Romancing the Wrong Twin

by Clare London

  “But that’s not true,” H-G said abruptly.

  “Sorry?” Aidan was glad of the interruption to his startlingly carnal thoughts.

  “About dancing being the last thing on your mind. You always dance. In all those interviews, you talk about the clubs and the music and the freedom of….” H-G paused and almost grimaced. “Letting your hair down.” He stared unabashed at Aidan’s spiked-up hair. “It looks longer than in the publicity shots they sent me.”

  Aidan ignored the fact H-G had obviously been swotting up on Zeb Z, and tried to salvage yet another slip in his performance. “Well, yes, of course I do. I love dancing.” Not. Past boyfriends had likened him to a puppet with cut strings. “But I sort of assumed you’d want something less… energetic.”

  The relief on H-G’s face was immediate, and Aidan reappraised the man. Maybe the arrogance wasn’t so ingrained, after all.

  “Wait.” H-G frowned. “Is the age thing a problem to you?”

  Spoke too soon. The conversation had moved back into minefield territory. “The age thing?”

  “You think I’m too old for socializing at clubs. For dancing.”

  “Don’t tell me what I think!” Aidan snapped without thinking first. “You’re the one who said you don’t dance. Age has nothing to do with it.”

  “No. No, I suppose not.” H-G looked sullen but rueful. “I just keep cocking this up, don’t I?”

  Aidan took a long breath before replying to that. “No. You’re fine. We’re just very different people.”

  H-G also took his time replying. “Yes. Maybe.” There was a weird tone to his voice, as if he wasn’t entirely sure of himself.

  The toot of a horn sounded outside the house, and then a knock on the front door.

  “That’ll be the driver,” Aidan said, not without some relief. He stood, brushed down his sweater—which seemed to have a magnetic fascination for dust, threads, and breadcrumbs—and waved toward the door. “After you, H-G.”

  Aidan realized what he’d said a nanosecond too late to grab it back. He expected to hear the proverbial pin drop in the sudden silence.

  “What was that?” H-G said slowly.

  Oh Jesus! Where was Aidan’s fertile imagination when he needed it? “I said… aching knees. Yes, that’s it. ‘After you, my aching knees.’ From sitting on the same chair for too long.” He tried to laugh carelessly, but it sounded more like a cackle. Shut up, you’re just making it worse!

  H-G stared for a fraction too long for Aidan to be sure he believed him. But H-G didn’t call him on it. He just shrugged, picked up the jacket that he’d slung over the end of the kitchen counter, and led the way to the front hallway.

  Chapter Nine

  DOM was prepared to consider this date better than expected. For a start, Zeb was marvelous eye candy. Even the driver had turned to gaze when they approached the limo. While Dom was scowling at the bloody cost of a huge vehicle like that when he could have driven them to the cinema himself in his far more sensible SUV, the driver had smiled solely at Zeb. He looked as if he expected Zeb to speak to him, or at least flirt a little. After all, that was the impression Dom had of the model’s reputation, and the driver seemed familiar with him, but Zeb had been surprisingly restrained. He’d allowed Dom to see him into the car, then waited quietly while Dom climbed in the other side.

  Dom knew he was out of practice with the whole relationship thing, but no one could ever say he didn’t appreciate a good-looking man. Of course, Zeb was a model and far too skinny, which was amazing as no one could mistake his healthy appetite in Dom’s kitchen. Dom supposed models all suffered from anorexia or bulimia of some kind. He sneaked a side-glance at Zeb. The man looked healthy enough, though it was difficult to admire him closely under that ludicrously baggy sweater.

  A tinge of pink appeared on Zeb’s cheeks, as if he was aware of Dom’s gaze. Dom hadn’t expected him to be this modest either.

  God, what had he expected? Dom had never met a bloke like Zeb in the whole of his life, and if he was truly honest, he didn’t know how to behave with him. He cleared his throat. It sounded horribly noisy in the ultraquiet limo. “So, have you been busy recently? With… um, photoshoots and things?”

  Zeb made a snorting noise in the back of his throat. “It’s okay. You don’t have to make small talk. Believe me, I don’t want to chat all night about the supermodel world.”

  Even curiouser. In Dom’s experience most media types wanted nothing more than to gabble on about themselves all the bloody time. “What exactly are you getting out of this, Zeb?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You heard me. I think we’ve both been blunt so far. If we’re not making polite chatter, let’s at least get everything out in the open.”

  Zeb made that odd noise again, but this time it may have been the result of a smothered laugh. He glanced quickly at the front of the limo, probably checking the privacy screen was pulled shut. “I’m hoping to have a nice evening with a charming man.”

  “Oh, I’ve read the script.” Dom chuckled. “Me too. But otherwise?”

  “It’s contractual,” Zeb said. “It’s been arranged between our agents to get us both publicity.”

  He didn’t sound enthusiastic about it. Dom looked at the lithe, beautiful, sparkly-dressed young man and then compared that image to Dom’s own awkward appearance in his new, unfamiliar finery. “Beauty and the beast,” he murmured.

  “What? Of course not.”

  Had Dom meant Zeb to hear that? “Well, we’re an ill-matched couple, aren’t we? I don’t see how anyone would think we’re genuinely out together by choice.”

  “Listen, H-juh—I mean, Dominic. I can call you Dominic?”

  “Whatever you like, as long as it’s civil.” Although no one actually called him Dominic nowadays, except for his mother.

  “Right. Well, I think you’ll find people going out with all types. That’s if you took a look outside your front door now and then. And we’re all basically the same underneath the clothes and the glamor, aren’t we? As I said before. It’s not wise to judge a book by its cover… or a man solely by his looks.”

  Dom appeared to have hit a hot button of Zeb’s. He stared at the young man’s rather stern expression until he felt his own tension ebb away. “You’re right. Of course you are.”

  “I am,” Zeb agreed. And then—there!—was the genuine smile Dom had last seen bestowed on him after a second round of roast beef sandwiches. “And I just made a pompous idiot of myself, didn’t I?”

  “No,” Dom said, also smiling. “But we do seem to be bouncing back and forth between foe and….”

  “Friend?”

  Dom nodded. “Which actually sounds like a pretty normal first date to me.”

  Zeb’s smile became more relaxed. “So, why don’t you tell me what you want to get out of this. I gather it’s funding for a new expedition? Is it the next step of your Hartington Hike project?”

  “You know about that?” Dom couldn’t remember when he’d last been so startled.

  “Of course I do. There was a documentary series when you launched it. Your father climbed some of the most challenging peaks in the world and published it all in his memoirs. Now you intend to follow his route and climb all the same mountains, but this time with a camera rather than a notebook.”

  Dom just stared.

  “What? You think I only watch reality shows?” Zeb was pink again. “I remember thinking what a lovely tribute it was, to say nothing of what a great show it’ll make. The scenery will be spectacular, and it’ll bring the challenge of the climbs to life far more vividly.”

  “Good Lord,” Dom muttered. “You’re either a frustrated moviemaker or… are you a climber?”

  “Hardly.” Zeb looked momentarily startled, but his follow-up smile was friendly. “Though I have done the Five Peaks challenge, just after I left university.”

  Another hit between the eyes. Dom managed to bite back his incredulous “You climbed the Five Peaks?�
�� followed by the equally incredulous “You went to university?” just in time. He was beginning to think Zeb was right, that he should venture out into the world more often. The only supermodels Dom remembered hearing about had been virtually snatched from the cradle and weren’t known for academic pursuits. He felt his gut roil at his narrow-minded, isolated view of people outside his circle.

  God help him if the feelings weren’t the beginnings of shame.

  “Well, you’re right. Again. Apparently I’ve worked through my pittance of an inheritance and now I need to raise enough for the final trip in the Hike schedule, an expedition up the Eiger. Tanya—my agent, PA, girl Friday, whatever—says a sponsorship deal is called for. I just turn up and do what I’m told in order to obtain it.”

  “I doubt that,” Zeb said. “The bit about doing what you’re told, that is.”

  Dom let out a gust of laughter. “Well, I won’t say I went calmly to the slaughter.”

  “But she’s right too. You have a wonderful ambition that should get better exposure. Imagine the combined project of your father’s memoirs and your photos! That’ll be attractive to plenty of commercial ventures. It can be a win-win situation.”

  “You sound like you know what you’re talking about,” Dom said a little slyly.

  “So do you,” Zeb snapped back. “You don’t seem like a naive man to me. You must know you need to build financial relationships and play the media. It’s not viable nowadays to fund events personally. Who has the money for that, apart from the Richard Bransons of the world?”

  “Who indeed?” Dom said wryly, but he didn’t feel as defensive as he usually felt when talking about his plans with accountants and agents. Zeb seemed to speak from the heart. He understood the nature of the Hartington Hike, while being brave enough to call Dom on his resistance to the workings of modern commerce. “Of course, in my father’s day it was all paid for by the family coffers.”

  “That’s a bygone age now. You’re your own man, not your father.” Zeb’s eyes widened and his mouth stuck in a shocked O shape. “Oh God, I’m sorry. That went way too far.”

  Dom was still assimilating it when the driver tapped on the screen and called, “We’re here.”

  They’d pulled up at the carpeted area in front of the London cinema. The spectators were standing behind ropes, a blur of expectant faces shining under the photographers’ lights. Everywhere around the entrance was packed tightly. Photographers leered at the car like poised birds of prey, and the loud, excited chatter seeped through the limo’s closed windows.

  “Bugger me,” Dom said without thinking.

  “Oh my God,” Zeb breathed. He, too, was staring out the window.

  Dom looked across at him in surprise. If he didn’t know better, he would think Zeb was somewhere between horrified and scared. But the kid should be used to this kind of thing, shouldn’t he? Dom refused most of his social invitations by default, but surely a supermodel got invited everywhere?

  Impulsively, Dom reached over and grabbed Zeb’s hand, interlocking their fingers. “Ready for showtime?” he asked firmly, trying to make his smile both determined and friendly—no mean feat.

  Zeb blinked hard, then smiled back. His pressure on Dom’s fingers relaxed. “Yes. Thanks.”

  It sounded like a genuinely sweet response, despite models being jumped-up, self-obsessed media flakes—well, apparently. Dom wasn’t sure what was going on, but one thing he knew for sure, he’d be damned if he’d let the media scare him off. “Come on, then.” He popped the lock on the car door, pushed it open, and clambered out. Zeb’s hand was still clasped in his, which meant Dom almost hauled him out of the limo after him. But when he glanced back, Zeb was still smiling.

  The paparazzi turned as one to face them, having just harried another celebrity couple all the way to the entrance. There was a brief moment of confusion while some people obviously tried to place Dom and failed—but no one had a problem with Zeb.

  “Zeb! Zeb Z!”

  “Will you be staying awake for this one, Zeb?”

  “Who’s your partner? Is this a new romance?”

  Dom paused and turned to smile at a photographer, but from the way the young woman winced, he reckoned he hadn’t managed to get his social face on properly.

  Beside him, Zeb leaned forward into one of the long lenses. “You lot need to get a life,” he said. “And not mine!” A few of the reporters laughed. “Now let us pass, or I’ll miss out on the free popcorn.”

  Dom watched as Zeb allowed a couple more photos. He wondered if anyone had heard the slight tremor in Zeb’s voice when he faced the reporters, or saw the tension across his shoulders as he posed. Maybe Dom was imagining it. Then Zeb glanced back at him, they nodded to each other, and together they made a smooth but speedy charge along the carpet and into the cinema.

  Dom realized he’d been holding Zeb’s hand the whole of the way.

  Chapter Ten

  THE film was appalling. That was the only decent word Dom could find to describe the two and a half hours of his life he would never get back. Some kind of meld of space opera and philosophical time travel that just exhausted him. He could appreciate a good moral message when he saw one, but this movie seemed to have collected a dozen of them, thrown them into one of those blenders Tanya used for her breakfast power drink, and then vomited out the results. Dom shifted uncomfortably on his seat. He’d been doing a lot of that in the last half hour.

  Zeb was pressed up quite closely to Dom because the celebrity TV presenter on Zeb’s other side was of a size that he needed at least one and a half seats for himself. At least Zeb had taken off that bloody sweater, thank God. He probably thought Dom hadn’t noticed how itchy it made him, but Dom was glad Zeb saw no point in making Dom itch and suffer as well.

  As Dom shifted again, Zeb whispered, “You okay?”

  Dom took a quick glance at his date. Zeb looked smaller without his bulky coverings, although he still seemed to have a heap of T-shirts on. Dom could see the small hollow where Zeb’s neck joined his torso. Smooth, pale skin, with the slightest shadow on his Adam’s apple. It looked very… lickable. Dom swallowed, ashamed of his suddenly sexy thoughts. What was the matter with him?

  “I’ll just be a minute,” he whispered back, though not so quietly that the stocky Portuguese celebrity chef on his other side didn’t turn and frown at him.

  “Okay,” Zeb whispered back.

  Had that been a brief second of panic on Zeb’s face? Dom had to admit he wondered how Zeb had stuck the movie this long. Dom doubted that sitting still in the dark with a load of stuffed shirts for several hours was a usual night out for Zeb Z. It wasn’t Dom’s idea of fun either, for that matter.

  But at least he could do something about it.

  “ERIC?” Dom muttered into his phone.

  “Why are you muttering, big man?”

  “Because I’m trying not to be heard, you moron.”

  “There’s a weird echo.”

  “I’m in the gents.”

  “Whoa, too much information!”

  “It’s the only quiet place I can find to call you,” Dom growled. “Just send the limo back to the cinema, will you? I’ll meet it around the back in ten minutes.” There was a brief silence. Then Eric gave a short, tight sigh. “Don’t tell Tanya,” Dom said. Had that sounded too much like a plea?

  “You have to do the feedback thing.” Eric’s voice sounded strained. “After the movie. You have to smile and say it’s the best thing you ever saw.”

  “It’s unadulterated crap.”

  Dom knew he had an ally when Eric gave a sympathetic chuckle. “What about the dinner afterwards?”

  “Mass catering,” Dom said. “Warm wine.”

  Eric sighed again, but in solidarity this time. “And interminable speeches.”

  “So?”

  Eric’s voice relaxed into something conspiratorial. “You’re on. But don’t get caught, and don’t say anything… you know. That way you talk to reporter
s.”

  Dom thought of Zeb’s far more charming put-down outside the cinema, and accepted that Eric had a point. “Mouth shut, I promise. I just have to get out of here.”

  “And make sure they have some photos to go on, or the whole thing’s off.”

  “Yeah, yeah, of course. Now, Eric?”

  DOM wriggled back into his cinema seat without any real concession to the other watchers. In fact, he took no little satisfaction in standing heavily on the TV chef’s foot as he went past him.

  Zeb’s eyes glimmered at him in the dim light. “I thought you might not come back,” he whispered. “I wished I’d joined you.”

  Dom felt a ripple of relief inside. It wasn’t as if he’d ever cared what people thought of his ruder behavior, but for some reason it was a treat to see Zeb on his side. “Tempted to leave early?”

  Zeb bit at his lower lip in a rather charming, boyish way. “The film’s pretty bad.”

  “Another hour to go,” Dom said gleefully.

  “No! Really?”

  Dom had no idea, actually. He hadn’t bothered reading up about the film before it started, and he didn’t recognize any of the actors. But he liked that flicker of horror in Zeb’s eyes.

  “We’re meant to see it through, then give feedback to the press,” Zeb murmured. “That’s how it goes.”

  “I see.” Dom stretched out his legs, making sure to give the TV chef a gratuitous jab to the shin. “That photographer outside asked if you’d stay awake for this one. Aren’t you a movie lover?”

  “Of course I am.” Zeb looked confused, but only for a second. “Oh. Well, yes. I may have fallen asleep in a few of these events.”

  “So, why don’t we leave now?”

  Zeb looked momentarily shocked, then wistful. “That’s not the done thing.”

  Dom was prepared to leave on his own, even though he knew Tanya would be furious. But he wasn’t running from Zeb’s company, just the bloody awful film. He gave a low chuckle. “You were the one who said you didn’t believe I do what I’m told. I’ve already told the driver to pull up around the corner.” He slid his hand back into Zeb’s and was encouraged when Zeb didn’t pull back. “Are you coming?”