He banished that voice, told himself he wasn't going down that road again. He knew where that road led. He wouldn't change for Connor. Not like he had for Josh.
He found a spot on the strip of street known as antique row and parked, glad for another of those unseasonably warm days so they could walk. At least the day was pretty, not cold or rainy. Kevin wasn't sure he could handle cold and rainy.
"Do you have a favorite store?” Connor asked when they exited the car. He hadn't pressed for conversation while they drove, and Kevin was very grateful. He wasn't in the mood to talk.
"Not really. Nicki likes this sort of thing.” He knew Connor was worried. He kept shooting little glances in his direction, especially when Connor thought he wasn't looking.
They found a nice table and chairs in a store called Tomorrow's Heirlooms, but Connor passed on it, deciding to wait until he saw what else he found. Kevin lingered over the store's handmade candles while Connor admired the furniture. He couldn't relax, no matter how many of Devon's exercises he worked through. All he could think of was Connor's bare torso, perfect and hard, contrasted with his own, scarred and out of shape. He felt more and more inadequate, and he couldn't quite find enjoyment in shopping, even though Connor obviously enjoyed himself.
They went through store after store, and eventually Kevin managed to set those voices aside and find some pleasure, liking the delight Connor expressed over the things they found, even when he didn't buy anything. He bought a bookcase from one of the stores selling handmade furniture. He found a coffee table and another table he planned to use as a nightstand, and bought a pair of lamps that needed new cords. They talked very little, though a few times, Connor did drop hints about his life in New York, and Kevin cringed, again wondering what Connor could possibly see in him.
Kevin dug a print out of a bin of ugly paintings advertising Debussy's “Afternoon with a Fawn.” It needed to be reframed, and the edges were frayed, but the print itself was beautiful. The colors were a little subdued, but he loved the image of the fawn preying on a helpless maiden.
"Do you like that?” Connor's voice behind him made him flinch.
He licked lips gone suddenly dry. “I used to dance,” he said softly, still captivated by the print. He'd never seen the ballet performed live. He'd never danced it, though he had danced an excerpt from it once in a competition. “My mother was a dance teacher. She swears all of the lessons turned me gay.” He didn't know why he told Connor that, and he put the print back in the bin and dusted his hands off on his jeans. “Did you find anything?"
Connor laughed. “Of course I found something. I can always find something, but not what I was looking for. So I didn't buy anything. I don't know how I'll get what I've bought home anyway."
Kevin smiled, wishing he could again find the happiness he'd felt early that morning. “Scott will let you borrow his truck. I can ask if he'll help move, so you don't have to worry about that."
"You don't have to do that."
Kevin shrugged. “It's not a problem."
Connor started to protest, but he finally took a deep breath. “I want to go back for the table and chairs."
"Okay.” Kevin shoved his hands into his jacket pocket. He glanced at Connor, but eventually his gaze stayed fixed on the sidewalk. “There's a diner along here. Hungry?"
"Sure."
He ordered a small salad and a bottle of water. He stared at the food, finding it more and more unappetizing. Josh's voice warred with one that sounded suspiciously like Devon. One told him he was fat, and the other begged him to eat. He finally pushed the food aside untouched and tried to ignore Connor's concern. Thankfully, Connor said nothing, just followed him back to Tomorrow's Heirlooms to buy the table and chairs.
Kevin had managed to regain some of his good humor by the time they got back to the Central West End. Good sense had won out, and he was going to eat something, even if it was just a piece of cake. He stopped outside of The Cupcakery. “I have this sudden craving for chocolate."
Connor laughed at that, and they sat in a corner with a cup of coffee and one giant cupcake apiece.
"You used to be a dancer?"
Kevin met Connor's emerald gaze and blushed. He nodded. “I love to dance. I still dance in my apartment, just not seriously. Not anymore. I've let the training go. I'm too old to start again. I blew my chance at a career anyway."
"You're thirty."
"Thirty-one,” Kevin corrected. “Today's my birthday, remember? I can't compete with people ten years younger.” A note of bitterness crept into his voice, and he winced. “I was never quite sure if my mom stopped speaking to me because I was gay or because I blew a shot at a professional career. That was her dream ... to be a professional dancer.” He propped his chin on his hands. “Instead she had me."
Outside, the clouds obscured the sun, and Kevin stared down into the dark liquid filling his cup. “I could have made it. I had an offer, and I turned it down. I'd hurt my knee, and I just decided it wasn't for me."
"And you just gave it up?"
"No.” He shook his head and swirled the liquid in his cup. “I had a taste of reality. I decided I needed something to fall back on, something besides dance. I couldn't dance forever. It was more than a hobby, but I chose to have a life outside the studio. I was still performing until I met Josh.” He met Connor's sparkling gaze and wished he could read the emotions there. Right now it reminded him of the way his dog used to look up at him with adoring eyes. He didn't want to talk about himself anymore. “You keep worming these things out of me. I told you I'm not fascinating. When do I get to hear about you? Why move from New York? And you said you do commercial art. Do you do other kinds of art?"
Connor laughed softly. “Dying of curiosity, are you?"
"Be nice or I'll write you into a story."
"You've already done that."
Kevin's cheeks burned, and he looked away. “You'll be glad to know that you're starring in another one, but I haven't finished it yet."
"I left New York because my partner decided he wanted someone younger, a trophy catch that he could parade around the clubs. We'd been together for eight years. Everywhere I went I saw some reminder of that. Either it was our mutual friends, or some acquaintance. I caught them in bed together, and he had the nerve to look up, smile, and ask me to join them.” Connor shook his head. “I just wanted to start over somewhere else, somewhere I wouldn't be around constant reminders of the last eight years of my life. My family is still there, and they were horrified when I decided to move here."
"Oh.” Kevin suddenly felt very ashamed of his suspicion. Connor was so confident and self assured. He didn't seem the sort that would have relationship problems. “I'm sorry. I don't know why—"
"It's okay. You know now. As for art, I do other things. Do you want to see? My sketchbooks are in one of those boxes at my flat."
Kevin nodded, and they drove back to Connor's apartment. They each carried a table up the stairs. Kevin picked up a yellow envelope. “You've got a package."
Connor opened the door and carried the coffee table inside. He shoved the milk crates out of the way and put it down in the center of the floor.
"It looks lovely. Now if I had a couch to go with it..."
Kevin set the envelope on the coffee table. He remembered the box he'd gotten earlier and put the little table he was carrying down to study the label on the package. It was the same as the one he'd gotten that morning. An eerily familiar label, he realized. The same print and style as the ones that usually graced Josh's letters. Though why Josh would send Connor something, he had no idea. “Open this."
Connor shrugged. “Why? I've not ordered anything, and I already got my weekly letter from home. It's probably junk or else delivered to the wrong address."
"I got a package this morning, and it had that same label. It's the same label that's on the letters,” he whispered. He felt sick, and he resisted the urge to drive back to his own apartment to tear open the box on the c
ounter. “Please, just open it."
Connor shrugged, took the package from Kevin and tore it open. What he pulled out left Kevin trembling and sick. It was a collar, a duplicate to the one Josh had put around his neck made of heavy black leather and studded with D-rings. Connor stared at the thing, but Kevin shook his head and backed away a little.
"What is this?"
Kevin's knees went weak. The room started to spin. The little bit of cake he'd eaten churned in his stomach. His knees gave out, and he was saved from collapsing by Connor's strong arms.
"I've got to go,” he whispered. “Let me go.” He pulled out of Connor's grasp and darted for the door. He was shaking now, though he wasn't sure if it was from fear or anger. The collar dropped to the ground, and Connor caught him before he could escape.
"Listen to me,” Connor said, his voice steady and calm. “I would never put that on you. I didn't order it. I don't know how it got here. You haven't been quite yourself all day. Don't think I didn't notice that you haven't eaten. I'm not going to hurt you, Kevin. I promise."
He stared into Connor's beautiful green eyes, trying to find some shred of insincerity there, but there was none, only that same adoring expression Connor had worn at the bakery, tinged now with concern. He stopped trying to escape and laid his cheek against Connor's chest, breathing in the warm, musky scent of him. Gentle hands smoothed his hair, and Connor spoke soft, calming words Kevin barely registered. He didn't know when he started crying, and he didn't know when Connor guided him to the bedroom and urged him to lie down. He did as he was told, laying his head on a pillow that smelled faintly of Connor's soap. A warm, fuzzy blanket landed on his shoulders, and Connor knelt beside the bed, keeping up a conversation.
"Just rest. I'll go out and do some work in the other room.” Kevin closed his eyes, lulled half to sleep by Connor's lilting voice. He loved to listen to the man talk. He loved the subtle accent that grew sharper when Connor was gripped by strong emotions. “Do you mind if I call Nicki? I think I'd like to talk to her, and she'd be here. You don't have to worry."
"My phone's in my coat pocket,” Kevin murmured and closed his eyes, wondering just how Connor would explain this away. He should be afraid, but he trusted Connor. He didn't know why, but he believed the man when he said he wouldn't hurt him. The fears Josh had beaten into him thawed a little when he was with Connor, but there was one he couldn't shake. He was terrified of falling in love. Kevin didn't think he could go through love again.
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Chapter Eight
Connor spent a couple of minutes cursing while he tried to figure out how to access the address list on Kevin's phone. He finally found it and scrolled down to Nicki's name. There were two numbers listed, one for her home and one for her cell. He called the cell number then felt silly. She was probably at work, and he was actually surprised when she answered.
"Hello?"
"Nicki? This is Connor."
"I can tell.” She sounded more amused than suspicious. “Why are you calling from Kevin's phone?"
"Because I don't have your number to call from mine.” He heard silence, and he imagined her face, no doubt full of confusion. “I'm sorry, you're probably at work and—"
"No, I took the day off, actually. I had a party to plan and prepare for. Did you need something?"
"Could you come over to my flat?"
"Is something wrong?” The concern in her voice was audible now. “What happened to Kevin?"
"He's fine ... I think. Just shaken up. He's sleeping now."
"I'll be there in five minutes.” She hung up, and Connor put the phone back in Kevin's coat pocket. He picked up the envelope and looked inside for a note. He didn't expect to find anything, but there was one, two words printed on an index card. He's mine. Connor picked up the collar and rolled it around in his hands. He couldn't imagine Kevin—beautiful, intelligent Kevin—wearing such a contraption, though he could imagine the kind of pain something like it had been used to evoke.
He started at the knock on the door, and he checked on Kevin before answering. He was curled on his side, arms tucked tight against him, sleeping peacefully. He opened the door to find Nicki on the other side, dressed in a black broomstick skirt, and a tight T-shirt with a scene of the Moulin Rogue on it. She had on her black boots, and she wore a leather coat over the top of the outfit.
"Where's Kevin?” Her sharp tone betrayed her concern. She didn't seem to be angry, just frightened.
"Bedroom.” He pointed. “He's asleep. And before you ask, I didn't do a thing to him."
She went to the doorway and checked on Kevin briefly, then seemed to notice her surroundings. She took in the two tables he'd bought earlier, the milk crates, his one chair, even scuffed her foot on the hardwood floor.
"This could be cute."
He couldn't help it. The echo of Kevin's words made him laugh. She glared at him, but he still laughed. “I'm sorry, but Kevin said that same thing.” He pointed to the tables. “He took me shopping for furniture this morning."
Nicki smiled, and her dark eyes sparkled a little. “Antique row?"
"He said you liked that sort of thing."
"There's a vintage clothing store over there that I just love.” She plopped down in the chair and yelped when she sat on the collar. She pulled it out and stared at it. “Where did you get this? He would have freaked at the sight of this. If you had ideas..."
"To use your words—it's not my brand of kink.” He picked up the envelope and pulled out the note. “That came with it. I didn't order it. I didn't buy it. I think I know where it came from. Kevin said he got a package this morning."
"What was in his?"
"He doesn't know. He didn't open it.” She glanced at her watch and shook her head.
"Dave won't be there until about five.” She unbuckled the collar and stared at the inside. “This one's new. The bastard must be following him. He knows where you live.” She buckled it back and turned it around and around in her hands. “Are you worried?"
"About me? No. I can take care of myself, and if the little bastard wants to leave toys at my doorstep, he's welcome. About Kevin? Yes. He's fragile enough without these little games. He's been a little off all day. Does he regularly stop eating? He ate about three bites of cake and drank coffee, and that's all I've seen him eat today. Unless he had a huge breakfast—"
"He didn't. He never does. A cup of yogurt, a piece of fruit, on a good day maybe something more substantial. He's not a breakfast person.” Nicki pursed her lips and let out a heavy breath. “From time to time he stops eating. If he does that for more than a day...” She didn't finish just continued to play with the collar. “Tough love is usually enough. He has a problem with food, and Josh made the problem worse by telling him he was fat, and he's not.” She shoved the collar back into its envelope. “He says he's got some pudge in the middle, but I'm not seeing it, and neither is anyone else.” She raised a brow and met Connor's gaze. “Do you?"
"Do I what?"
"See the pudge?'
He was certain he must look like an idiot, staring at her, but he finally guessed this was another test. “No.” He finally realized what she hinted at. “He thinks he's fat?"
She nodded. “He's not. If anything, he's at a healthy weight."
Connor wished he could say something, anything, but he didn't know what to say, and he had no idea what a food problem might be.
"He dances, and he has all of the dancer hang-ups about food. He has odd eating habits, and he will stop eating for day sometimes, especially when he's stressed."
"He told me he was a dancer."
Nicki nodded. “He's good. Really good. He spent three years gaining back the weight he lost when he was with Josh, and he doesn't like it. Josh didn't always allow him to eat. Denying him food was a favorite punishment. Of course, the only time Kevin got to dance was to impress Josh's friends, or when he was alone. Josh left him alone a lot. I think that's why he's scared to be alone
now."
"And the food thing?"
She chewed her lip for a minute. “He's always had that, ever since I first met him, but Josh made it worse I think. I read Kevin's slave journal. It's part of the album Josh made him keep. I remember there was one day that he had to fix an elaborate meal for his Master...” She made quotes with her fingers on that last word. “...while he got a piece of bread and a glass of water."
"Why—"
"I don't know.” She poked the envelope with the collar again. “I know it wasn't a turn on for Kevin to be treated like that, but it was a power trip for Josh. I think he liked knowing he could tell Kevin to do anything, and he would do it. And if he didn't, he would kick the shit out of him until he complied."
Connor slid the office chair close and sat with his face buried in his hands. “Why start this now? Why not right after Kevin left him?"
"I think this has been going on for a while, and Kevin's just never said anything.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, glancing warily over his shoulder at the bedroom. “That letter he got yesterday wasn't the first. Evidently he's been getting those for a long time. Dave told me they get an inordinate number of hang-up calls, or prank calls with nothing but deep breathing. Kevin won't answer the phone. If you want to talk to him, you call the cell phone. Dave says if he leaves Kevin alone, he'll come home to find the phone unplugged."
She ran her fingers through her hair. “I took him home with me once he was out of the hospital. He stayed with me, or that was the plan. He ended up staying with Devon for a while. It took time for him to heal physically and emotionally, and then he had to start over, find a job, learn to be normal again. It's taken him three years to get his life back.” She left the chair and went to stand in the bedroom doorway. “And now that little bastard is trying to take it away from him again. He likes you."
She went back to the chair. “I told you I had a feeling about the two of you. I'd even go so far as to say he could fall for you pretty hard. And now Josh has gone from just sending him letters to following him. I have a feeling it will only get worse. I'd like to know what's in the box."
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