his emotional undoing.

“If you say so,” Owen said but the glint in his eyes belied his diffident words. “I still need to go into town and see if my bank card works. I need to buy some clothes and stuff. If I manage to do any shopping, will a taxi bring me back here?” He glanced out across the causeway. “I wasn’t sure of the tides.”

Nick nodded. “The taxis come out here. Today high tide is about one thirty in the morning and then again around one thirty in the afternoon. Low tide is just before eight in the morning and then again at the same time in the evening. So it’s pretty easy to remember. If you’re not back in the afternoon by about 1 o’clock, it’ll be after eight thirty at night before you can get back here without taking a boat. And if you do get stuck, Miller Drake will bring you back in his. It’ll cost you a fiver but he’ll make the trip. You can always find him in the Wind and Whistle pub.”

He shrugged. “I’d let you use my Land Rover but you’re not insured. I’ll have to see if I can organise to slot you on as a named driver temporarily if things work out.” He looked at his watch. “It’s only nine thirty now so you have a few hours to shop.” He glanced down at Owen’s feet. “I would suggest you put some bloody shoes on though. You look a bit like a sexy tramp like that.” He hadn’t realised what he’d said until he saw Owen’s smirk. “What’s that for? Oh.”

“You think I’m sexy,” remarked Owen as he turned and walked past Nick. He chuckled wickedly and Nick watched as his tight arse ambled up the path back toward the house. He was nonplussed. This man definitely wasn’t going to be good for his sanity.

Chapter 3

Nick sat at his dining-room table reading a newspaper when Owen got back about twelve thirty in the afternoon. There was the rumble of an engine as a vehicle pulled into the courtyard, a door opened then slammed, and then the familiar voice of a local taxi driver, Jeff Curtis, hollered a cheery goodbye greeting. A few minutes later, Owen staggered in under a weight of parcels, shopping bags and something that smelt really good. Socks chittered excitedly and jumped down from the top of the cupboard onto the table.

Nick’s stomach grumbled. He hadn’t eaten all day. “The bank card worked then, did it?” he enquired.

Owen shook his head. “Nope. It’s fucked. But I had my driver’s licence in my wallet too and my NI card. So I managed to draw money out over the counter. The young lady was only too pleased to help me out. She thought I was ‘delicious.’ Oh and some guy offered me a blow job behind the hardware store. He was a little too forward for my tastes so instead I bought a couple of joints off him.” He winked at Nick as he dropped his parcels onto the kitchen table and stood back, regarding them with satisfaction. Socks’s greedy paws busied themselves with scrabbling in the bags and both men regarded him with an indulgent smile.

Nick shook his head. “The young man sounds like Mikey Grey. He’s a bit of a handful.” Owen laughed and Nick flushed at his unfortunate choice of words. “Not in that way, you idiot. But you want to keep away from him. He’s trouble. And I don’t want you bringing drugs back here. That’s a definite no-no.”

Owen shrugged. “Fine. I’ll keep them outside somewhere and smoke them when you’re not around.”

Nick’s temper flared. “That’s not the bloody point. I thought doing drugs and drinking was what made you jump off the boat in the first place? Overindulging and getting too emotional?”

“And God forbid we should be doing that anytime soon. The emotional bit I mean.” Owen said beneath his breath.

Nick scowled. “No fucking drugs, Owen. I’d rather you didn’t smoke anything but I doubt that’s going to happen.”

Owen grinned at him as he started unpacking a bag. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep. That would be wrong.” He looked at Nick out of mischievous eyes. “You didn’t comment on the fact the woman in town thought I was delicious. Am I?” He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it across the chair back. Owen’s shirt strained across his strong shoulders and Nick saw dark chest curls poking out of his shirtfront.

The teasing note in Owen’s voice was disconcerting and the tug in Nick’s jeans grew fiercer as his cock screamed to get out and take a better look. “No comment. What did you bring to eat? Something smells good.” He shooed Socks away and the monkey sped to the other side of the table and sat in a sulk.

“You’ve got your food,” Nick said to him drily. “This is for humans, not cheeky capuchins.”

Socks blew a raspberry and Owen’s eyes lit up. “God, that is so cute. I’ve never seen a monkey do that before.”

“Get used to it,” Nick muttered as he unpacked a paper carrier bag. “It’s his favourite party trick.”

Owen brandished two cartons of food. “I hope you like Chinese. I bought Kung Pao chicken and fried rice. You didn’t eat much last night so I figured you’d be hungry.” He glanced worriedly at Nick, who marvelled at the man’s bounce back from wanting to die last night. There was a little stir of pride inside that said perhaps he might have had something to do with that.

He shrugged. “It’ll do, I guess,” He smiled wickedly at Owen’s hurt expression, Nick’s own dark depression lifting by simply having company in his home.

Or was it just this man?

“I’m joking. I love Chinese. Hand it over.”

The two men sat companionably eating their takeout, ignoring Socks who sat regarding them with what looked like a monkey scowl.

Owen squinted at the papers strewn across the table. “What’s all this you’re doing? It looks like some sort of diary.”

Nick nodded. “It
is
a diary. As keeper of this place, I’m honour bound to record things that happen for the history of the lighthouse.”

Owen stopped eating, looking at Nick tensely. “You’re not telling anyone about me, are you?”

Nick gazed at him. “Not in the diaries.” He saw the trapped expression in Owen’s eyes. Guilt swamped him. Nick wouldn’t tell Owen just yet that he’d called the Coastguard and found out they’d started a search for a man who’d fallen off a boat. He’d had to tell them that he’d found Owen. They’d promised to get word back to Owen’s friends and family that he was alive. Owen might think he was interfering but Nick was the lighthouse keeper. He wasn’t having good men wasting time searching for a mixed-up man who was safe.

Owen tapped the table nervously. “I don’t want anyone reading this in years to come and knowing I tried—you know—to kill myself. That’s not really how I want to be remembered. I’d rather everyone think I just fell overboard. ” His voice was tremulous and he laid down his chopsticks then rubbed his hands together nervously.

So Owen did have family he cared about.

“If you have to say something then just put that I fell overboard and you rescued me and that then I left, and—”

Nick reached over and stayed the other man’s fidgeting. “Owen. I won’t mention it at all here. Relax. This stuff isn’t gospel. I’m sure other lighthouse keepers have suppressed the truth on more than one occasion. This is just a tradition, not a rite of passage.”

Owen nodded, his hands still covered by Nick’s. Nick stroked the top of his hand gently before removing his own. Maybe a bit of levity might make things better.

“I might get fined by the Lighthouse Keepers’ Association for not keeping things straight but I can live with that.” Nick tried to keep a straight face and Owen’s face fell.

“You can get a fine for that? Withholding things in the bloody diary? I don’t want to cause you any trouble…”

“Owen, I’m joking. I won’t be fined, I promise.” Nick felt his jest had backfired from the pallor on his friend’s face.

That was what Owen was now wasn’t he? A friend?

“Oh. That was a bit mean.” Nick could swear Owen pouted and nothing had ever looked more adorable. A frisson of unease ran down his spine at that thought.

Christ. This whole thing about Owen being here was just such a bad idea.

They sat in silence apart from Socks’s low muttering as he played with his penknife. Nick hesitated, trying to find the right words to break the news of his actions. “Owen? Can I ask you something seeing as how you’re going to be staying here?”

Owen’s face grew wary. “You can ask.”

“Why did you jump overboard from a boat?”

Owen gave a harsh laugh. “You mean why did I try and kill myself?”

Nick was quiet. He waited. Finally Owen heaved a heavy sigh. “I’d had a lot to drink. Some coke, too, the kind you stick up your nose.”

Nick frowned. He was very much against drugs of any kind, something he’d never been tempted to use.