Joe paused, kissing his neck. “Not too big?” he whispered. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It’s really not too much,” he replied. “It’s just… God, it feels amazing!”
Alejandro’s enthusiasm spurred Joe on. He didn’t hold back, and used all the strength in his body to make love to Alejandro, wishing him to be as happy as Alejandro had made him. Alejandro’s legs tightened around him, his hands against Joe’s back. He pushed his hips to meet Joe’s thrusts, gasping into their kisses.
Joe couldn’t hold back much longer. He murmured Alejandro’s name, his thrusts deepening. “Darling Alejo, you beautiful man.”
“Your man,” he sighed. “Your Alejo.”
“My beautiful Alejo,” Joe whispered. But he couldn’t say another word because at that moment, with one last thrust, Joe was swept up in his climax, his body thrumming with joy and his lover’s name on his lips. Alejandro gathered him into his arms, holding him as he rode out the waves of pleasure. Joe’s vision of two naked figures, glistening and entwined, had come true. He dropped lazy kisses across Alejandro’s face and neck and shoulders, tasting the salt on his skin. “You’re the single most perfect man I’ve ever met,” he murmured. “You make me feel alive.”
“You should always feel that way.” Alejandro smiled. “My man.”
“I hope I will,” Joe said. “That was incredible, by the way. You’re incredible.”
“Was I really your first?” He kissed Joe’s nose. “You’ve got a natural talent!”
“But I have an excellent teacher!” Joe laughed. He battled a yawn then, trying to hide it behind his hand. “We certainly had a good workout. Here’s to many more.”
Alejandro unwrapped his legs, setting his dainty feet down on the mattress as he said, “Lots more. In beds like this and on tropical islands too!”
“My leave can’t come soon enough!” Joe tickled Alejandro as he rolled onto his side. This might change everything, he knew, but maybe a change was overdue. He’d spent too long living his life for others.
Chapter Seventeen
Joe hadn’t wanted to leave the safe confines of the castle, where they’d stayed for a few days, but Alejandro could hardly move in as a permanent fixture. And besides, there was the house in Highgate—Alejandro’s home, which Control had cleared for him to return to.
The car pulled into Alejandro’s street, and Joe went through the motions of opening the car door for Mr Fuente. The presence of a small press corps wasn’t a surprise, as Joe had been warned to expect it given the explosion after Paloma’s command performance. As he stepped from the car Alejandro was ready to meet his public in a wide-brimmed hat borrowed from Mel and a pair of enormous sunglasses, but as the press called out questions about the explosion, his only reply was one of those regal waves.
Joe hustled him through the reporters and the camera flashes, up to his front door. He loved the burst of adrenaline it gave him, reminding him of when he’d first been assigned to the duchess.
Over the shouts from the press, Joe heard a voice he recognised and his heart sank.
Can’t he just piss off?
“Oi, Al, you avoiding me or something?”
Joe glanced at Alejandro and in a hurried whisper asked, “Shall I get rid?”
“I’d say yes.” Alejandro’s voice was a whisper and Joe thought again of Patrick’s question. ‘Is there anything I should know?’ “But Sir Robert and little P think it’s time Zak learned he can’t do this forever. I’ll see him.”
“Right.” Joe patted Alejandro’s shoulder, then opened the front door for him.
“Oi, are you listening to me?” Zak fought his way through the press, who were clearly interested in him. Joe saw a battle play out across Zak’s face as he apparently tried to decide whether to force his presence on Alejandro or court the reporters.
“Please come this way, Mr Smythe-Unwin,” Joe said, holding open the door for Zak to enter.
“About fucking time,” Zak, ever the charmer, remarked as he went into the house after Alejandro. Joe shut the door in the reporters’ faces. Outside he heard Patrick’s security officers reasserting order once more whilst inside Alejandro swanned through to the kitchen, pausing only to deposit his hat on the newel post.
“Zak.” He turned to face his boyfriend, sliding his sunglasses up into his hair. “We’ve been away.”
“You didn’t answer my messages.” He turned his screwed-up face to Joe and looked him up and down. “You just going to stand there and stare at me? Is that what you get paid to do?”
“Pretty much, yes,” Joe replied. And dangling dickheads out of windows. “Most of the time.”
Defeated, Zak turned back to Alejandro. “You and him, eh? I don’t like this. My boyfriend vanishing for days with his bouncer. The fuck were you doing, Al?”
“I’ve been rehearsing this, because I’m frightened of you,” Alejandro said, but Joe couldn’t see any fear in his eyes, only courage. “You’ve bullied me, you’ve beaten me, and you don’t even take no for an answer. And I mean you never take no for an answer. Ever. And when you told me I was a joke and I was talentless and stupid and a pathetic little gay queen, I thought I must be, because you wouldn’t say it otherwise, would you?”
Zak looked quickly between Alejandro and Joe. His fists were clenched, but he must’ve picked up on the fact that Joe had moved a step closer to Alejandro. And that confidence in Alejandro’s voice… Zak’s mouth had twisted, as if he’d been force-fed a lemon. Like all bullies, he didn’t like being stood up to.
“Oh, my lovely Al!” Zak appeared to be trying a smile, his voice unctuous with fake affection and disbelief. “Why’d you ever think that about me? It was just bants, I never meant it seriously. Thought you liked a bit of roughing up! You only had to tell me it wasn’t your thing, Al. I never bullied you.”
“I never liked it and you were too high to know. But the worst thing is, I keep wondering if you’re Fuckface, and that’s not exactly a solid basis for a relationship.” Alejandro took a deep breath, then told Zak, “So we’re done. That’s it. Find someone else to do the makeup on your film and when they tell you that your vision’s generic, listen to them, or you’re not going to win anything. Bye, Zak. You were a cara de culo from start to finish.”
Zak’s mouth hung open, his head twitching from side to side like a bird’s. “No, no, that’s not right. You’re my boyfriend, you can’t—” His face darkened with rage, and Joe recalled that horrible night when he’d found Zak standing in the middle of Alejandro’s room, anger in every line of his features. Zak jabbed his finger at Alejandro. “No, fuck this, you fucking dare dump me? You’re booked onto my film, you can’t back out now. I’m going to win the Salem, I am, and you’re doing the makeup. Fucking hell, do you know how unprofessional you are, backing out at the last minute? Think you’ll work in makeup again, in film, or theatre, or telly, or anything? Cos you won’t. I will shit on your name, Al! I fucking will! And no one else will want you anyway, will they, not once that video gets out.”
Zak grinned, a vile gurn.
“That’s enough, Mr Smythe-Unwin,” Joe warned.
“It’s okay,” Alejandro told him. “First, I never signed a contract so good luck enforcing that. Second, I’ll never work again because I did a line of coke? Tell it to Kate Moss, sweetie. And third, Sergeant Wenlock, I’d like to make a complaint of blackmail against my ex-boyfriend. I’ve got all your nasty little messages proving it, Zak, so I don’t think Disney are going to call anytime soon.”
“Of course, Mr Fuente.” Joe glanced at Zak. Alejandro had finally given Zak the verbal pasting he deserved. “Mr Smythe-Unwin, my fellow officers will no doubt be in touch.”
“You can’t do this. I’m making a film. You’re doing the makeup.” Zak’s stabbing finger had wilted. He stared at Joe, comically bewildered. “Blackmail? But I’m nice, me!”
“Would you like me to escort Mr Smythe-Unwin from the premises, Mr Fuente?”
�
�Thank you, Sergeant,” Alejandro said. Then he turned away and strolled into the hallway, disappearing from sight.
“Good morning, Mr Smythe-Unwin.” And good riddance.
Zak began to head towards the front door, but he pivoted back and glared at Joe. “Have you had him?”
“You were leaving, Mr Smythe-Unwin? The front door is that way,” Joe reminded him.
“You have, haven’t you?”
Joe sighed. “We can add slander to blackmail if you really want to, but I’d rather you didn’t because the paperwork’ll be horrendous.”
In the hallway, Zak glanced about desperately, like a man on a life raft whose only means of rescue was blithely steaming away from him over the horizon. He was a man who had lost, and he knew it.
“Please, Al?” Zak begged in a desperate squeak. “Gimme another chance!”
No reply came from Alejandro, and Joe unlocked the door, which reanimated the lurking reporters, clamouring again with their cameras and questions. Zak dropped his head and shuffled outside. Joe shut the door after him and watched through the spyhole as Zak swatted away the reporters and wandered off along the pavement, hands in his pockets, the picture of misery.
“Alejo?” Joe called. “He’s gone now.”
Alejandro appeared in the sitting room doorway, his eyes wide as he said, “I did it, Joe. Mamá’s going to kill me and Abuelita’s going to do that tut she always does but… I did, didn’t I?”
“You bloody did! You were great!” Joe wrapped him in a tight embrace. “You’ve done the right thing, don’t regret it for a second.”
“I don’t,” he admitted. “I’m not paying that horrible price anymore for one line of coke. I’m done with him, Joe, and it feels amazing!”
“You’re so bloody brave, darling. I’m so proud of you,” Joe said. “Your mum won’t be cross. She’ll be glad to see the back of the ever-so street Mr Smythe-Unwin.”
“She’ll rant and rave and by the end we’ll be best friends.” Alejandro drew back and kissed Joe. “Wait until we can tell her about us, she’s going to love it!”
Joe rested his finger on Alejandro’s lips. “But not yet! My God, imagine, we’ll be in bed together in this house, with the media outside, and all those protection officers, and none of them’ll know!” Joe started to laugh. “We’re very naughty.”
“Our secret,” he said. “So we have Fuckface to thank for something, weirdly!”
“Thank you, Fuckface!” Joe called. He caressed Alejandro’s cheek and was about to kiss him when his phone rang. “Sorry, darling. Better take this.”
“Sergeant Wenlock.” It was Patrick, his voice almost agitated with excitement. “We’ve got an ID. I’m at their location now. Can we speak privately in Peanut’s home? I’d rather not have the press see you coming and going, it’s a security nightmare.”
“A name?” Joe grinned at Alejandro, and gave him an excited thumbs up. And would that name be Zak Smythe-Unwin? “Yes, Commander, of course you can come over.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Peanut will need to occupy himself elsewhere, you do understand?” He heard a smile in the commander’s voice for the first time in too long. “Perhaps he has a wig to style or something similar.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.” Joe heard a knock at the back of the house. It threw him for a moment and for a horrible second, he thought Zak had returned through the garden. Then he remembered that it was the luggage. “There’s lots of unpacking to do, Commander. Mr Fuente will be occupied, I can promise you that!”
“I’ll see you soon. It’s good news, Joe, something concrete at last.”
* * * *
Joe helped Alejandro carry the luggage upstairs. “You stay up here and unpack. Commander Holloway and I have copper things to discuss, but this is nearly over, Alejo. At last.”
“Copper things,” Alejandro repeated, settling Sir Robert and Paloma the bull on his bed. He billowed the blanket over them, creating a cosy nest. “You do realise that I’m constantly going to be hassling you for all the naughty details when you’re looking after other royals, don’t you? I want all the gossip, Sarge!”
“Maybe I’ll be assigned to Vicky. I’ve heard rumours about a certain rugby player, but…” Joe tapped the side of his nose. “I’ll never tell!”
Alejandro opened his case as he said casually, “They’re true. And he’s still not as muscly as you!”
Joe laughed. “Well, of course, you’d have known about it. Did she tell you? I spotted it in a file at the Greenhouse.”
“She tells me everything,” he admitted. “Even when she had a dream about Mamá’s hunky bodyguard. I hadn’t seen you then though. Now I understand!”
Joe dropped his suitcase on his foot. Once he’d mastered his surprise, he said, “No, really? She dreamt about me?”
“I’ll never tell, but yes!” Alejandro said, as downstairs, there was a rhythmic rap at the door. “I need to pop into the studio later, and we can have a sneaky cuddle away from the press at the same time! Let’s go tonight, so Zak won’t spot us if he’s still lurking and seething.”
“That’d be nice. It is a bit disconcerting knowing they’re all outside with their telephoto lenses!”
Joe chuckled to himself as he went downstairs to answer the door. Who would he get next? But as he looked through the spyhole and saw Patrick on the step, hard reality washed over him like a wave of ice-cold water.
How the hell could he have a relationship with Alejandro and carry on as a CPO? They wouldn’t have much time together, and surely there’d be an almighty security risk. He couldn’t—
Joe pushed his thoughts aside and let Patrick into the house.
“Commander.” He nodded.
“Get the kettle on, Joe.” Patrick glanced towards the press corps. “I think it’s going to be a very merry Christmas for Mr Fuente.”
And not for Zak Smythe-Unwin.
Joe closed the door firmly behind Patrick and led him through to the kitchen. Excitement prickled through him, but Joe did his best to master it and appear unflurried, behaving as if his meeting with Patrick was entirely routine.
He pulled a seat out from the kitchen table for Patrick and put the kettle on. “So you’ve got a name for Leviticus?”
“Is your charge elsewhere?” He propped his cane against the table and sat down. “And happily engaged?”
Joe pointed up towards the ceiling. “Unpacking. He won’t interrupt, don’t worry.”
“I’ve not been entirely truthful with you, Joe, but I know you’ll understand that there are some aspects of an investigation that I can’t share with even my finest officers.”
“Yeah, I’m aware of that.” Joe turned away from Patrick as he dropped teabags into their mugs. He didn’t like that side of things, when he was being forced to grope about in the dark, but it made security leaks less likely. Or so his father had always claimed when Joe had grumbled about it.
“I told you that Leviticus had gone very quiet immediately before the explosion.” Patrick cleared his throat. “That wasn’t strictly true.”
Joe folded his arms. The kettle hissed and seethed on the worktop behind him. “Go on.”
“Just after you left for home, we received a report from the BBC that our man had emailed a veiled threat.” He knitted his fingers atop the table. “There were…elements that caused additional concern.”
Joe took the milk from the fridge. It wasn’t far off curdling, much like Joe’s patience. Why the bloody hell couldn’t they tell me that? “So you weren’t surprised when that parcel went off in your face, then?”
The words were out before Joe could stop them. Hardly the most tactful thing to say to Patrick.
The commander’s face went as white as though his throat had been cut. Not with distress, Joe realised almost immediately, but with anger.
“How dare you speak to me like that?” Patrick asked, his voice too quiet. “That’s a slight of my professionalism, Sergeant Wenlock, I won’t have that.�
�
“Sorry, sir.” But they’d both made stupid slip-ups. And they couldn’t afford to, not when Alejandro’s safety was at stake. And this is why a principal and a CPO can’t have a relationship. Lines are blurred. “I’m just frustrated by this case, sir. It’s my first after the accident, and I want it to be a success.”
Joe splashed boiling water into the mugs, mashing the teabags to relieve his annoyance.
“I admit there was an element to the message that gave me pause… My judgement might have been clouded.” Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose. “I let the job and my personal life cross paths, Joe, and I could’ve paid a heavy price.”
Joe patted his shoulder. “It’s not always easy, is it? Keeping the job and your personal life separate. I should’ve been here when the device arrived. I’m sorry I wasn’t.”
“What did I tell all of you when they collared Mr al-Abbasi for breaking my bloody back, Joe?” He waited, then said, “I told you all that they hunt in packs. If there’s one, there’s a whole bloody nest of them.”
But there was no nest, there was one man. One bad apple who planted a bomb.
Joe put a mug of tea down in front of Patrick and took a seat opposite him at the table. “He was a lone wolf. Bullied as a kid, radicalised by stuff he’d seen online.” And he could’ve blown me up instead of Patrick.
“If we could muster even a tenth of their PR, people like us wouldn’t be risking their lives every bloody day, Joe. Our hunt for Leviticus has led us straight back to Tooting.” He smiled, though there was no warmth in it. “Where good old Mr al-Abbasi used to ply his hatred.”
“So he wasn’t a lone wolf?” And Leviticus isn’t Zak. Joe drank his tea. He didn’t want to admit that the realisation disappointed him. Abusive boyfriend with cocaine psychosis fitted so well. At least, it had with the information Joe had been party too.
“Remember the oh-so-innocent brother? Baqil, the moderate.” He stabbed his fingertip against the table. “The man I told you all time and again was involved somehow, the man who supposedly had no case to answer.”
The Reluctant Royal Page 25