The Wish

by Winters, Eden

  “What do you mean?” Bernard asked.

  Alfred took a sip of his brandy and stared thoughtfully into the fire. “As painful as her illness was for me to endure as an adult, Alex was only nine years old when his mother lay dying. Oh, my parents tried to send him off to school, but he refused to leave, wanting to stay with her.”

  His eyes filled with tears, the memory still painful of finding Alex in his sister’s bed the night she died, clinging to her cold hand. No doubt the poor child had been with her when she breathed her last. Alex had grown sullen and withdrawn afterward, never regaining his former youthful cheer.

  “I wanted to adopt him, you know. You can imagine how the suggestion went over at the time. In the end my parents raised him, giving him everything money could buy, provided they didn’t have to actually spend time with him. I never understood how his own flesh and blood considered him merely an heir to carry on the family line. Of course, they thought the same of me, once.”

  Alfred had barely survived such a frigid environment. How much worse had it been for someone as loving and caring as his nephew used to be? Taught to believe his only value lay in his name and in the blood running through his veins, which the elder Andersons insisted made them better than everyone else.

  “When Byron fell ill, I couldn’t comprehend why Alex never once came to visit him, even though he called several times each week. At first his lack of concern hurt me, and I believed him callous. I’d even planned a trip to Houston to give the boy a piece of my mind. Byron explained that, after watching his mother die horribly of the same disease, Alex simply couldn’t bear to witness another loved one suffering, something I’d not taken into account. Alex adored his mother, and Byron, too, so I’m inclined to agree.

  “There’s also an advantage to footing my nephew’s bills,” Alfred said with a sly sidelong glance.

  “And that is….”

  “On several occasions he bought airline tickets from Houston to Los Angeles and later canceled, which I believe proved Byron’s theory. Despite his avoidance, Alex truly loved Byron, of that I’m certain.”

  He took the picture from the butler and returned it to the table, bringing the other one close enough to see with his failing eyesight. This man had dark, straight hair, laughing eyes, and a slight build, as unlike the man in the first photo as day from night, in more ways than appearance.

  “Take a look at this one,” Alfred said, handing the frame to Bernard.

  The butler smiled at the photo’s subject. “Paul’s such a likeable fellow,” he said. “It’s a pity he didn’t have red hair like his father and uncles. He’s very much like his mother, I believe.”

  “Yes, Paul is a nice young man, if a bit too trusting sometimes. I wish I had his energy! Hiking, running, bicycling—he always seems to be in motion.” Alfred remembered a time when he and Byron had enjoyed such activities. The weekend house in Bishop, California stood empty through the long months of his lover’s illness, their outdoor toys gathering dust, never to be used again—at least not by him.

  Pushing those thoughts aside, he leaned in, as if confiding a huge secret. “You know, I find it ironic that the only nephews of two gay men are gay as well.”

  Though hardly news to any of the household staff, his longtime butler gave him a questioning gaze. “What’re you getting at, Alfred?”

  Smiling like the fellow conspirator he hoped to be, he explained, “I promised Byron I’d do everything in my power to get those two together.”

  “Heaven help us!” Bernard exclaimed. “Alex and Paul? I’m sorry to say this, Alfred, I know you mean well, but do you honestly think you should? Alex Martin eats men like Paul Sinclair for breakfast and goes out hunting another for lunch! Those two are as different as can be. How do you propose to unite someone so worldly and, excuse my saying so, spoiled, with someone completely humble and guileless?”

  “Well, I’m going to need your help. Here’s the basic plan….”

  2

  ALEX turned the classic Mercedes-Benz 280SL Roadster into the parking lot of Club Inferno and accelerated up to the entrance, bypassing the other drivers dutifully waiting their turn. His pride and joy didn’t deserve to wait in line with Hondas, Fords, and the occasional BMW. He climbed from his vehicle and tossed the keys to the waiting attendant, trusting his baby to be meticulously cared for. The tip he’d hand over later, a standard arrangement, guaranteed it. Those who afforded the price didn’t have to wait in lines, and Alexander Martin could well afford it.

  “Hey, Leo,” he greeted the doorman, again bypassing the long line of people huddled in the unusual chill of the Houston evening, waiting to be admitted into the city’s hottest new club. This time, the price of privilege wasn’t paid in cash, but by toying with the club’s owner. Alex was smart enough to realize that once Rico got what Rico wanted, the thrill would be gone, because he himself played similar games. After finding someone exciting enough to pursue, he promptly lost interest the moment he’d made the conquest. Without fail, he’d conquered all who’d caught his eye sooner or later. No one ever resisted Alex’s model good looks, ample charms, and bottomless wallet, courtesy of an extraordinarily wealthy family of which he was the last, and destined to inherit the mother lode.

  Leo nodded and waved him inside amid a chorus of complaints from those standing nearby. Alex smiled and winked, knowing his ass would be ogled as he sauntered into what he considered his own personal shopping mall of sex. From the corner of his eye, he watched Leo key a lapel mike, and knew from past experience the bouncer was telling Rico of his arrival.

  As if on cue, the rather plain, very wealthy club owner appeared the moment Alex checked his jacket and started making his way to the bar, playing up his entrance for the crowd to see. They were seeing, all right. He sensed their eyes on him even with his back turned.

  “Alex, how good to see you again,” the portly entrepreneur gushed, rushing forward to kiss the object of his thwarted advances. At the last moment, Alex turned his head and thin, chapped lips connected with his stylishly unshaven cheek instead of their original target. Undeterred, Rico beamed, ordering the bartender, “Vince, get Alex his usual.” He smiled coyly, running appreciative eyes up and down Alex’s body, adding, as if it were a grand gesture, “On me.”

  Well, of course Rico sprang for the drink. If asked to pay for it himself, Alex wouldn’t be allowing the garrulous man to fawn over him like some lovesick schoolboy. Rico was an annoyance Alex endured for the perks, such as his choice of the lovelies who frequented the club and never having to wait in line. Rico also wouldn’t be too angry about being brushed aside for another. No, instead the opportunistic club owner would indulge his inner voyeur via the security cameras installed throughout the building, perpetuating the game of cat and mouse he’d played with Alex for the past few months.

  Alex accepted his martini, gracing his host with a smile in lieu of thanks, and then brushed the barest tips of his fingers across Rico’s lips, gratified at the shudder they inspired. “I know you’re busy, baby, so I won’t keep you,” he said by way of dismissal, making his way to the crowded dance floor to pick out the lucky man, or woman, who’d share his bed tonight, or a corner of the back room. He actually preferred men, but he didn’t want to discourage the holders of his purse strings, who hoped he’d provide a son to carry on the family name.

  Artfully arranging himself against a shadowed wall, he watched with a predator’s eyes the beautiful bodies writhing in time to the hard beat of a techno tune, provocatively dressed and parading themselves, waiting to be noticed.

  He silently assessed the hopefuls, dismissing one after another for some flaw: too fat, too thin, hideous clothes, too much makeup, thinning hair, etcetera, until he selected a promising prospect and settled in to wait. Two young men, barely of legal age to be in such a club, were staring into each other’s eyes, oblivious to all else around them. Alex’s lips twitched into a devious smile. This was going to be fun.

  He watched the coup
le kiss and caress each other to the point where he had to reach down and adjust the prominent bulge in his slacks. When they were nearly making love on the dance floor, he made his move.

  Draining his martini, he discarded the empty glass on a nearby table, ignoring the indignant “Hey!” from its occupants. With precise timing, he eased onto the dance floor, neatly inserting himself between the two dancers. He turned his back to the attractive brunet, his true target, facing the less desirable member of the couple instead. Putting on his best predatory smile, Alex wrapped his arms around the man’s slender shoulders, locking their mouths together, his tongue demanding entrance. After a moment’s hesitation, access was granted. Alex winced at the taste of cigarettes and beer, which only proved him right in not pursuing this particular offering.

  The man pulled back and exclaimed, with a fervor normally reserved for fans meeting their rock-star idols, “I know you! You’re that rich guy, Alex Martin. Gawd, you’re hot!”

  Alex inwardly cringed at his entire existence being boiled down to “rich guy.” Outwardly, he poured on the charm, enduring the blatant flirtation of his admirer. More than likely the guy thought he’d hit the pickup jackpot. The blond leaned in to resume the kiss, as Alex predicted he would, disregarding the incensed brunet, who loudly protested the turn of events.

  Before either of the pair could react further, Alex pushed the guy away and trained his heated gaze on the bewildered eyes of the other dancer. Jilted lovers made such easy prey. He grabbed his intended target by the shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace, and then reached down to clasp a gloriously tempting ass. “Why should I settle for him when I can have you?” Alex purred, nibbling a sensitive earlobe and eliciting a gasp.

  Upset at being brushed carelessly aside by his partner, the brunet didn’t even put up a token protest when Alex claimed his lips in a bruising kiss.

  Yes, definitely the wiser choice. Apparently, this half of the couple liked rum and Coke and, thankfully, seemed to be a nonsmoker. Alex hated the inevitable whining when he refused a sex toy a postcoital cigarette, for he loathed the things and didn’t allow smoking in his condo. He smiled, noticing that, judging from the hard length pressed against his thigh, the man boasted a cock to be proud of. Pulling back from the kiss and making his choice between bed or back room, he leaned in to be heard above the music. “What do you say to getting out of here?”

  The guy nodded, and Alex couldn’t keep the smirk from his face. The whole process had taken less than five minutes. Too easy. Wrapping an arm around the fuck de nuit, Alex led him away from the dance floor and the blond, who even now stuttered a protest. “James, you get your ass back here now, or it’s over!”

  “Anyone important?” Alex asked.

  He received the exact reply he’d expected. “No.”

  THE man he’d picked up proved to be an adequate lover, if not astounding. Alex had slept with so many over the years that it was becoming more and more difficult to find anything other than the same old, same old.

  Gazing down at the sleeping form tangled in the silk sheets of his bed, he experienced a twinge of something others might label “remorse.” No, Alex didn’t regret alienating the two lovers at the club or taking advantage of others’ emotions. What disappointed him was how quickly the guy’d given in. Where was the thrill of the chase if you got anyone you wanted simply by asking? Faces and names (if he’d even known them to begin with) blurred together in an endless stream of willing mouths, asses, and pussies, freely offered because of who he was, what he looked like, or the advantages to be gained by sleeping with him. He knew it was a perverse desire, but for once he’d like to find someone who thought enough of themselves not to settle for the quick fuck-and-forget he offered—someone to tell him no or hold out for more.

  Reaching down, he grasped a spray-tanned shoulder and shook the sleeping youth. “Hey, time to get up.”

  Sleepy, crystal-blue eyes slowly opened to gaze up at him in confusion—something Alex hadn’t noticed last night in the heat of passion. What a pity; he’d always been partial to brown eyes. Oh, well, this one wasn’t a keeper, anyway.

  “Wha…?” the young man asked, clearly fighting off the remnants of sleep.

  “You need to go,” Alex said, catching a whiff of morning breath and deciding last night wasn’t worth a thank-you after all.

  “Why? I thought we could do it again,” the naked man purred, obviously waking up enough to realize where he was and with whom.

  “That’s not possible; I have a plane to catch. Get dressed and let yourself out.”

  Generous lips formed into a pout. “You’re kicking me out?”

  “No, I’m telling you to leave. I have to pack and get to the airport.” Inwardly Alex cringed. Apparently his one-night stand didn’t catch on quickly. Why did he always end up with the beautiful but dumb ones?

  “I thought….”

  Alex narrowed his eyes, using the intimidating glare he’d perfected over the years in similar situations. “You thought what? That I wanted more than a fuck? Whatever did I do to give you that idea?”

  The disbelief on the guy’s face might have been considered adorable if Alex were the kind of man who found things adorable, which he wasn’t. Besides, he needed to hurry.

  “Well, last night, when you made love to me—” the man whined.

  Again Alex cut him off. Leaning down, nose to nose with a guy who’d worn out his welcome, he growled, “We did not make love, we fucked. It was passable, but losing points by the minute. Now, get up and get out.” He turned his back in dismissal, entering his massive closet to begin choosing the necessary clothing for his trip.

  Hmmm…. He’d worn that suit before; he’d have to buy a new one. Listening with half an ear, he heard the sounds of his guest dressing and hoped to hear his front door closing at any moment.

  When the sound of slamming doors didn’t reach his ears, he turned, only to find the lost-looking pickup, half-dressed, watching him with tear-filled eyes. “What now?” Alex huffed, his patience nearing an end.

  The boy sniffled. “I don’t know where to go. That was my boyfriend with me last night. I don’t think he’ll welcome me back with open arms now.”

  Alex allowed the nuisance to see every bit of the anger and impatience he could muster. “And that’s my fault how? Did I hold a gun to your head and force you to reject him in favor of the first person who noticed you? Hmm? Did I? Did I make any promises other than to fuck you into the mattress? A promise I kept, by the way.”

  “No,” the now not-so-sexy boy answered. One lone tear spilled down his cheek.

  Not tears! Alex needed to act quickly or the annoying sympathy he’d never completely squashed in the name of being an Anderson would come into play, and he wouldn’t make his flight in time. Thinking back to his cold, unfeeling grandparents and their self-righteous superiority, he used the lessons they’d taught him from birth and hardened his heart. Channeling the spirit of his ice-cold grandmother, he snapped, “Would you please get out of here? I told you I have things to do!” He turned his back, gratified at the forceful slam of his front door seconds later. Hurriedly checking his security cameras to ensure his guest hadn’t enacted some form of revenge, he promptly pushed the whole episode out of his mind, returning his attention to packing and what he’d be facing in the coming days.

  How he hated funerals! His uncle controlled his allowance, though, making his appearance mandatory. He sighed. No, the obligatory trip to LA wasn’t the reason for his bad mood; that was merely what he’d told his casual acquaintances when they’d asked. Truthfully, for all his projected indifference, Alex cared for Uncle Alfred and his uncle’s partner, Byron, and even if he didn’t visit them often, he’d always counted on a warm welcome when he did. Therein lay the problem. A certain amount of guilt, one of many emotions he avoided religiously, plagued him for not being with Byron at the end. The slight wasn’t intentional, only every time he booked a flight, he’d later panicked and canceled. Thou
gh she’d passed away a painfully long time ago, images of his dying mother haunted him, and he couldn’t bear to witness such a painful end to yet another person he cared about. A coward? Him? Absolutely. Now he had to face his uncle, knowing he’d let the man down.

  He secretly envied the two men their close relationship and never once viewed his uncle’s lover as the gold-digger his grandparents accused the man of being. No, the money had meant absolutely nothing to Byron Sinclair, and Uncle Alfred himself had been the center of the redhead’s universe. Long ago, Alex gave up on the dream of one day meeting someone who saw beyond the face, body, expensive condo, and money. Someone who took the time see Alex, the man, lurking under the façade of Alex, the wealthy playboy. Someone who loved classical music and a good book, and who’d rather spend a quiet evening at home than out clubbing. Someone who would take him down a peg or two when Anderson arrogance inflated his ego, as Byron had done for his uncle. He’d come to terms with the fact that he’d never have what those two men shared, and, deep down, it broke his heart that his uncle no longer had it, either.

  THE gray Bishop sky reflected the gloomy mood of the lone man sitting on the rooftop—his sanctuary in times of trouble. His much-loved uncle had died far too young, and Paul hadn’t been there to offer comfort at the end. His uncle had rallied on Friday, and everyone concerned had deemed it safe for Paul to go home, check on his bookstore, and then return to Los Angeles the following week. The poor man hadn’t lasted long after Paul’s departure, and Alfred, Uncle Byron’s partner, had called and broken the sad news scant moments after Paul arrived home.

  The two older men had made a striking, if unusual couple, and regardless of the difference in age, status, and hereditary wealth, they’d created a lasting relationship strong enough to withstand numerous hardships, showing any detractors the error of their ways.