by Trina Lane
It was Matt’s turn to catch his breath when the man stepped away from his table and started to cross the floor that separated them. He wanted to look busy, but couldn’t seem to take his eyes away from the vision heading towards him. As the man got closer, Matt was able to see the high cheekbones and a straight nose situated above full lips. His dark eyes had Matt hypnotised, and Matt’s heart beat erratically in his chest.
“Hello. I’m Niall Roberge.”
The soft voice rumbled low in the man register, and goose bumps sprouted on Matt’s arms in response. He grasped Niall’s outstretched hand. “Matt Lincoln. It’s nice to meet you.”
“And you as well.”
Niall’s skin had a dusky olive hue and his hand radiated warmth. The tone wasn’t quite like Matt’s own Mediterranean heritage. There was a possibly of Native American in Niall’s blood somewhere but how thickly it ran through Niall’s veins and of what nation, Matt didn’t know. Matt was reluctant to release Niall’s hold, but eventually allowed his arm to drop and their physical connection broke. However, Matt still felt some invisible fibre tethering him to Niall’s presence.
“What is it that you do, Matt? What brought you here today?”
“I’m a psychiatrist. I come to this health fair every year, since Fenway has been an excellent source of referrals for my practice. How about you?”
“I represent Fenway’s trauma recovery group—”
Matt’s pulse sped up a fraction. “You’re that Niall?”
“Yeah.”
“God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt. It’s nice to finally have a face to put with a name. I’ve counselled several of my patients to join your group and they’ve without fail come back to me and said how amazing you are to work with. Are you a counsellor, psychologist, social worker…”
Niall held up his hand to stop Matt’s barrage of questions. “None of the above. I’m a photographer.”
Matt was a little taken back by Niall’s response.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Niall said, smiling. “What does a photographer have to do with a trauma support group?”
Matt nodded his head
“My studio specialises in fine art photography, but I have a project that allows victims of bashings to come and have their portraits taken without air-brushing. I show them that despite scars and bruising, the victim’s true beauty and strength lays within their souls, not their bodies. You’d be surprised how many victims feel ugly and unloveable even after the physical hurts heal.”
A small part of Matt’s heart, which had been reaching out for Niall, snatched its phantasmal hand back as if it were burned. It crushed Matt’s idealistic impression that this man, who’d ostensibly appeared to epitomise a selfless supporter of survivors struggling to get back on their feet, would take advantage of their vulnerability then profit from it. After a few seconds Matt thought more about Niall’s words, not his actions. He could see Niall’s point.
“It’s an interesting concept, but how do you get these men and women to sit in front of a camera and expose such a painful part of themselves? Don’t the photos seem as if they’re a permanent reminder of the survivor’s ordeal and vulnerability? As a psychiatrist I work with them to move forward, not look back.”
“Ah, therein lies the misunderstanding. The survivors who come to me are shown their bodies are still instruments of beauty despite the imperfections. It helps the healing process, rather than hinders it.”
Matt thought about what Niall said. “Even if in the end it helps them, how can you justify splashing their pain up on your gallery walls…then profiting from it?” Matt finished loudly.
Niall’s jaw dropped, and Matt watched the blood blanch beneath Niall’s swarthy complexion.
“Display? Profit? I don’t do either of those things. Those portraits belong solely to the subject. They are given all copies of the negatives and any prints that were made. If they have a partner and he or she joins them, I do a free sitting and they have the option to purchase those prints, but not the others. I would never to that!”
Matt felt about two inches tall. He’d jumped to conclusions and chastised a man he’d just met based on a few words. It was certainly no defence but Matt’s only excuse was that he became particularly upset with what Matt thought was disreputable behaviour by someone with whom he’d felt an instant connection.
“Oh, Niall. I’m sorry. I…there is no excuse… I’d like to see your work sometime if you’d be willing to show me.”
Niall pinned Matt with his eyes. After several seconds, he pulled out a business card from his wallet. “Here’s my information. Please call me, and I’ll be happy to show you around.”
Matt ran his thumb over the embossed lettering of the card. “I will and…thank you.” There was a loud noise and the double doors to the hall opened. Immediately men and women started filing in. “Guess that means we’re on.”
Niall’s gaze had never left Matt’s face. “I hope so.” He then turned and walked back to his booth on the opposite side of the room.
The afternoon flew past. Matt’s table saw a constant stream of individuals either browsing or serious about reaching out for help. He used his iPad to access his office schedule, and set up a healthy number of consultations for the coming weeks. It seemed the fair had been another success for his professional life, and if Matt read Niall correctly, maybe he hadn’t totally FUBAR’ed up the encounter with the sexy photographer. He smiled at the thought and looked up, only to find that Niall’s table was now empty. With a sigh of disappointment, he set about packing his materials away.
That’s a shame. I would have liked to look into Niall’s dark eyes one more time today. Well at least I know how to get in touch with him.
In a moment of panic, Matt forgot where he’d put Niall’s card. Matt frantically patted his pockets for a few seconds until he found the small rectangle of card stock. Niall’s studio was named Roberge Photographics. The address was in the Fort Point neighbourhood where many of the high-end artisans set up shop. Matt had spent some time down there not too long ago. There were some great restaurants and fantastic window-shopping opportunities. Matt wondered if he’d passed Niall’s studio and not realised it. It seemed like the ball was in Matt’s court. It was a good thing he was a consummate athlete.
* * * *
Two days later Matt sat at his office desk and stared at Niall’s card. The black lettering started to blur, and Matt rubbed his eyes with the base of his palm. He knew his nerves had gotten the better of him over the last couple of days. Since the health fair, Matt had talked himself in and out of calling Niall so many times, Matt didn’t know up from down or left from right anymore. He was still mortified over his behaviour that day. Matt had always thought of himself as a rational person, able to see both sides of any picture. Look at what he did for a living, for cripes sake, but one look into the inky pools of Niall’s eyes and all Matt’s common sense went out the window.
Niall’s last words rang in Matt’s head. He picked up the receiver to his desk phone and punched in the numbers listed on Niall’s card. Three rings later he got a voicemail, and regardless of how cowardly it seemed, he breathed a sigh of relief. When the tone sounded, Matt kept the message short and sweet, during which time his phone line beeped to signal another call. He left his phone number quickly then switched over to the caller. “Dr. Lincoln speaking.”
“Matt?”
“Niall?”
Matt heard a soft but clear expletive beneath Niall’s breath.
“Sorry to have bothered you.” Matt guessed he had his answer about Niall’s desire to see him again. He hung up quickly. However, not a few seconds later the phone rang. He was tempted to let it go to voicemail, but knew if it was one of his patients calling, it could be an emergency.
“Dr. Lincoln.”
“Why’d you hang up?”
Niall’s voice sounds hurt, but that doesn’t make sense.
“I heard you curse when you found out the caller was me.”<
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“No! I mean yes. I did, but not because —” Niall took a deep breath and let it out. “Can we start this over?”
Matt smiled. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”
“Good. The curse wasn’t aimed at you. I’ve been expecting a call from a client about a huge potential job. It would mean a significant increase in international exposure for my studio.”
“That’s fantastic!”
“Yeah, well I have to get the job first. Sotheby’s is looking for a photographer to shoot a collection of massive sculptures. I’ve submitted pieces from my portfolio, and word is I should expect to hear the decision any day now. It just so happens, your phone number and the person who’s supposed to contact all the bidders are almost identical. When I saw the number pop up on the screen of my phone, I jumped the gun a little bit. I apologise.”
“It’s fine. I would’ve probably done the same thing.” It was Matt’s turn to breathe deep. “I was calling to see if you’d like to get together sometime. Have coffee, or get a drink? I’d still like to see your photographs.”
“I was hoping you would call. I’ve been kicking myself black and blue for not getting your number the other day. Would you like to see the gallery or…don’t take this wrong way… my private collection?”
Matt knew his preference. He didn’t intend to jump right into bed with Niall, but having an intimate atmosphere where they could become more familiar with each other sounded just fine to him.
“What if I told you I like the way that sounds?”
Niall sucked in his breath, and his voice deepened. “Then I would give you directions to my condo.”
“I have an excellent sense of direction. I’m quite sure I can find you.”
* * * *
Niall gave his place one last inspection. Floors clear of clothes? Check. Dirty dishes placed in the dishwasher? Check. Trash thrown down the garbage chute? Check. Bed made? He debated on whether or not that mattered. Niall would love to see Matt spread out for him on the large bed in front of him. The wide expanse waiting looked empty right now, but Niall envisioned how he, Matt and the man he’d seen in his dream would appear as they twisted and writhed and thrust against each other. The thick mattress was firm enough not to sag beneath the weight of three men, but the pillow top provided a cushion to cradle his lovers’ bodies. Niall prayed he and Matt would find the other man to complete their triangle soon. Until that time came, he had every intention of learning everything he could about Dr. Matthew Lincoln.
Niall longed to taste Matt’s lips and find out how Matt’s strong body would feel pressed up against him. Matt had a few inches on him, height-wise, and Niall thought his lips would rest perfectly on the upper curve of Matt’s neck. He wanted to taste Matt’s skin and discover what flavours lay hidden beneath the surface. He wanted to feel Matt’s pulse pound against his tongue.
Niall stopped his mind from going too far down that track. It would be unseemly to open the door with a hard-on on a first date. He grabbed the edge of his comforter and fluffed the down-filled spread. There—bed made. Niall left the master suite and walked down the hall. The bare brick walls contrasted warmly with the light wood floors. The beamed ceiling glowed with small canned lights tucked between the rafters. He’d painted the interior walls natural shades of moss green and lemon crème. Plush runners in jewelled red and gold lined the hall. His work was displayed in collections scattered around the eight room penthouse. It was warm and inviting, but had yet to become a home. Soon, he reassured himself. Soon his house would become a home.
The five tone chime announced the security desk was trying to get a hold of him. He hit the touch screen pad located on the wall in the living room and a video of the lobby security desk came alive.
“Yes?”
“A Mr. Lincoln to see you, Mr. Roberge.”
“Thank you, Adam. You can send him up.”
“Right away, sir.”
Niall took one last glance down at his clothes. He noticed a small splotch of chemical on his sleeve from when he’d been working in the darkroom earlier, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Niall headed towards the front door and opened it moments before the ding from the elevator rang in the hallway. He smiled as Matt exited the sliding doors, and Niall held the door open in welcome.
Matt slid past Niall into main living area and stopped dead. When Matt didn’t say a word and continued to remain cemented to the floor, Niall got a little nervous. He tried to see his place from an outsider’s perspective. All the exterior walls were red brick and his photographs, both large and small, floated over the masonry by specialised filament suspended from tracks at the top edge of the wall where it met the ceiling. Large double-hung windows circled the space, and were dressed with the floor to ceiling curtains that provided privacy but didn’t conceal the lights of downtown on the other side of the harbour. Niall’s u-shaped sectional sat on a soft jute rug, filling a large area on the far side of the room. Opposite the sofa, a sleek contemporary wall unit held his television and stereo equipment.
Matt turned and stared at the area that housed Niall’s kitchen with a confused looked on his face. Niall supposed his kitchen did look rather more abstract, with its three pieces, than the traditional multi-cabinet and countertop combination. It was a new design method intent on maximising space and design. Niall loved it and couldn’t wait to show all the cool features to Matt. Matt leant forwards and peered down the hallway, which led to the three bedrooms and baths then turned to face Niall.
“Wow. Just…wow. So I take it you’re not a starving artist?” he said, smiling.
Niall shrugged then closed the front door behind him. “Not exactly. I’ve been very blessed that my studio has been so successful, and my grandparents left me a substantial inheritance as well.”
Niall was always uncomfortable when people started talking about incomes and trappings of wealth. Although he enjoyed living in a nice condo and was willing to pay for quality furnishings, he preferred to keep the atmosphere laid back and well lived in. He had no desire to live in a showroom.
“Please make yourself comfortable. The sofa is a dream to sit on. I frequently end up falling asleep there instead of in my bed,” he said with a grin. He didn’t mention that the bed felt too empty without anyone to share it with. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“I’d love a glass of wine if you have one.”
“Red or white?”
“Red, please.” Matt walked over and rested against the concrete topped island.
Niall stepped up in front of Matt. Placing his hands on either side of Matt’s body he leant forwards, tilted his head up and gently touched his lips to Matt’s cheek. Matt’s breath fluttered against Niall’s cheekbone. “It’s nice to see you again. Thank you for coming.”
“I’m glad I called. I can’t explain it, but there’s something about you, Niall. I feel something more than basic attraction to a good looking guy.” Matt placed his hands on Niall’s hips. “I don’t want to freak you out, but I have the burning desire to learn everything about you. Now.”
Niall inched his body closer to Matt’s large frame. Matt’s grip on Niall’s hips was sure but didn’t demand, even if part of Niall wanted to jump Matt’s bones and grind against the beautiful man’s glorious muscles.
“How about I pour that wine then we can get right on that.” Because he couldn’t stop himself, Niall ran his hands up Matt’s arms. The thick biceps were hard under Niall’s fingers, and heat from Matt’s skin beneath the long-sleeved dress shirt warmed Niall’s palms. Niall closed his eyes and tucked his nose right under Matt’s chin, inhaling the combined scents of aftershave and Matt’s unique flavour. Niall tried to stop the soft moan before it escaped, but the second Matt’s lips touched his temple, the earthy sound was released.
Niall stepped away from Matt’s body. The break allowed his brain to reboot. “Wine,” he whispered. “I’m getting wine.”’
Matt nodded. “Wine and talking.
”
“Right, talking.”
Niall forced himself to go around the other side of the island. He opened the left side of the large wood cabinet and removed two wine glasses from the interior recess of the door which held all his glassware.
“That’s awesome,” Matt exclaimed.
“Isn’t it cool?” Niall opened the other side and suddenly a full kitchen was at his fingertips. The centre portion of the cabinet held all his dishes and small appliances, the right door’s recess held his cooking tools, and a swinging insert contained his eating utensils, spices and other kitchen paraphernalia. When the full unit was exposed, it stretched eight feet across, but only took up half that space when closed. Niall then went over to the coordinating cabinet that housed his wine cooler, refrigerator and freezer. “I put this bottle of pinot noir in the cooler about thirty minutes ago. It should be perfect by now.”
Niall lifted out the dark red bottle of La Crema and placed it on the island. He removed the cork and held it out to Matt to sniff. “What do you think?”
“I can smell plums and cherries, but it has an undertone of oak. We should let it breathe for a few minutes. Can we take it over to the sofa?”
“Of course. I hadn’t intended for us to talk standing here at the counter.” Niall carried the wine glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other. Niall smiled as Matt’s hand landed on the small of his back. They each found a comfortable spot on the sofa and relaxed back into the cushions. Niall found himself scooting towards Matt until their knees touched as they faced each other. The rightness of that simple contact made Niall’s inner self sigh with pleasure.
“So tell me more about this job for Sotheby’s,” Matt invited then took a sip of the wine Niall had poured for them.
“They’re auctioning off a collection of sculptures. They were all done by a single artist and are scattered around the United Kingdom. Some of the sculptures are massive, measuring fifty feet wide and twenty feet tall. Others are only a fraction of that. The commission will go to a single photographer and he or she gets to shoot the catalogue for the auction.”