* * * * *
By the time Dalton pulled into the parking space behind the building where they lived, Noah was exhausted. He could hardly keep his eyes open and yet knew the moment his head kissed the pillow he’d be incapable of falling asleep.
“Thanks for coming to get me,” Noah said as he headed for his room.
He closed the door and stripped as he stumbled to the bathroom, leaving his clothes where they lay. When he caught sight of his face in the mirror, Noah recoiled. His eyes were sunken into his head, he needed a shave and his hair was all over the place. He looked like he’d staggered out of a seventies Western having been attacked by Indians and left to walk through a blistering desert for several days with no water, no food and vultures circling overhead. His imagination ran out there. He tried to smile and failed. No wonder she’d said no.
Noah really wanted to laugh about it, but instead his jaw ticked. He’d wanted her and she’d said no, and he should be pissed off except she was right. He had been trying to substitute her for what was wrong with him. Sex with a stranger wasn’t the answer, though it might make him forget for a while. Noah shuffled into the shower, cranked it on and stood with his face upturned to the flow. No one ever said no to him. Half his friends pussyfooted around him as if he were a bomb ready to detonate—the others ignored his problems, pretending he was fine when he fucking wasn’t.
He braced his hands on the tiles and let the water play on his back. Noah wondered when this would end, if it would ever end. He’d thought three months and then amended it to six. Now it was seven. He told himself he wouldn’t go back to Jenson Street, but he suspected he would. The pain made him feel less guilty, though it didn’t last. All he wanted was to forget, and all he did was remember. Would he spend the rest of his life cowering in case his fucking shadow jumped out and shouted boo?
Gradually he’d dropped those friends who hadn’t dropped him, though Dalton was proving harder to get rid of. Probably just as well since Noah needed the cash Dalton paid for his room. Noah’s money was going to run out sooner or later, and no matter how desperate he became, he wouldn’t ask his family for a handout. I need money to pay a guy to whip me. Yeah, he could see his father reaching for his checkbook.
Noah switched on the bedside light before he turned off the main light. He crawled naked into bed and pulled up the duvet. If he woke and it was dark in the room, he knew he’d lose it. When the Dom had blindfolded him yesterday, Noah had almost pissed himself. He was such a fucking mess. He closed his eyes and tried to shut down.
This time, the images that boiled and writhed in his mind weren’t the usual ones of blood and gore and accusing faces. Instead, he remembered the way the waitress had slid her pink tongue over her lips, the way her soft breasts had strained under a tight blouse. She’d held him and he’d allowed her to. She talked—crap—and he’d listened. Something about her voice had calmed him.
Noah’s hand slid to his semi-hard cock and squeezed. He imagined her hand on him and shuddered, sweeping his thumb over the nerve-rich head. How wet would she be? Noah told himself to stop right there, but he dragged his fist down his length to caress his swollen balls and then slid up, squeezing harder at the tip of his cock. How tight would she grip him? He felt the tingle of desire, the ache, need on the rise all over his body. These days Noah never bothered to draw out the pleasure. Why should he give himself something he didn’t deserve?
He kicked back the duvet and jerked his closed fist faster. His cock was hard and hot in his hand, and he gripped it tighter. One last squeeze and orgasm hit like a lightning bolt. Fireworks went off his head—the irony didn’t escape him—and his cum spurted over the tensed muscles of his abdomen.
* * * * *
Noah woke with his hand wrapped around his cock. His comfort blanket. He wondered if his fingers had been there all night. He glanced at the clock and frowned. Nine thirty. He usually tossed and turned, fell into an exhausted sleep just before dawn and came ’round in time for lunch. So what had woken him?
He heard his phone start up somewhere in the room and he rolled over to face the wall. There was no one he wanted to speak to, no one who needed to speak to him. Especially Sophia. Noah mentally groaned when he thought of the conversation he’d had with her before he’d left for Afghanistan. Excited and afraid of what lay ahead, and fueled by too much alcohol, he’d kissed her, and now he worried he’d made her think she meant more to him than she did.
The phone stopped and then started again.
Dalton banged on the wall. “Fucking answer that or change your ring tone.”
Noah swung his legs out of bed and stood. By the time he retrieved his mobile from his pants pocket, the noise had stopped. The missed calls were from Dina. He winced. Had he fucked up the bride’s day because he’d not taken pictures for the last thirty or so minutes? Probably. Shit. The phone went again before he could switch it off and Noah lifted it to his ear.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“I’m just calling to say thank you,” Dina blurted. “Oh my God, Noah, the pictures are fantastic. I know you knew the venue but you took from angles I’d never have even considered. The bride is going to luurve them. Sure you don’t want to do this for a living?”
He’d sooner take his eyes out with a corkscrew.
“The fireworks,” he said tentatively, thinking he’d just tell her he’d eaten something dodgy and—
“Stunning. I know they’re a nightmare to take, but these are really good. And the one you have of the bride throwing her bouquet with a dark sky behind and her and the flowers illuminated, I honestly think it’s the best shot of the lot.”
Noah opened his mouth and closed it again. The assistant must have stayed after he’d told her to go and used the camera he’d set up on the terrace.
“As for Maria,” Dina said. “She came ’round here last night full of apologies. She said you’d sent her home for getting in your way. I think the poor kid was in awe of you.”
Noah was frantically trying to put two and two together.
“I really am grateful, Noah. If you hadn’t said yes, I’d have had to struggle on my crutches. No way would I have managed to get the number and quality of shots that you did.”
“Would you do me a favor, Dina? Email the photos back to me. I’d like to take another look at a few of them.”
Maybe he’d manage the math if he could see the problem.
* * * * *
Dalton nearly choked on his coffee when Noah walked into the kitchen, dressed and shaved. His flat mate looked better than he had for ages. “It’s not noon,” Dalton blurted.
Noah clicked on the kettle. “No getting anything past you.”
Sarcasm? “Breakfast?” Dalton asked. “I could do you bacon and eggs.”
“Maybe…toast.”
“With a poached egg?”
Noah spun around. “You’re not my fuck—” He took a deep breath. “That would be great, thanks.”
Christ Almighty. Polite too?
Dalton dropped the Sunday paper and leapt to his feet before Noah changed his mind. For the last three months he’d rarely emerged from his room before noon. He didn’t eat properly, drank too much, danced on the edge of disaster, and Dalton had been able to do little more than make sure nothing bad happened to him. Well, something bad had already happened to him. Dalton’s job was damage limitation.
By the time the egg was ready, Noah sat hunched over his laptop at the kitchen table. Dalton put the plate at his side and the knife and fork near his hand.
“Want me to cut it up for you?” Dalton waited to see if he got a snarl or a laugh.
Neither.
But at least Noah grabbed the cutlery and ate as he messed around with the computer.
Dalton stared at the screen over Noah’s shoulder. “I thought you didn’t take shots of the fireworks?”
“I didn’t.”
Dalton swallowed hard. Was this something else to worry about? A dissociative fugue? Memory l
oss? How could he suggest Noah mention it to his psychiatrist? He wasn’t due to go again until Friday.
Noah exhaled. “Someone must have used the camera I set up on the terrace.”
“They touched your camera?”
Noah not only had a hands-off approach as far as his body was concerned, touching his photographic equipment was like playing with unstable dynamite. Dalton had been careful not to make either mistake, though he’d often wanted to smack Noah around the head for reasons he’d lost count of.
“You want to strangle them, right?” Dalton asked.
Noah looked up at him. “Bit of a problem there. If they hadn’t taken the shots, I’d be up shit creek with Dina, and the happy couple would be baying for my blood.”
“Any idea who did it?”
Noah pushed an empty plate aside. “Could have been anyone.”
“Your brother?”
Noah snorted. “Neither my brother nor my father knows anything about taking photographs, nor did they know I was there. Unless you told them?”
Dalton shook his head. Noah could take that how he liked. “How about the woman who followed you?”
There was a pause. Dalton saw Noah swallow before he spoke. “Maybe, but I don’t know that she’d have had the time or the skill.”
When Noah was in the midst of one of his episodes, Dalton doubted he had any idea of how much time was passing.
“Got a shot of her?” he asked.
Noah clicked on the keyboard and brought up an image of a smiling waitress offering a tray of canapés to a woman in a pink hat. He pulled up several images of the same waitress. She was lovely with huge green eyes and very short, dark hair. Dalton could go for her.
“Christ,” Noah mumbled.
“What?”
“Notice anything about her?”
Dalton trod carefully. “What sort of thing?”
“She’s always fucking smiling.”
“So she is.” While you, Noah, most definitely are not, Dalton thought. “Pretty woman. Sure you’re not interested?”
“No.”
Dalton heard the warning in Noah’s tone and changed tack. “Any plans for today?”
Noah shrugged.
“Pub lunch?” Dalton suggested.
“Okay.”
Christ. No argument? It was a minor miracle.
* * * * *
While Noah was buried in the newspaper, Dalton went out on the pretext of buying milk. Standing on London Bridge, well away from the flat in Borough, he called Ilya Golitsin, Noah’s brother.
“How is he?” Ilya asked.
“Dressed before noon for the first time in months. Ate breakfast. We had an almost normal conversation. Did you catch sight of him yesterday at the hall?”
“We felt it best not to try. If he’d wanted to speak to us, he could have. What else do you have to tell me?”
Dalton recounted everything that had happened since he’d found Noah in the car and he repeated what Noah had said to him, pushing aside his guilt at betraying Noah’s confidence. Noah needed someone looking out for him, and since he wouldn’t let his family do it directly, Dalton was their surrogate.
“I think my father and I met this woman,” Ilya said. “She wandered into the private area. She’s…interesting. A waitress seems a suitable diversion. He’s at no risk of falling in love with her. Perhaps you could maneuver them into another meeting. Can you trace her?”
“Yes.”
“Pay her. A thousand pounds. I’ll put it in your account. Tell her playing hard to get will work. Noah will want her even more. He’s always been perverse.”
“Right.”
“He has to be well by our father’s birthday,” Ilya said.
Dalton didn’t have a magic wand. Nor did he have a degree in psychiatry.
“Keep me informed.” Ilya broke the connection.
It went against the grain for Dalton to work for Ilya. He hadn’t liked him when they’d been at the same school and he didn’t much like him now, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was concerned about Noah, Dalton would have had nothing to do with him. Mr. Perfect Elder Brother had been destined to be head boy from the moment he walked into that morning assembly with his father and Noah. The family looked regal, and the whole school had fallen silent. Ilya never put a foot wrong, sailed through all his exams and was captain of every sports team he chose to join. Noah was the same age as Dalton and had been assigned to his class. He’d taken Noah under his wing and the pair of them had become friends.
When Dalton saw the pictures and article in the paper seven months ago, he’d tried to get in touch with Noah and couldn’t. His phone was no longer connected. He didn’t answer emails. Dalton had been on the point of going to Floriton Hall when Ilya called.
Dalton immediately agreed to help. It had sounded easy. He’d give up work for a while to write the “Great English Novel”, live with Noah in his flat and pay rent to Noah using money Ilya gave him, and at the same time keep an eye on Ilya’s younger brother.
Noah had problems to sort out, and his family had deferred to his request for space and time—up to a point. At least Noah was keeping the weekly appointments with his psychiatrist. Though every Friday, when he came back from seeing him, Noah looked like death warmed up. He always went straight to his room and stayed there for hours.
This birthday was something important, and Ilya wanted Noah back to his normal self. Dalton knew roughly what had happened during Noah’s assignment in Afghanistan—he’d read what the paper had printed, and though it was bad enough, he guessed it wasn’t the whole story. But he’d failed to get him to talk about it. Until Noah opened up, Dalton suspected the past would fester inside him like a cancer.
But things were looking up. Noah had taken photographs again for money and he’d let a woman hold him. He’d eaten a poached egg, for fuck’s sake. Dalton sighed. He wasn’t sure how much Ilya really cared or whether he was some sort of control freak. Nor had Dalton realized how this job would have such an effect on his sex life. While he was Noah’s minder, he didn’t feel right getting laid unless Noah was getting some action himself. Otherwise, he’d just be making his lonely friend even more unstable. Maybe Ash had a friend.
Dalton went back to the flat without the milk to find no trace of Noah. Shit. So much for keeping an eye on him. He’d left no note, and Dalton had no idea where he might have gone. Maybe he’d decided to look for Ash himself. No point sitting worrying. Dalton might as well trace her, but contrary to what Ilya thought, Dalton didn’t think paying her was a good idea. At least not until they needed to get rid of her.
Chapter Five
Several phone calls and a few lies provided Dalton with the caterer’s number and then Kay Mortimer’s along with the useful information that Ash lived with Kay. A quick search of internet sites he shouldn’t have been able to access—those journalism skills were useful for something—and he had the address. Dalton gambled he’d find someone home on a Sunday and caught the train from London Bridge to Maze Hill in Greenwich.
He’d tried three times now to get a hold of Noah and decided to stop calling. One thing he couldn’t afford to do was let Noah suspect their relationship was anything other than simple friendship. One thing he could do was find a party for them to go to and persuade Ash to be there as well. He called Ilya, and when Ilya called back fifteen minutes later, Dalton and guests were on the list for a private party at Ice and Fire, a DJ bar in Covent Garden.
Dalton had a story all ready for Ash, but it was a cute blonde who answered the door, and for the first time in his life, words failed him.
“Yes?” she asked.
This had to be Kay. Christ, she’s gorgeous.
She frowned. “This is where you ask if I’d like you to leave me with a copy of your uplifting magazine. Why aren’t you wearing a suit? Shouldn’t there be two of you?”
Dalton’s head was spinning. “Kay?” he managed.
“Do I know you?”
“No. Is Ash in?”
She glared. “I think you’ve done enough damage, James.”
The door slammed in his face. That had to be the weirdest conversation he’d ever had. He knocked again, and once the door opened, blurted “My name’s Dalton” before she could slam it again.
“You lied about your name?” she snapped. “How could you?”
His initial attraction was fading fast.
“I have no idea who James is. My name’s Dalton Kennedy and I’m a friend of the guy who took the photographs at the wedding yesterday.”
“Noah.” Kay beamed at him.
Finally they were on the same page. Dalton risked a little smile.
Kay twirled a curl of her hair around her finger. “I’m with the D’Angelo Agency at the moment but I’d consider moving. They’ve gotten me hardly any work.” She winced. “I don’t think that’s my fault. You want to see my portfolio?”
Dalton was lost again, but he nodded because this was an invitation to go inside.
Kay paused in the hall. “Why did you ask for Ash? You want her to model for you?” An incredulous look changed swiftly to a smirk. “She won’t. She hates having her photo taken. She’s not in anyway.”
“I don’t want her to model for me.”
Kay grinned. “You want me?”
Oh Christ. “Listen. I have nothing to do with modeling agencies.”
“Acting? I’d love to make a move into films.”
“I’m sure you’d be great, but that’s not why I’m here. Noah took a shine to your friend Ash but he’s…shy.” For want of a better word.
The smile fell off her face so swiftly Dalton expected to hear it hit the floor. He shouldn’t be surprised. Women always preferred Noah to him. Just once it would be nice for that not to be the case.
“You better come in.” Kay led him into the kitchen.
She pointed to a chair and Dalton sat.
“You sure it’s Ash he fancies?” Kay asked, her disappointment clear.
An Ordinary Girl Page 5