Romancing the Undercover Millionaire

by Clare London

  “Oh, dear God, I’m so sorry.” Alex turned to Tate, suddenly realizing what he’d done. “Doesn’t anyone know you’re gay?”

  Percy gave another snort.

  Tate took a long, deep breath. “Yes, they do. I mean, I don’t talk about my private life with everyone, but I’ve never hidden being gay. Maybe there was a problem with a few people when I first started here—”

  “We soon sorted them out, boy,” Percy growled protectively.

  Tate smiled. “Yes, Percy did, though you both know I can fight my own battles. And now everyone just knows me as Tate, which is how it should be. But….”

  “I should never have announced it like that. I effectively outed you!”

  Percy muttered something into his hand that might have been “Bloody drama queen,” but Alex couldn’t be sure.

  “It’s no problem,” Tate said gently. “The important thing is for you to be okay.”

  “He needs to go t’ hospital,” Percy broke in, bluntly.

  “No!” Alex knew he didn’t want that. No trips where he’d have to explain who he really was. He had to stay under the radar for the time being. “I feel fine, just a bit weary. My back hurts like hell.” He straightened, determined to look as fine as he said he was. “But I’m sure it’s just heavy bruising.”

  Percy was still doubtful as he spoke to Tate. “If he takes ill after the fall, it’ll be on us, boy.”

  “I know.” Tate looked torn between worry for Alex and respect for his wishes. “Well, I’ll take him home for the time being and see how he feels later. Good thing it’s Friday, and he’s not on shift for the weekend. He can take time to rest. He doesn’t seem to have any problems with motor skills or his memory—”

  “I remember everything!” Alex said brightly. “I’m at Bonfils Bibendum. You’re Percy and Tate, and the other guys were Stuart and Jamie. Jamie appears to have a bit of a puppy fixation on Stuart and eats two packets of licorice toffees a day. Stuart wants to be a racing car driver and once took a girl he wanted to impress on the forklift to the local café. And one of those girls from Packaging is called Penny, she’s training for the London Marathon, and I seem to remember Tate saying his friend Louise has a crush on her.”

  “She does?” came a startled female voice in the background.

  “Christ on a crutch, get him and his loose chatter away from here,” Percy groaned, “Before he outs every damned person on the shop floor, and tells everyone I borrowed a fiver from petty cash last week.”

  “It was a tenner,” Alex said smartly. “But I believe you left an IOU and repaid within the day.” Weren’t they impressed at his ability to watch, learn, and clearly recall all the peccadilloes happening in the warehouse? “I repeat, I’m fine. I could get back to work if you like.” He mocked a salute, though touching his temple made him wince.

  “No way!” Tate snapped this time. “Home immediately for you.”

  “Um. My hotel?” Alex tried not to sound too pathetic, but the thought of that bare room wasn’t appetizing.

  Tate grimaced. “Yeah, that’s a problem. You need to have someone keep an eye on you. You could… well. Rest at my house? If you don’t mind. We’ll go and check you out of the hotel, then ferry your stuff over to mine.” He looked a bit flushed. “Gran can watch out for you. And we’ll see how it goes.”

  “Thanks,” Alex said. He wasn’t sure what “it” was going to be, but did that matter? He was keen to go home with Tate, for whatever reason.

  Chapter Fourteen

  TATE drove Alex home in the warehouse van. It was a very slow journey, because Tate was determined to follow every single traffic restriction to the letter, even though he was pretty sure Alex hadn’t broken any bones when he fell. Hell, what a way for the day to end! He’d made a quick report to the Health and Safety committee before they left—the new guy in HR, Liam, had initially been horrified to hear what had happened to the new intern, but then settled briskly into assuring Tate he could leave it all in his hands. In fact, he’d insisted Tate didn’t worry about it at all, Liam would deal with all the paperwork. Tate was secretly relieved, because he knew there was a pile of forms to fill in to cover the company’s liability. He could ill afford the time, what with the Awards coming up.

  He also had his own concerns. Why on earth had the pallets shifted and fallen like that? The shelf units were sturdy, and—Alex was right—the pallets should have been fastened securely, even if they were empty. Alex could have been far more seriously hurt if he’d fallen awkwardly, if the pallet had been packed with full boxes, if he’d been standing a little nearer the pile…. Tate barely held back a shudder at the thought.

  As it was, Alex had been really shocked. Was he right in his suspicions—which Tate couldn’t have failed to understand—that it had been deliberate? Maybe done the same time the stocks had been mixed up, or before or after. Who knows? Well, Tate needed to find out. This had been a far more serious type of sabotage, threatening the staff. Threatening Alex. Were the troubles escalating?

  Tate snuck a sideways glance at his passenger. Alex was pale but seemed otherwise okay. Tate really thought he should see a doctor, but Alex had refused time and again. Obviously, if he’d only just moved into the area, he wouldn’t have a local doctor of his own, but he was very firm about not contacting anyone about the accident. He was hiding something, though when Tate pressed him, he wouldn’t give any reasons why.

  “Just because I can’t,” Alex had insisted. “Please take my word for it.”

  And that was that. Tate didn’t want to harass the guy any further. Tate was shocked, too, though he’d keep that hidden for the time being. When Jamie came running with news of the accident; when Tate had seen who was slumped in a chair, white as a sheet of paper, favoring his left side and barely clutching a cup of water…? Tate’s whole stomach had roiled with nausea.

  He was worried about running the gauntlet of his family’s interrogation, bringing Alex to the house, but luckily Gran had taken the younger kids to the Friday afternoon movies after school. Freddie rushed from his basket in the living room to greet them, but Tate was able to calm him quickly, then he guided Alex up the stairs toward his bedroom.

  Alex paused in the doorway. For a long moment, they just stood there, Alex resting against Tate, his gaze on his feet. His breath was warm on Tate’s throat, and Tate’s hands nestled with familiarity in the small of Alex’s back. Tate looked around Alex’s shoulder into his room, wondering if he’d cleared away his dirty clothes, taken that coffee cup back downstairs, put away the romance suspense thriller he’d been reading….

  “Tate? Are you sure?” Alex’s voice was very quiet.

  “About what?”

  “Me. In your bed?”

  Tate flushed. What did Alex mean? “Last night you didn’t worry about it.”

  Alex’s smile was a little slow but had a flash of his usual mischief. “Last night we were in a hotel. Last night was….”

  Oh God, what? Tate found he was holding his breath.

  “Special,” Alex murmured. He leaned closer and brushed his lips against Tate’s cheek. “Very special. But you live here with Gran and the children.”

  “Oh. Shit. Yes, I see what you mean. How it might look to them. I mean, I’m just helping you out—”

  “As a friend, yes—”

  “And it’s just to rest, isn’t it—?”

  “Of course, nothing more provocative than that—!”

  They both stopped talking over each other and laughed gently.

  “You’re very provocative,” Alex murmured. “At least, you are to me.”

  Tate didn’t know how to answer that, when his emotions agreed wholeheartedly, but his head told him to be wary. “Okay. Come along to Hugo’s room,” he said. “Just for an hour or so. You can sleep there. When the kids get back, we’ll sort something out.”

  Alex barely made any comment on the posters, or the scattered Xbox games on the floor of Hugo’s bedroom, before he tumbled onto the bed
and fell asleep within the minute. Tate sat with him for a while, until he established Alex was breathing regularly. He’d fetched a pair of his sleep shorts in case Alex wanted to borrow them, but there’d been no time to suggest it. Tate satisfied himself with pulling off Alex’s boots and socks, then peeling his jeans down. Alex barely stirred, the accident finally catching up with him. Tate left him in his underwear and the Bonfils work shirt, sure he’d be comfortable enough to sleep in them, and just pulled the quilt over him. After pausing for a few more moments, that was.

  Damn, but Alex had lovely long, strong legs. Was it only last night they’d been pressed against Tate’s inner thighs, Alex’s hands gripping him, begging to go deeper, exhorting Tate to move faster, rougher—? He fancied he could still hear Alex’s strangled groan, his bitten off laugh of happiness as his climax shuddered through his body. He could smell the sudden spurt of warm seed as he came all over Alex’s belly, the slight tang of sweat as Alex wrapped an arm around him as they lay together, panting, on the mattress.

  Tate had a wild desire to wipe his brow at the mere memories. This was a rare, quiet time, without the others in the house. Time for Tate to sit on the end of Hugo’s narrow single bed and watch Alex sleeping. To wallow in sexy memories—but also to worry. Tate worried about anyone who had an accident like that, especially if it was one of his workers. But if something dreadful had happened to Alex…? It was time to examine why he was both upset and fascinated by how much that distressed him. Alex was able to talk about the attraction openly, Tate’s caution was another matter.

  They’d only known each other a short time. They’d said no strings, right? But…. Crap. Face the truth, Somerton! Tate had enjoyed every minute of Alex’s company and found he was looking forward to each day at work, just to see him. I’ve got it bad, haven’t I? Alex lightened his day and made him laugh, even if it was at Alex’s often ridiculous behavior. Their shared laughter was all the more precious because of it. Alex was attentive to Tate, and he didn’t hide the fact he was keen on him, and oh God, but it was good to have attention again! Alex was a breath of fresh air in Tate’s life. He made Tate feel that dating and companionship were attainable, even in Tate’s full life. And that was, oh, such a dangerous route to take.

  Yeah. Dangerous, because it wouldn’t last. Tate carried the pain and stigma of those he loved leaving him. When his parents were killed, he’d been the one to comfort Gran, and somehow explain it all to the kids. How could such a tragedy be explained at all? Not with his life experience, at least. All he could do was his best, knowing that was so often lacking. He’d had to grow up pretty quickly after that day. Any plans for further education had been shelved in favor of keeping the family afloat and together. His parents had sensibly arranged some life insurance, but that had to be kept safe for what the kids might need in the future. Everything—and Tate meant everything—had to be secondary to his family’s welfare.

  Tate smoothed the duvet around Alex’s chest, remembering the times he’d sat with the kids when they were younger. The time when they all came down with chicken pox had been the worst: three invalids at the same time. Alex snuffled, shifting under the bedclothes, his broad shoulders snuggling into the pillows, those long legs stretching out under the covers.

  No kid, that. Tate smiled to himself. Despite the inappropriate setting, his cock hardened. And despite it being his younger brother’s bedroom, he wanted nothing more than to slip under the covers beside Alex, just for a cuddle. How long, he wondered, before the kids came back—?

  Downstairs, the front door slammed behind a hubbub of voices.

  “Tate? Tate!”

  “We’ve brought fish and chips for supper!”

  “Gran fell asleep in the movie! Twice!”

  Tate smiled ruefully to himself. He’d just have to hold that thought.

  FRIDAY evening was traditionally a hectic but fun time for the Somerton family. Even if Tate was working over the weekend, they all relaxed with takeaway food and tales of their week at school or work—or, in Gran’s case, at her many social clubs—and stayed up later than usual. Tate even avoided dates on Fridays, albeit that hadn’t been difficult in his recent dry love life. Tonight, they all clustered together in the living room, the H’s reenacting every frame of the movie, Gran hogging the ketchup for her chips, and Freddie hopping up and down in anguish in his basket because he knew he shouldn’t beg for food but was itching to. Amy sat on the sofa next to Tate, hugging him close in between eating her food, as if they’d been apart for weeks rather than just a normal day. Did she pick up on his somber mood after the day he’d had at the warehouse?

  Gran caught Tate’s gaze once, over the heads of Hattie and Hugo who were practicing a weird kind of salsa dance on the rug in front of the TV. She tilted her head up to the ceiling—Hugo’s room was directly above them—and waggled her eyebrows quizzically.

  Blimey. Did she guess there was someone there? Tate couldn’t hear a single sound from upstairs, and he hadn’t told anyone yet that Alex was in the house, he was waiting for the right moment. But Gran had her own mystical ways, he should know by now there was no fooling her. He nodded briefly back to let her know everything was fine. The disadvantage of having the kids around them right now was that he couldn’t talk openly about adult things. He’d give it another half hour, until the kids’ bedtimes were due, and he had to shift Alex somewhere else.

  Then the right moment chose itself. The twins were playing cards on the rug, Amy was snuggled up to Gran on the sofa, playing rock, paper, scissors—and winning as always—and Tate was crouched by the TV, scratching behind Freddie’s ears and driving the dog to ecstatic delight, when Alex appeared in the doorway to the living room, yawning.

  “Alex!” Amy whooped. Every head whipped around to look at him. The H’s jaws dropped in unison; Gran froze in position, both her hands in “scissors” position.

  “Hello, everyone,” Alex said slowly.

  He was dressed in his jeans and socks, plus a clean T-shirt Tate had left on the bedside table; it was one of Tate’s better ones, now stretched across Alex’s broader chest. Tate found it embarrassingly difficult to take his eyes off the effect: the raised shadow of Alex’s nipples was particularly distracting. Alex smiled at him as if he knew exactly what Tate was thinking and ran a hand through his hair. It was plastered awkwardly against the left side of his head, and Tate caught sight of a few oddly light strands in among the rich chestnut brown. He stood abruptly. Freddie rolled onto his back and sniffed in disappointment at being abandoned.

  “Um. Tate?” Alex said.

  “Oh. Yeah.” Tate hurriedly spoke to his family. “Alex had a bit of an accident at work today so I brought him back here to sleep it off.” At Gran’s raised eyebrows, he added, “We used your bed, Hugo. I mean he, Alex, used your bed, I hope that’s okay with you.”

  Hugo all but plumped up with pride. “Happy to help,” he crowed, and jabbed Hattie in the ribs with a “he needed my bed!” gleam in his eyes.

  “How are you feeling?” Tate asked Alex.

  “Fine—” But Alex didn’t have a chance to say more as the Somerton clan rushed into action.

  “Sit down at once, Alex.” Hattie was in bossy nurse mode, determined to regain ground with her twin. She all but pulled him into the room and onto the sofa beside Gran and Amy.

  “What happened, Alex?” Hugo gave him a fierce look up and down. “Did you break something? Was there blood?”

  “Are you hungry? There are some chips left,” Amy offered, though there were only a few scraps left in her polystyrene tray. She poked around at them, as if looking for the best specimens for Alex.

  Only Gran greeted him calmly. “Alex.”

  “Gran,” he replied, just as equably.

  Tate wondered when Alex had started calling her Gran. “So. Just to update you all. Alex had a fall in the warehouse today. He’s bruised but okay.”

  “Ouch,” Hugo said gleefully.

  “Aww,” Hattie sympathized.<
br />
  “Where’s the bruise?” Amy asked. “Can you show me?”

  “Hush, Amy, Alex isn’t a project,” Gran said. “He’s walking wounded. And it’s your house, Tatty. You can invite whoever you like.” She peered at Alex like the most thorough Harley Street doctor. “You’re white as a sheet, boy. Plenty of sleep and hot baths is my prescription, that’ll get your mojo back in a couple of days. We don’t have any spare rooms, but I’ll make up the couch for you. Easy enough to set up and break down every day.”

  “Gran, it’s just for tonight—” Tate started to protest.

  “Until he’s better,” she said firmly. “He can’t go back to a hotel, Tatty.” She made it sound like the black hole of Calcutta, and Tate was a slave master. “And of course,” she continued blithely. “It’s good for you, too.”

  What is? Tate thought, alarmed, but didn’t dare ask.

  “Just one thing worries me….”

  Tate sucked in a breath. Here it comes.

  “We’re gonna need another loaf of bread if you eat toast for breakfast. We’re down to the crusts again.” She grinned and gestured to the children. “Come on now, time for bed for you lot.”

  There was a chorus of disappointed groans, as if they were missing prime entertainment. Tate glanced quickly at Alex, who was smiling gently—and a little bemusedly—from his seat. Maybe this was prime entertainment. Hattie and Hugo were all but shoving each other out of the way to look after Alex’s needs, Gran had slipped an arm into his, and Amy had fetched her toy stethoscope to listen to his pulse. But no one had complained or argued with Tate about letting a virtual stranger into the house. Wow. His heart felt warm, his emotions shaky. His family was wonderful. Welcoming, tolerant, even though bizarre at times.

  Alex met his gaze, smiled more strongly, and Tate’s warmth increased fortyfold.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE weekend morphed into Monday, then Tuesday. Alex kept suggesting he should go back into work, but while his bruises passed through the gloriously vivid purple and yellow phases, Tate and Gran insisted he continue resting. The Somerton sofa was old but ridiculously comfortable to sleep on; Alex found he was sleeping more deeply than usual at night, wrapped in soft blankets and mismatched but vividly bright linens.