Dirty Games

by Barbara Elsborg

  “Telephone directory or the electoral roll,” River said.

  Thorne checked both and could find neither Linton nor Dirk. He’d also looked at Facebook but not found them, though there was no way he’d get an address from there. “Not there.”

  “Neither are you.”

  Thorne laughed. “That’s true.”

  “Who are you looking for?”

  “Remember the guys we met in the pub? The one you were discussing chess with, and his brother Linton? I want to contact Linton.”

  “Why?”

  Because I want to fuck him through the wall. “I want to ask him something. Is there a way of finding out his address other than wandering round the area and hoping I bump into him?”

  River frowned. “You could walk around the area every day for the rest of your life and not bump into him.”

  “What a little ray of sunshine you are.”

  River looked up at him. “Is that good?”

  Thorne laughed. “Yeah, it’s good on a cloudy day.” Because he’d had an idea, though Orlando would kill him if he found out.

  Chapter Eleven

  Linton decided to go to the chess club. He played three games, won them all and saw no sign of River. Which was good and also bad. If the club had limited hours there might have been a chance of bumping into the guy but it seemed more likely they’d never meet. Linton thought about leaving a message on the pin board with his phone number on it but decided he wouldn’t do that yet. He could eke this thing out a few more days.

  At least he could tell Max he’d tried. Linton had enjoyed the chess though he’d won too easily. He and Dirk had played a lot together. Dirk was better than him now, but a secret Linton would take to his grave was that more often than not when they were kids, he’d ensured Dirk won. It was another way for Linton to try and make up for their mother’s unkindness, a chance to bring a genuine smile to Dirk’s face.

  Once Dirk was allowed to use a computer in rehab and send emails, maybe they could play games online. Linton was worried about him, wondering how he was getting on, hoping he hadn’t already walked out. But The Moors would have called him, surely?

  Stop fretting. He’s still there. He’s in the best place you could put him.

  Linton wondered if at some point he’d be asked to go up to Yorkshire and join in a therapy session. He’d be okay with that as long as it didn’t require him to bare his soul. There was some stuff he’d never share. But if Dirk was going to get to grips with why he drank too much, how he’d become addicted to coke and why he had so little respect for his health and safety, they had to talk about the way they’d been brought up. Despite Linton’s best efforts, their mother had made Dirk feel worthless and he hated her for that, had wished her dead for that on many occasions, thinking he and Dirk would have been better off in care.

  Christ, he’s not the only one who needs therapy.

  He emerged from the café at Canary Wharf and decided to walk back to Wapping, maybe stop for a drink on the way. Not maybe. Definitely. And not one drink. Two. Or more. In that case, he’d better pick a pub close to his flat so he didn’t have far to stagger home.

  Linton kept walking until he was within a hundred yards of his flat, then went into his local. He bought a pint, looked for a quiet, dark corner and as he slumped onto the seat, he leaned back and closed his eyes. He felt as if he’d been in the UK for weeks and it was a matter of days. So much for all his plans for what he wanted to do. Everything was on hold.

  His eyes flashed open when he felt a hand settle just above his knee.

  Thorne smiled at him across the table.

  Not a single thought made sense in Linton’s head. He seriously considered whether he was hallucinating until he felt fingers tightening on his thigh to the point of pain. Oh shit.

  “I seem to be making a habit of shocking you,” Thorne said.

  “You just don’t know how to conduct yourself.” Christ. Why did I say that?

  Thorne let out a loud groan. “That was a terrible joke.”

  “I work for a Christmas cracker manufacturer.”

  “I thought you were an opera singer.”

  “Not on Wednesdays. What are you doing here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  No. Yes.

  Linton felt as if he were under the scrutiny of a tiger. He wasn’t used to being stared at with such intensity, and it both excited and alarmed him. Thorne kept his hand in place on Linton’s leg and circled his thumb. Linton pressed his lips together to stop himself making any sound that might be correctly identified as a moan of approval or a whimper of submission.

  You’re supposed to be playing hard to get so get your head in gear.

  But that was easier said than done, especially when confronted by a tiger.

  “There’s something about you,” Thorne said.

  “I’m not wearing eyeliner.”

  “Nor lipstick and blusher.”

  Linton smiled. “Only on Sundays.”

  Thorne sighed. “You’re a hard guy to find.”

  Linton wanted to laugh at the irony of that. “Been looking for me then?”

  “All my life.”

  Linton knew it was a line but his stupid heart still lurched. “You could have tried to sound sincere.” Except it had sounded sincere.

  “Christ, have I lost it already? I make a living convincing people I’m a cold-blooded killer, a guy with a shoe fetish, a lecherous plumber, an amazing lover, a lonesome cowboy.” Thorne pinned him with his gaze. “I’m deadly serious.”

  Deadly anyway.

  Thorne inched his hand up Linton’s leg, his nails pressing so hard into the material of his trousers that Linton was sure he’d leave crescent-shaped marks. Thorne stared straight at him and Linton stared back trying not to swallow and give away the effect Thorne was having. Call me shallow but he is so good-looking. Long, thick, sooty lashes framed eyes that even in the subdued light of the pub stood out as being exotic. Dark oceanic blue at the outer edge, then the colour faded and changed until it blended into a ring of turquoise around the pupil. It was like looking into a volcanic hot spring. The longer Linton looked, the more perilous it felt, because the temptation to dive in and lose himself was becoming too strong to resist. Get a grip. Volcanic hot springs are deadly. Shit, Owen, what were you thinking? How can I resist him?

  Linton reached for his beer. Holding the glass hid that his fingers were shaking. “Would you like a drink?” He was relieved his voice hadn’t cracked.

  “Thanks.” Thorne put his other hand around Linton’s and shifted the glass to his own mouth.

  Linton let out a strangled laugh. “I meant one of your own.”

  “I’m happy with yours.” Thorne took a couple of swallows, then put the glass down. As he let go of Linton’s hand, he licked his lips. That flick of his tongue made Linton’s heart lurch again and his cock pressed harder against his zip. Shit. Down boy. If Thorne moved his hand a couple more inches he’d feel the effect he was having on him.

  “Don’t mind, do you?” Thorne asked. “I seem to remember you’re the sort to take liberties.”

  “You want me to apologise for that kiss?”

  Thorne mock-gaped at him. “That was a kiss? I take it that it was your first time.”

  Change the subject. “Did you recognise Dirk in the pub? I saw the article in the Evening Standard. Your heroic deed.”

  “I wasn’t sure it was him, then I was, but decided it was better not to say anything.”

  “Thanks for that, and thanks for saving his life. His knight in shining armour.”

  Thorne sat back and took his hand off Linton’s thigh. “Hardly that. I wish I could have done more.”

  “You called an ambulance when you could have walked on by.”

  “But now you think I’m setting myself up as a hero when I’m not. I had no idea my agent was going to give the press that story. I would have stopped him if I’d known. The police questioned me. I did wonder if they thought
I had something to do with Dirk being attacked. I didn’t.”

  “Course you didn’t.”

  Thorne furrowed his brow. “You know who did it?”

  Linton took another sip of beer to give himself time to think. “You didn’t see anything did you?”

  “Why does that sound as though you hope I didn’t?”

  “Because the guys who did it are bad news.”

  “And here was I thinking they’d make great friends.” Thorne flipped a coaster in his fingers. “Is Dirk okay?”

  “He will be. I hope he will be.”

  “He’s an addict?”

  “Not to heroin.”

  “Well that’s something.”

  “I think he’s addicted to just about everything else.”

  Thorne winced. “Ah.”

  “He’s in rehab. He wants to sort himself out. I just hope he wants it enough.” He tore his gaze away from Thorne’s long, elegant fingers still flipping the coaster. Is he nervous? Perfect nails. Not one nibbled. “How did you know I was in here?”

  “This is going to sound a bit stalkerish.”

  Linton widened his eyes.

  “It’s amazing what a generous donation to a hospital trust can do.”

  “Christ. Fifty quid and I’m yours?”

  Thorne grinned. “Bit more than that.”

  Shit. How much had he handed over?

  “I found out which building you lived in but that was all. Then I got lucky and saw you come in here.”

  Linton wondered if that was true. If Thorne had persuaded someone to give him the address, he was hardly going to admit it.

  “Are you Thorne Morrisey?”

  Linton looked round to see two young women staring at Thorne, clutching their phones.

  “No,” Thorne said. “I’m his evil twin.”

  One of the women laughed, the other looked uncertain.

  “Can we take a picture with you?” asked the more confident one.

  “Fu—No,” Thorne snapped.

  “Sorry to have bothered you,” whispered the other one.

  Linton gave a heavy sigh and Thorne glanced at him.

  “Take your photo,” Thorne said. His smile didn’t reach his eyes as the pair held up their phones and took selfies.

  “We saw you in Changing and in Demon Inc,” said the confident one. “You were really good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ve seen you in everything,” said the other. “Twice. You ought to be James Bond.”

  Thorne’s smile turned genuine then. “Maybe one day.”

  As the women moved away Thorne pushed to his feet. “Want to go for a walk?”

  They left the pub and headed down to the Thames. Linton wished he didn’t like him but he did. Wished he wasn’t impressed Thorne had bribed someone to get his address. Though he hadn’t forgotten the way he’d treated Owen and he’d just seen Thorne’s tolerance for being pestered was low. He was a film star. He should expect to be pestered. He was paid to put up with being pestered.

  Linton wondered if Owen had told him what had happened when he and Owen were teenagers. Did Thorne know how fucked-up Owen was, and that he’d tried to kill himself? Had he seen him recently? Was he aware of the state he was in?

  “I went to River’s chess club tonight,” Linton said.

  Thorne glanced at him. “What for?”

  “I didn’t want River to think Dirk had ignored his invitation. I was going to tell him Dirk had gone away.”

  “I’ll explain to him. That was kind of you.”

  No it wasn’t, but it avoided a potential issue down the line.

  “What do you really do for a living?” Thorne asked.

  “Graphic design and illustration.”

  “Which means?”

  “Using images and letters to create something for print or electronic media. I’m currently doing the illustrations for a children’s picture book about sheep.” Max had been right to give him something to do. Easier not to have to make everything up.

  “You like it?”

  Oh God. “Yeah, I love my job.” Maybe just not the one I’ve told you I do.

  They leaned on the wall and looked across the water to Shad Thames and Butler’s Wharf, cafés and bars bustling with people.

  “You like being an actor? Or are you in it for the money?” Linton asked.

  “I love it.”

  “A born entertainer?”

  “I think that’s true. When I was a kid…”

  Linton turned to look at him. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You can’t tell me about something that happened when you were a kid?”

  “I don’t talk about family.”

  “Ah, we have something in common.”

  They exchanged a lingering smile before looking back across the river.

  “You live in London?” Linton asked.

  “Holland Park.”

  “When you’re not jetting all over the world making films.”

  “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds.”

  “You like living in the city?”

  “Yeah I do, but what I’d really like is a place out in the country away from the lights, noise, dirt and the bloody traffic.”

  A place that Max was no longer building for him. “Buy one then.” Linton wanted to push, to find out more about what had happened. He knew he’d only heard one side of the story.

  “I’d prefer to have a place built so I get exactly what I want. I’ve already purchased the plot and been granted outline planning permission but… Things are on hold. What about you? You like living in London?”

  Linton nodded. “I come from a rural area. Living in the country’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Our village had no pub and no shop. There was nothing to do except be bad. We scrumped apples, pressed doorbells and ran away, and made obscene corn circles in farmers’ fields.”

  Thorne smiled. “I like bad boys.”

  “I was bad. Now the bad boy would be Dirk, not me. I’ve grown up into a paragon of virtue.”

  “Amazingly enough, my favourite hobby is corrupting angels. That and taking my clothes off. In fact, in your vicinity my clothes just want to unbutton themselves.”

  Linton chuckled. Thorne had moved so close to him that Linton was inhaling the air Thorne exhaled, tasting beer.

  “My turn,” Thorne said.

  “For what?”

  “This.” Thorne’s hand settled on Linton’s cheek, his fingers drifting over Linton’s lips then down his chin to his throat before he ran his thumb along the jawline and back across Linton’s mouth.

  Linton couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Desire coiled in his gut like a snake beginning to stir, readying to strike. He was supposed to be in control, this was his game, yet it wasn’t. How could he have ever thought he could do any of this? He wasn’t an actor. He couldn’t pretend. He was surfing on adrenaline, knowing he was about to be caught in a breaking wave and tossed into tumbling surf at any moment, exposed as the fraud he was.

  Thorne was every gay guy’s wet dream. Instant lust the first time Linton had seen him in the pub. Overpowering lust this time. He hunted me down. I didn’t even have to put myself in his path. Despite the list of reasons why this guy was entirely wrong for him, notwithstanding the issue of his cruelty to Owen, and maybe to others as well, this felt entirely…right.

  But he would never have any control around Thorne. He could hear Owen’s warning echoing in his head—play hard to get—and he wondered what the hell Owen had been thinking to ask him to do this. How could anyone resist this guy? The simmering excitement in the pit of Linton’s stomach was so intoxicating, so compulsively and immediately addictive, he was actually afraid. Fear surged alongside desire. How crazy is that?

  All those warnings he’d given himself after the debacle with Pascal, swearing he’d never let himself get so deep again—never, never, never. He’d sworn off bi guys for-fucking-ever. Yet here he was—thinking he could play around wit
h another bisexual. He could see the fall coming, rushing down a mountain toward him like a wall of snow. Beautiful and deadly. Whatever this developed into, it had started from a lie and if—when Thorne found out, it was over anyway and Linton would be left crushed and broken.

  Linton allowed himself to be turned so that his back was to the river wall, and when Thorne’s tall, hard body pressed against him, Linton let out a muffled groan. Neither of them blinked. Thorne moved his hand to the back of Linton’s neck and as he pulled him in, he tilted Linton’s head so that their lips met.

  No clashing, violent, forceful kiss, but a slow, hot press of mouths before their tongues touched. A low moan escaped from Thorne’s throat and Linton swallowed it. Thorne nipped and licked and sucked, exploring every inch of Linton’s mouth and lips, and while he did that, his fingers tightened in the hair at the back of Linton’s neck tugging until it physically hurt. Even that didn’t keep Linton grounded.

  Linton gripped Thorne’s waist and held on as if he was adrift at sea and waves were trying to suck him from his boat. The kiss turned fast and greedy and they were slow grinding their hips as they ate at each other. Linton had one brief thought about stopping before this went too far, then the thought was gone, slammed away, locked in a dark room, made to disappear by a master magician with a magic mouth.

  They kissed with a desperation that lit fires of alarm all over Linton’s body.

  Kissed with a hunger that made him realise he’d been starving all his life.

  Kissed with a pleasure Linton wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced before.

  They consumed each other, plunged their tongues into each other’s mouths, and though their cocks were rigid and straining between them, their hands never strayed below each other’s waists.

  It was Thorne who pulled back, dropping his arms from Linton, so that Linton’s arms dropped from him. “Now that was a kiss,” Thorne said.

  If he hadn’t had smirked, maybe Linton would have laughed, but he did smirk and it was enough to slap some sense into Linton’s head. He knew exactly where Thorne wanted this to end. In bed in Linton’s flat, assuming they got that far and didn’t end up fucking in the hallway. The guy was a marauder, invader, ruthless conqueror. Once Thorne had fucked him, sucked him dry and had taken what he wanted, he’d be tossed aside for a more attractive prize.