“If I sleep in your bed, where will you sleep?”
Kennedy chuckled and pulled him back, hugged him tightly.
“Heaven knows I’ve missed you.”
“Look, Kennedy. If we’re really going to be together, you may want to hear what I want.”
“Anything.”
“We’ll need to be open and honest with each other, especially if we’ve pissed each other off somehow.”
“Okay, I deserve that.”
“Not just you, me too.”
“Okay.”
“We’re taking ballroom classes together at least once a fortnight. And you will make the time.”
“Agreed.”
“And I’m sure you’ve heard Laurie’s more than likely pregnant with her first child and I was the donor. Well, I want us to have kids one day.”
“Oh, wow, okay. Wasn’t expecting that. How about we start with a dog?”
“Really?”
“Why not? Let’s go pick one out at the dog rescue tomorrow.”
“I would fucking love that.”
“Thought you might. I’ve cleared my weekend in the hopes you might be free. Now are you ready to leave yet? We can pick up some Thai takeaway on the way. And in the meantime, I can take your bags down to my car if you have things you need to finish up here.”
“Nope, I’m done.”
Between them, they collected Kieran’s bags and headed towards the lift lobby.
“Does Len always expect you to work this late?”
“Len normally kicks everyone out by five-thirty.”
“So what’s got you working so late tonight?”
Kieran stepped into the lift, pressed the button for the ground floor and turned to Kennedy with a sly smile.
“I was waiting for you.”
* * * *
When Kennedy opened the burgundy front door to his house, he saw everything in a new light, nervous about having Kieran there and badly needing his approval. The four-bedroom house had always been nothing more than a space to live and sleep in for Kennedy, and also an investment in case he needed to realise the equity one day. Now, for the first time, he wanted someone to like the place as a home.
“Leave the bags and let me give you the grand tour.”
He led Kieran to the living room, and realised for the first time how spartan and functional he had made the room. When Patrick had lived there, at least they’d had some paintings on the walls, to brighten the decor. Patrick had taken them with him. Even though the furnishings were Italian and expensive—three-piece navy sofas in a U-shaped arrangement, dark frosted-glass coffee table and grey silk carpet—everything felt cold and formal.
Kieran said nothing, so Kennedy immediately took him to the place he did most of his work.
“Here’s the open kitchen and dining room,” said Kennedy, realising he was probably stating the obvious. But this was one space he took pride in, because one whole windowed wall lined the back yard and the houses overlooking the space. He had also bought a large table and fitted the kitchen with a range of expensive appliances—not that many of them ever got used.
“A ten-seater dining table,” said Kieran. “Impressive. And your kitchen is spotless. Do either of them ever get used?”
Kennedy snorted and shook his head. Nothing ever got past Kieran.
“Not often. Not anymore. Mrs Dabrowski comes in every morning to do any household chores—cleaning, making the bed, washing, ironing—so everything is always kept looking spick and span. I’m at work most of the time, so don’t have a chance to mess things up. There’s probably not enough to keep her busy, but I know her family needs the money.”
“And she’ll have a dog to care for soon, while we’re both at work.”
“That she will. Shall we get your things upstairs?”
“Look, Kennedy. I’m not going to simply mooch off you. Somehow I need to contribute.”
“Of course, but the house is bought and paid for.”
“Then I’ll pay the bills.”
“Contribute, maybe. Fine.”
“And I’m cooking for us. At least three or four times a week. Man cannot live by takeaway alone.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Hang on,” said Kieran, peering curiously around. “Where’s your Christmas tree?”
“I—I don’t usually bother. When it’s just me.”
‘Well, that’s going to change, too,” said Kieran, folding his arms across his chest. “You know what? We’re having the best fuck-off Christmas tree over there by the front window. So the whole world can see. And we’re having all our friends over for a fantastic Christmas party.”
Kennedy laughed, and already felt a ripple of relief running through him. Life—that was what this house needed, some life. Something Kieran could provide in abundance.
“Whatever you want,” said Kennedy, heading towards the stairs. “Let’s haul your things upstairs. And, by the way, Leonard’s office is on the way to mine. So as long as you don’t mind leaving early in the morning—around seven-thirty—I’ll give you a lift to work every day. So, here’s the upstairs.”
Kennedy showed Kieran the three spare bedrooms before trailing him into the master bedroom. After appraising the bed for a moment, Kieran poked his head into the adjoining bathroom before strolling into the room that had been turned into a wardrobe.
“Fuck. Your walk-in wardrobe is almost as big as my sister’s apartment. Why is it half-empty?”
“That side used to be Patrick’s.”
“Oh, I see. Shall I hang my things there?”
“You’re going to share this room with me?” asked Kennedy, feeling the smile lighting his face.
“Of course I am, old man.”
“In which case, you can put things wherever you like. Before you come and have a shower with me. This is your home now.”
Kennedy had been putting his jacket on a hanger, and noticed Kieran quickly turn his head away and bring a hand to his eyes. This time Kennedy stopped him, gently twisted him around and pulled his hand away. Kieran didn’t resist. Once again tears filled his eyes.
“What’s the matter, love? Did I say something wrong?”
“No, of course you didn’t. I’m being soft. But you don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that single word, one that everyone I know seems to take so much for granted.”
“Home?”
“Yes, home.”
“Kieran, you are home. This is your home now.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Kieran
London, Christmas Day 2016
Kieran savoured being able to wake slowly and naturally without the sound of an alarm urging them to get up for work. Not long after he had moved in, they’d fallen into a comfortable rhythm of work and downtime, the latter held sacrosanct. Now, over a year later, and the all-too-familiar sound of scratching at the bedroom door replaced the now-redundant electronic clock.
Aligned warmly along Kieran’s spine, Kennedy was still sleeping, the slow rise of pressure from his chest against Kieran’s back, an arm draped protectively around his waist, his hot morning erection lined along the crack of Kieran’s backside. Despite efficient central heating, the air in the room held a crisp December coldness and Kennedy’s toasty nakedness felt too good an opportunity to waste. But as he began to turn, Kennedy’s arm tightened around him, the other squeezing down to line up his erection before reaching around Kieran’s body and grabbing lube and a condom from the nightstand.
“May I?” came Kennedy’s hot breath in his ear.
Without replying, Kieran waited until the sheath had been rolled on before pushing back onto Kennedy, still loosened up from the previous night but nevertheless experiencing the initial delicious burn as Kennedy entered him. Kennedy followed up with a low grunt, biting Kieran’s neck and shoulder while pushing himself all the way inside and beginning the slow, familiar rhythm, which only got better with time.
Since they’d been living together, Kieran h
ad found out a number of things about Kennedy, and one was that he relished morning sex, loved when one of them roused the other from sleep using sex, waking them to the new day like a steam train leaving the station, gradually building speed in their bump and grind, bringing them both to wakefulness with fast breaths and mounting pleasure.
Without losing the momentum, Kieran turned his head so he could take Kennedy’s mouth, his orgasm almost upon him. Kennedy came first, ramming hard, filling Kieran with his warmth. Instead of stopping, he kept going, hitting Kieran expertly on his sweet spot until Kieran exploded into Kennedy’s hand, sparks and dark spots flashing across his vision.
“Merry Christmas,” Kennedy managed to breathe hotly into Kieran’s ear.
“You can say that again.”
As soon as Kennedy had disposed of the condom, they lay side by side, chests rising and falling as their breaths normalised. Until the soft scratching and whimpering at their bedroom door began again.
Kennedy chuckled, a deep, beautiful sound.
“I wonder who that could be?”
Ed, their good-natured Cockapoo, had been an instant hit with everyone. Kennedy drew the line at letting him sleep in the bedroom with them, maintaining their modicum of privacy. But Kieran knew eventually the charms of their sad-eyed, curly haired ginger rescue pup would wear him down.
“Can I let him in?” asked Kieran. “It is Christmas, after all.”
Kennedy gently shook his head and huffed, but a fond smile had settled on his face.
“Go on, then.”
Without hesitation, Kieran sprinted naked for the door and yanked on the handle. The fiery ball of dynamite scrambled into the room, running rings around Kieran’s ankles before leaping onto the bed and heading straight for Kennedy. When Kieran joined them back in bed, fearless Ed had already started licking Kennedy’s face, with Kennedy laughing, helpless to restrain the excited pup.
Kieran took a moment to enjoy the scene—a usually in-control Kennedy allowing himself to be smothered with affection was a sight worth paying for. Something fundamental had changed in his man—he had mellowed. Yes, the hard-ass businessman still appeared, usually in the mornings when they drove to work together, but when Kennedy arrived home, he seemed to throw off that professional mantle and relax into himself. With a supreme effort of will, he’d even made a point of limiting the number of times he checked his phone over the weekends.
Just as Ed calmed down and settled on the quilt, there came a knock at the door.
“Are you boys decent?” came Claire’s voice. She had already pushed the door open a crack but didn’t enter.
“As decent as we’ll ever be,” said Kennedy, laughing. “Merry Christmas, Mum. You can come in.”
Kennedy’s parents had kept their promise and flown over on the twenty-first of December, bringing Reagan, a very subdued Bernie and their three boys to spend Christmas and New Year with them. At first Kennedy had baulked at the idea of the full house, of accommodating seven extra souls. But they’d all been brilliant—Kennedy’s three extra bedrooms and spare bathroom helping matters—with the boys fighting over walking Ed to the park every day, and his mother and sister having dinner ready on the table one night when they arrived home after work, leaving Bernie and Jefferson in charge of drinks. Kennedy’s house had never seen such an abundance of life.
After a couple of days, Bernie had finally chilled, and one evening, over beers, he and Reagan had told them the story of how they’d decided to give things another go, how Bernie had quit his job in Melbourne in November to make a clean break and had taken a new one in Singapore, so he could spend more time with Reagan and the boys. From what Kennedy told Kieran, Reagan remained quietly optimistic.
“Merry Christmas, Claire,” added Kieran, as an impeccably dressed Claire opened their door and stood in the doorway.
“Merry Christmas to you both. Look, I know it’s early, but I’m starting breakfast right away. After that, we can open presents, get that out of the way, too. Right now, the boys are still sleeping, but I’ve no doubt they’ll be awake soon and demanding to open them. Then Kieran, Reagan and I have a whole heap of table arrangements, food preparation and cooking to manage for lunch, so I’m going to need you to take your father, Bernie and that little rascal who should not be on your bed down to the local pub. Get you out of the house. I’ll set Reagan on putting the boys in front of the television to keep them occupied. What time are our guests arriving?”
“Around one o’clock,” answered Kieran.
“Good. In which case, we’ll aim to eat at two. What are you laughing at, Kennedy?”
Kieran turned to see Kennedy chuckling beside him.
“Nothing, Sergeant Major Mum,” said Kennedy, before turning to Kieran with a sly grin. “My mother, the perennial organiser. Whatever you do, listen very carefully to her instructions in the kitchen and do not—I repeat—do not deviate from the plan in any way. People have died for less.”
“Don’t you go listening to him, Kieran. He never did a thing he was told growing up—”
“Yes, and look at me now.”
“Don’t talk back to your mother. Now go get showered and dressed. I need you downstairs in fifteen,” said Claire, before stopping and addressing Ed. “And you, young man, come down with me right now. If you want feeding and know what’s good for you.”
Ed stopped licking himself and froze, staring at Claire, aware he was being addressed, before sitting up, then jumping off the bed and running out past Kennedy’s mother.
“See,” said Claire. “At least someone does what they’re told.”
Their bedroom door closed to the pair of them laughing.
* * * *
Kieran answered their doorbell just before one. Dressed in red silk with white furry trimming beneath their warm overcoats—in fancy dress as Santa’s little helpers—Laurie and Steph stood there with carrier bags full of goodies, Laurie almost bursting with excitement.
“It’s confirmed, Kieran,” said Laurie, hugging him, unable to contain her delight. “All going well, we’re looking at a July baby.”
“And we agreed to tell you, Kieran, but we’re keeping things hush-hush at the moment,” said Steph, with a loaded glance at Laurie. “Just to be on the safe side. So no big announcements today, isn’t that right, Laurie?”
“I know, I know,” said Laurie. “But Kennedy will suspect as soon as I refuse a drink.”
“Then I’ll let him know on the quiet,” said Steph, reaching in and hugging Kieran. “In the meantime, something smells absolutely delicious.”
Kieran led them through to the open kitchen and dining room. Reagan ran over and hugged the girls, who she’d met before. Claire waved from her sentinel position at the oven.
“Oh wow,” said Steph, her mouth dropping open. “This place looks amazing. Looks like somebody gave Kennedy’s house a makeover?”
And Kieran had to agree. He peered across the room to find Kennedy by the fridge door pulling out a bottle of champagne, smiling at him and nodding. Every time Kieran entered the room his spirits lifted, seeing their beautiful Christmas tree, sparkling decorations and the tastefully decorated table overseen by Claire. And Kennedy clearly approved.
“Champagne, ladies?” called Kennedy, holding up the bottle.
Before Laurie could answer, Steph jumped in.
“We’re both still on our special diets. So no alcohol for us today. But why don’t you put some of this sparkling ginger ale we’ve brought into a couple of champagne glasses and nobody will be any the wiser.”
And so the party began. By one-thirty, as the house continued to fill with the delicious aromas of cooking, all their guests had arrived. Claire shooed them all out of the way—including Kieran—into their living room to chat, leaving Claire and Reagan to ready food for the gathering.
And they certainly had a crowd. Figuring how to fit sixteen people around Kennedy’s table had been a challenge. But Kennedy had found a couple of folding trestle tables and
picnic chairs, and they’d formed a large square so—in true family style—everyone faced into the centre of the table.
Kieran’s mum arrived last, together with his sister, Jules, and Curtis, the boyfriend. At first his mum seemed a little nervous and out of place, but after a couple of champagne cocktails she relaxed, chatting to Len, Steph and Laurie as though they were old friends. Even Kieran’s brother, Sean, made a short appearance for lunch, although he had to bail at five to visit his latest fling. At one point, Kieran sat back and gazed around the table, at his old and new family and friends, and felt a swell of pride.
Just then, a warm hand landed on his thigh.
“Well done, love.”
“Me? Thank your mum and sister, they did most of the cooking.”
“You know what I mean. None of this would have happened, had it not been for you.”
Kieran smiled, turned to Kennedy and pecked him on the lips.
“We should make this a tradition. Your kitchen suits this kind of occasion brilliantly.”
“Whatever you want, Kieran.”
During dessert, Ed, who had been confined to the living room, was brought out and, in a display of rebellion, took a fancy to a particular bauble high up on the Christmas tree, managing to jump up and topple the whole thing onto Jefferson, much to the squeals of amusement from Reagan’s kids.
After they’d cleared most of the table and set the dishwasher going, Jefferson and Bernie had offered to make coffee or tea for everyone. Soft Christmas tunes played in the living room as everyone made themselves comfortable. During a lull in the various conversations, Steph, sitting the other side of the room, addressed Claire.
“So come on, Claire, I think we’re all intrigued. How did you and Jefferson meet?”
“Oh, shush. Nobody wants to know.”
After a few encouraging noises, Claire relented.
“Oh, well. If you insist. I know Kennedy’s heard this story before, but I met his father at an embassy ball. Dragged along by my mother and father, I didn’t want to be there, even though the embassy were supposed to put on something of a spectacle for their guests. I think some lower-ranking member of royalty had arrived for one reason or another. Of course, Jeff’s family were well-known, his father being head of the consulate, but I’d never met any of them. So when this nice young man approached me, asked me if I could waltz—which of course, I could—we took a spin around the floor. Well, by the third dance, I knew. Jefferson was the one for me.”
Companion Required Page 21