by D. V. Patton
Sometimes the fire burns through the rain. Chris is a man drifting through life, but after one bad choice too many, he finds himself marooned in a gay resort in sunny Spain, paying off a debt to a London gangster.
He meets an enigmatic Irishman, Ciaran, who is as charismatic as he is elusive. Chris can’t tell if Ciaran is just a mirage, a sunny ghost whipped up under the Mediterranean sun. Passion burns both men up, until the summer fires fade and the rain comes.
Chris washes up in Ireland, and here, in cold Dublin he must finally face the truth—the people you love can break you…or save you.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Fire and Rain
Copyright © 2013 D.V. Patton
ISBN: 978-1-77111-482-0
Cover art by Ashley Waters All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by eXtasy Books
Look for us online at:
www.eXtasybooks.com Fire and Rain
By
D.V. Patton Chapter One Chris could feel the sweat pour down the side of his torso as he shifted the various boxes of books, newspapers, and sundries against the wall. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and felt his eyes sting. There was a light sheen of dust or sand that coated everything in the shop and it seemed the substance stuck to him like a second skin.
This place was hot, and the air conditioning was faulty. It rattled with a horrible grating hum that vibrated through the floor. “That’ll have to go.” He chuckled to himself—nothing like stating the obvious. Chris looked around, pretty happy with his day’s work. The stock was in, and the madness was about to begin.
He had been in northern Spain for three days now, but he had seen almost nothing of the town of Torres. Between emptying his meager life possessions into the apartment overhead and unpacking the stock sent from London, Chris had barely a moment to breathe.
It was still not the high holiday season in Torres. That kicked off in June, so he figured he had the better part of a week to get everything in shape. All of this madness was good—it kept his mind off…London. It kept him focused.
Chris looked around, satisfied with the progress he had made. He decided to explore the town a little, maybe try to find a quiet restaurant or café and pick up lunch.
Chapter Two
The afternoon sun caused him to squint immediately and he cursed as he realized he had lost his sunglasses somewhere in the labyrinth of the shop. He had seen an up-market shop on one of the boulevards that sold brand-name glasses, beside a couple of gay bars, and though he balked at the thought of paying a hundred or so euro for a pair of shades, he doubted he would ever see the return of his missing pair.
It was high afternoon and the Iberian sun was reaching its apex, so the streets were pretty much emptied. He needed a shower, and some sun cream. The glare of the sun was already tickling his skin, and although he tanned rather than burned, Chris wasn’t in the mood to risk it.
Chris reached the shop and pushed the glass door of the entrance. It was locked. He did a double take, and realized the interior of the shop was darkened. He cussed, feeling like such a tourist, an imposter.
“It’s closed,” a pleasant voice called across to him in English. Chris turned to seek out the source of this wisdom. It was one of the waiting staff from the gay bars adjacent to the store. Chris felt pretty dumb, but years of practice helped him brush it off. He didn’t allow his embarrassment to show.
“You Scottish?” he asked the guy, trying to place the accent. He got a cheeky smile in return. “Irish, actually.”
Chris looked at the guy frankly enough. The guy was twinky, thin, and lithe, his bare arms and legs smooth. The muscles in his arm were light and not over developed, but they looked powerful nonetheless.
He had that trendy emo type hair that made him hard to age, and a piercing in his lip and another in his eyebrow. The guy did have beautiful eyes below his blond bangs, blue eyes that sparkled with a barely concealed mischief. “Sangria?” he asked.
Chris hesitated, but chuckled. “Maybe a quick coffee.”
“In this heat?” His host offered him a seat that overlooked the boulevard, and Chris felt himself shepherded. Resistance was futile. The guy disappeared into the confines of the bar, and Chris fished out his cigarettes. He had lasted about a day in Spain before he started smoking again. It seemed everyone smoked here, and the evil little things were about half the price of home. After the last six months, he thought it was the least of his worries. His host returned with his coffee, and Chris sensed rather than saw a slight look of distaste cross the man’s face at the smoke rising lazily from the ashtray. Chris chuckled inwardly. Oh well, he thought, it was special while it lasted.
Chapter Three
Except it seemed the moment would last a little longer. The man had returned with two cappuccinos. Chris was a little taken back with the brazen nature of the waiter. He guessed when in Rome…
“Mind if I join you?” asked the guy, sitting down before Chris could reply.
Chris’ eyes narrowed as he became suspicious of the invasion of his privacy. “Your boss doesn’t mind?” “Oh I don’t work here,” said the guy, with the same mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“Right,” said Chris, a little uneasily. “Why don’t we drink these coffees, then go back to your place and fuck like rabbits?”
Chris put his hands up. “Listen, mate, I think—” he started before the man’s smile stopped him. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”
The guy reached over and squeezed his knee once. “Course I am,” he said with a smile that revealed his neat white teeth. There was a little gap between his two front teeth that Chris found cute. “I’m Ciaran.”
Chris held out his hand, and simultaneously a little metaphorical light went off in his head. “You’re Mattie’s nephew!”
“Ah, I’ve been unmasked! You’re Chris, right? Sarah’s brother.”
“That’s right,” said Chris, smiling back at the Irishman.
“I wasn’t expecting you until the weekend.”
“It’s rained for three days in London. I came early.” “Don’t knock it. I give you three weeks of sun, and you might miss the rain.”
“I doubt it,” retorted Chris, unsure if he was talking about the rain or the city itself. He found himself staring at the man a little too intensely, for Ciaran coughed and dived into his elaborately made cappuccino. Chris sipped on his, working his way through the foamy head to get at the coffee. He was a little taken off guard by his attraction to the man, but he suspected the bit of the bravado was just for show. The guy still had that sheen of inexperience, an exotic spice that hung in the air.
“You like the coffee?”
“It’s great.” “Liar,” said Ciaran smiling, and Chris felt that flash of attraction again. Blond, tanned, lithe, with that beautiful Irish lilt. He stared deeply into the man’s blu
e eyes, briefly but intensely, then held the gaze, watching until a cute blush reached the man’s cheeks. Behave, Chris warned himself. “The coffee’s fine.”
“You English are so polite,” scoffed Ciaran.
Chapter Four “You been to Spain before?” asked Ciaran, not bothering to wait for a reply. “This will be my third summer here in Torres. It’s a great place, man.”
Chris struggled to keep up with his companion, with his bounding steps and seemingly restless energy. Ciaran had offered to take him to a decent place to eat, and they cut through side streets like a sword slashing through cloth. “It seems lively, all right. I haven’t had a chance to check the night life out.”
“Don’t worry, man, I’ll show you around.”
“Great.”
“By the way, I’m not hitting on you,” said Ciaran. “I’m not really into guys.”
Chris chuckled at that. “Not…really.” Ciaran set off as suddenly as he had stopped, but he looked back over his shoulder, and smiled what Chris chose to think was an enigmatic smile, though in truth the man looked slightly embarrassed. “Last summer I worked in Torres’ busiest gay bar—I got enough unwanted attention there to last a life time,” he said, adding a smile to lessen the edge of his comment. “It gets old real fast.”
“I dig you,” said Chris, mentally grimacing at his faux pas. How old was he—fifteen? Still, it did plant a thought in his head. “How old are you, Ciaran?” he asked innocently enough, but instantly regretted asking when he realized how pervy it might sound.
“I’m twenty-one,” said Ciaran, “you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“You don’t look it.” “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Ciaran smiled a big toothy smile. “Take it whatever way you want! You want to get some food? Donna’s due in later.”
“Donna’s here?” asked Chris, surprised. Were they checking up on him already? Donna was Mattie’s only sister, and Chris trusted her about as far as he could throw her. “Ah, don’t worry,” said Ciaran reassuringly. “She’ll spend most of her time drinking cocktails and hanging around loud camp men.”
“That’s a relief,” said Chris. “Here, food’s on me,” he added, flashing the credit card he had been given for expenses. “You wanna be careful with that,” said Ciaran seriously. “The old man will go through the receipts with a fine tooth comb.”
“Fuck that,” said Chris, “might as well get something out of this junket, not as if I’m getting paid,” he finished. One look at Ciaran’s face made him regret it instantly. The man’s expression was unreadable, but for a second, his pretty eyes darkened, and with it, his whole demeanor changed. Then, it was gone. “This place is good,” he said finally. Chapter Five
Chris realized it was going to take him a while to acclimatize to the food. He settled for a hard roll with a slice of pork wedged in between the seemingly stale bread. It was cursory, but strangely tasty. Even nicer was the crushed iced smoothie with a dash of lemon. It was like an oasis in the sticky afternoon heat. He sipped it like a milkshake, and looked up guiltily at the sound he made. “So what’s your story?” asked Ciaran
between mouthfuls of his burger. Chris looked on with a sight sense of envy. He looked like one of those high metabolism types who could eat whatever he wanted and still look like an Abercrombie model. Chris worked hard for his body. He looked at his pack of cigarettes on the table. Well, pretty hard.
“Oh, I’m just here for three months, opening this store for Mattie. He’s your uncle, right?”
Ciaran nodded. “In the middle of a recession, he’s a brave guy, my uncle.”
“I guess it’s aimed at ex-pats and tourists. Just as well, really, I don’t speak a word of Spanish.” “Catalan.”
“Sorry?”
“You’re in Catalonia, my friend, not Spain.”
“Point taken. What about you? Just here for the summer?” “Yeah, I was in Uni in Dublin. This is my third summer here. I originally came to learn the lingo.”
“Ah,” said Chris. It made sense now. “I’ll help in the shop, show you round the sights,” said Ciaran, “and try help you learn a bit of the language, if you want.”
“Thanks,” said Chris, giving the guy’s knee a little squeeze. He thought Ciaran pulled back a bit. He wasn’t sure that the man even noticed. It was both an unconscious and involuntary reaction.
“So three months here and three in Barcelona?” asked Ciaran.
Chris nodded. “Then back to old Blightly. Is Barcelona nice?” “Yeah,” said Ciaran, “but you need to keep your wits about you up there,” he added pointedly. “Better head back to the shop—I’d say Donna’s there by now.”
“You’re not coming?” “Nah,” he said. “She’ll want to give you a pep talk, no doubt. You’re in the apartment above the shop? I’ll come around about eight, and we can go get some dinner if you like.”
Ciaran didn’t wait for a reply. With a theatrical gesture, he swept up his phone, drank the last of his juice, and slipped away. Chris watched him go. Not really into guys, Chris thought to himself— yeah, right.
Chapter Six
As it turned out, whether Ciaran liked guys or not became a moot point. After a fortnight working together, it became obvious he certainly didn’t like Chris that way, at least. Ciaran was a nice guy, though he tended to keep Chris at arm’s length at all times. Chris had developed a bit of the lust for the guy, but all his flirting had fallen flat. Chris had reluctantly accepted that any urges he had in Torres would not be settled at that particular door.
Spain was hot. It seemed like an obvious conclusion to come too, but Chris hadn’t realized how hot. His skin felt different, and he was careful not to expose himself to the sun too much. Chris’ body was in danger of becoming a mish mash of freckles rather than the mysterious all-over tan that covered his co-worker, yet another manifestation of his wasted lust. Chris spent an irritatingly long time in front of mirror applying a spray on sun protector, whilst Ciaran, though with a fairer complexion, bronzed like an Adonis. Chris spent an unhealthy amount of time examining his new friend’s perfect skin, his smooth athlete’s shoulders, and a tight butt that looked like it was sculpted by a renaissance artist.
Chapter Seven
Within a week of being in Torres, he became suspicious of his business arrangement with Mattie. After three weeks, he was worried. The money rolled in, and the shop was doing well, its patois of faux sixties clothes and tatty memorabilia seemingly flying out the door. But it didn’t take too much of a brain to realize it was doing too well. The money rolled in, usually when Mattie’s own nephew Ciaran was on the floor, and Chris was off either at the beach or sightseeing in Barcelona.
Chris said nothing. He never paid rent or bills, so all the money that came was profit. He counted the money, filed the receipts, and deposited it into the bank. And all around him life went on in the sweltering resort of Torres.
Donna came down for a weekend seemingly to help in the shop, though in truth she seemed a hell of a lot more interested in spending time on Torres’ many sandy beaches and supping on its multicolored cocktails.
“Well, everything seems good,” said Donna, making no pretense at any real interest in the business. “You know the deal anyhow. Count the money, log it, and keep receipts. Easy money.”
She really did have a grating voice, Chris realized. Mattie’s sister looked nothing like the boss. Her skin was leathery from the harsh sun down south, and her face was heaped in mascara. Donna reeked of a mixture of expensive perfume and cheap Spanish cigarettes. A plume of tobacco smoke followed her wherever she went. In many ways she was a walking advertisement for not getting too much sun. She had only come up to Torres twice since he had been here, and Ciaran assured him that the visits would become even less frequent.
Of course, Donna was oblivious to it. She was a real East End girl, more at home among the shadier ex-pats down around Marbella. She was also incredibly patronizing. “Look at you. Surrounded by the med, hot weather, fuc
k a few beautiful guys, and getting paid. Most guys would give their right arm for a deal like that. Easy money, I tell ya.”
Chris couldn’t bite his tongue. “Except I won’t see any money, Donna.” “Don’t get greedy, Chris. That’s what got you in this mess. Its lucky you’re family or you would have been seriously fucked.”
The way she said fuck, made it sound like fooook. Still, Chris shut his mouth, because what she said was true. He had gotten himself in this mess. Every time he’d screwed up, Chris found a way to squirm out of it, but not this time—this was different. Chris decided not to dwell on it too much. Donna muttered on about this and that, but mainly he waited for her to actually leave. She said a lot, but the gist was don’t steal any money if you know what is good for you.
”Three months here, three months in Barcelona,” he said as she was leaving. “I won’t mess it up.”
Donna looked at him strangely when he said that. “Well, we can worry about that later. Just deposit the money and send the receipts, and everything will be cushy.”
It was only after she left that Chris found himself wondering about that strange blank look, when he had mentioned his agreed-upon six-month stay in Spain. He hadn’t liked that look one bit. It was like she had no idea what he was talking about.
Chapter Eight
“So there you are,” said Chris, when he saw that his coworker had finally appeared. “You missed Donna.”
“Damn,” said Ciaran, trying to keep the grin from his face.
“She’s your family!” protested Chris.
“Ah, relax, man, you’re family now too!”
“Fuck you,” said Chris smiling. “Seriously, man, you need to chill out. I’m not here to spy on you. I’m just a tourist too.”
Chris must have looked at him askew, because Ciaran added “C’mon, why don’t we hang out tonight. Get some eats, hit the clubs?”
Chapter Nine
Friday night was busy in the town, much more so than weekdays. The restaurants and seafront cafes were all packed, but Ciaran brought him to a nice back street eatery and got a table right out front. Chris smoked the whole time, much to Ciaran’s evident chagrin. But seeing as his amorous approaches had failed, Chris had long since decided to be himself around the Irishman.