by Clare London
AIDAN felt both thrilled and guilty all mixed in together. He and H-G had sneaked out of the back of the cinema like teenagers trying to avoid paying. The limo had scooped them up without anyone seeing and taken them to the next step of the evening’s entertainment. And who could have failed to see the gleam of mischief and satisfaction in H-G’s eyes? He’d made Aidan his fellow conspirator—and Aidan had surrendered to it far too easily.
Now they were crammed together in a tiny leather-seated booth at Maxima, one of the hippest London clubs—or so Zeb often told Aidan. They’d swept through the waiting line of guests embarrassingly swiftly and then hurried to a vacant booth. The club staff had fussed over them, assuring them they were VIP guests, and of course they could rely on the management’s support for total privacy.
Aidan sighed to himself. Yeah, right.
Zeb had told him enough stories about being pursued into the toilets by reporters and fans for Aidan to know how much that assurance was worth. There’d be a minimum-wage someone in the kitchen or behind the bar who would respond to a few notes slipped into a back pocket, enough to let a journalist in the back door of the club—to say nothing of his tame photographer.
But at that moment they were on their own, and Aidan had time to gather his wits. H-G was frowning at a waiter who’d brought them table snacks and was now offering to get him a multipage wine list. H-G just barked his order at the waiter, who looked uncertain whether to be impressed or irritated, but scurried away to get the drinks. Aidan knew he should have protested when H-G didn’t even ask him what he wanted, but he decided to choose his battles wisely with his imperious date.
Aidan was still reeling from the gaffes he’d made this evening. That stupid, smart-arse comment in the limo about H-G’s father had been so rude, and the way he’d answered back to the photographers! It was like something Zeb would say, so he, Aidan, had just said it. What on earth got into him? Then he’d followed that up with sneaking out of the premiere and the formal dinner… but hell, who wouldn’t? The thought of sitting in a stuffy, packed room for yet more hours, with mediocre food and a million ways to slip up in his performance? Aidan had been more than relieved to skip it. Luckily he’d remembered Zeb telling him he regularly fell asleep at these movie events. Aidan could understand why. For a rare moment, he felt he and his numb bum were in perfect accord with his brother. The life of a supermodel seemed far from 24-7 glamor.
But he couldn’t forget that the whole point was to be seen with H-G. The premiere opportunity had been cut short—not that Aidan was complaining—but there needed to be some public exposure this evening to fulfill the deal.
At a loud pop from a champagne cork, Aidan nearly jumped off his seat. He swiveled around to face H-G. A bottle of red wine and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket had arrived at the table, plus a selection of crystal glasses. H-G poured out a large glass of the red with an unmistakable look of relief. Then he caught Aidan’s eye.
“Red for you as well? It’s not as good as the one we had at my flat, but it’s the best they could do here. Or bubbly? That sounds more like your thing.” He reached for the bottle in the bucket. “The management insisted we take it as well.”
“Nothing, thanks.” He ought to keep a clear head.
“Rubbish. We both need the support.”
Aidan looked longingly at the champagne. The bottle was extremely chilled: a dribble of condensation ran down its side and he could smell the tart fruit of the drink inside.
H-G had already poured him a glass, and Aidan took a sip with relief. Not that he was any expert in champagne, but it tasted fabulous. H-G was now perusing the food menu, but from the scowl on his face, that didn’t seem to bear up any better than the wines. Aidan sat back in his chair, gulping generously at his drink. There was a certain attraction in letting someone else take the burden of decisions, at least for a short while. Was this what Zeb experienced all the time? Being waited on, being fawned over, being—?
“Bugger it!” H-G fell awkwardly against him, his elbow catching Aidan in the ribs.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry. I was just reaching for the nuts.”
“Uh—?”
“The bowl of peanuts. Bloody table’s so small.”
“It’s okay. No, really.” Aidan tried not to panic, but the lack of personal space was proving tricky to handle. The booth was just too small for two people who didn’t want to climb into each other’s laps. H-G looked apologetic, but his thigh was still squashed against Aidan’s and his hand rested on Aidan’s forearm.
“Look—” Aidan turned to H-G, who was so close they nearly bumped noses. “—let’s just relax into this, okay? We’re meant to be on a date. We’re meant to like each other. So it’s natural we’ll touch and be close.” He couldn’t believe he was saying this, and with such confidence, as if he was the one in charge. As if it was business as usual for him. “I mean, if we wince every time we move, it’s obvious we’re not comfy together.”
“I see,” H-G said slowly. “Very sensible.” As he righted himself, he lifted his arm and slipped it across Aidan’s shoulders.
Oh… what?
Aidan swallowed an extra-large mouthful of the champagne. It would be churlish to push H-G off now, wouldn’t it? A waiter filled their glasses again, and more snacks had arrived at the table. Aidan could feel the warmth of H-G’s arm against his neck—when had he rolled up his sleeves? Soft hairs brushed Aidan’s skin like feathers.
Aidan cleared his throat. “So tell me about the mountaineering.”
H-G snorted through a mouthful of nachos. He’d already finished all the peanuts. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not interested.”
“Listen”—Aidan heard a sharp edge to his voice that he rarely used in public—“I’m pretty sure I said this before. Don’t tell me what I am or am not interested in.”
H-G muttered something that might have been “highly strung.” Clearly, he said, “You’re a model.”
“Yeah, amazing, isn’t it?” A wave of angry defensiveness rose up in Aidan. This man was casting aspersions, if not on Aidan himself then on his twin. “Amazing that a model has a brain.”
There was a stunned silence between them, and then H-G laughed out loud again. Whether he realized it or not, he tightened his arm around Aidan’s shoulders. “I’m a jerk, aren’t I? And rude as hell.”
“Yes,” Aidan agreed robustly. “And what’s more, I think you should stop trying to make a virtue of it.”
“Good God. You are feisty!”
Aidan opened his mouth to argue further, but all that came out was a bubble of a burp. For a second he froze, completely mortified.
H-G laughed even more loudly. “That’s the champagne talking. I like its style.” He lifted his free hand and gestured to the wait staff to bring another bottle. “You’re right, of course,” he said to Aidan, his voice softer. “And I admire you for standing up to me about it.”
“Well, I’m in no position, really, to tell you how to act.” Aidan wanted to say more, but he had to be careful; the champagne was still bubbling in his half-empty stomach. “I’m being presumptuous.”
“Virtues, vices,” H-G said wryly. “We’ve both got them. I’ll try and curb mine this evening if you do the same for yours. Deal?”
“Deal.” Aidan put his hand to his mouth. “But I need to get some proper food to balance the booze. And soon.”
Chapter Eleven
FROM that moment, the tension lifted. When the waiter brought the fresh bottle of bubbly, H-G ordered pie and vegetables for them both.
Aidan tucked into it with gusto. He felt he hadn’t eaten so well for months. His ultralow-priced meals for one got old quickly. After mopping up the gravy with a slice of the rather pretentious artisan bread provided on the side, he glanced across to find H-G had finished his meal and was grinning at him. “What’s so amusing?”
“I’m trying to reconcile the emaciated model look with the lion’s appetite, that’s all.”
Emaciated? “Are you saying I eat like a lion?”
H-G shrugged, still grinning. “I’m a rude jerk, remember?”
Aidan bit back a reply while the waiter cleared their plates, but H-G spoke again before Aidan could phrase a suitable comeback.
“Have you really done the Five Peaks?”
“Yes, though it was just after university, so a few years ago now.” That was another slip, he suddenly realized, because Zeb had dropped out of uni as soon as a model agency discovered him. But maybe H-G wouldn’t notice.
“Tell me about it.” H-G had moved closer again.
“Your project is far more interesting.”
“But I’m interested in yours,” H-G said. “I’m bloody bored of myself.”
Aidan peered at him with some suspicion. Was H-G already drunk? He looked like the kind of man who could manage his alcohol… but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and he was definitely in Aidan’s personal space. He had sneaked his arm back around Aidan’s shoulders; though to a casual observer it could look like H-G was just resting it on the back of their seat.
For God’s sake! Aidan could almost hear Zeb’s voice. How are you ever going to get a man if you don’t let anyone get near enough to touch?
Aidan had to admit that H-G’s nearness was stimulating. They were both getting sweaty as the evening wore on, but H-G’s smell wasn’t offensive at all, just warm and very masculine through the thin fabric of his shirt. His body was bulky against Aidan’s slimmer frame, but it felt muscular rather than soft, and H-G had fully fixed his attention on Aidan. When H-G was concentrating, his eyes were a very deep brown and his expression was truly engrossed. If he toned down the aggression and let people see this more genuine side of him more often, they wouldn’t think he was such a brute.
Aidan cleared his suddenly tight throat. “Well. It was a sponsored event, run through the Student Union. Only a few of us lasted through the training, but between us we raised thousands of pounds for a children’s cancer charity.”
H-G nodded approvingly. He grazed his fingertips against the back of Aidan’s neck.
Does he expect more detail? Aidan described the journey for a few more minutes. He was pleasantly surprised to find that with H-G’s encouragement and interest, the memories flooded back: the happy camaraderie, the sense of achievement, the heartfelt gratitude expressed by the charity they’d supported. He took a gulp of his champagne—the glass had miraculously refilled while he’d been eating—and launched into the raw truth. “To be honest, I suffered with hideous blisters on my feet. The climbing down was even harder than climbing up. And for weeks afterward, my muscles knotted every morning when I woke.”
“Insufficient warm-up and -down,” H-G said knowingly. “Regular massage would have sorted that out.” For a brief moment, his other hand hovered over Aidan’s thigh, then fell back to his side.
“You must train for months for the major climbs.”
H-G chuckled. His drinking was keeping pace with Aidan’s, but he didn’t look any the worse for it. “You mean train all the bloody time. I never stop. I don’t have any time for the other nonsense of life. It’s my job, isn’t it?”
“You’re on a mission.” Aidan smiled at him. “Tell me more.”
And H-G did. He didn’t go into a lot of detail, which made Aidan suspect he rarely found anyone to listen at length, but he gave brief histories of his last two expeditions. Even with the physical struggles played down and the anecdotes obviously chosen for Aidan’s entertainment, Aidan was transported onto each trip with him. He found himself asking far too many questions about the equipment required, the planning cycles, the team that H-G had brought together each time. But H-G answered readily and expansively.
“How many times have you been to Nepal?” Aidan was particularly fascinated with H-G’s recent climb of Makalu. “I’d love to see that part of the world. How did it feel to be thousands of meters above sea level?”
“Eight point two,” H-G murmured.
“To take pictures of that as a beautiful, forever memory of the climb? To see the whole country laid out below you,” Aidan continued excitedly, “rather than be down on the ground with everyone else?”
H-G looked bemused, and Aidan wondered if he’d said something wrong, but H-G answered his question. “It’s brilliant. Almost indescribable. The scene is magical—if I believed in that stuff. To see the two snowcapped subsidiary peaks, the knife-edge ridges stretching across the range. It’s the closest I’ve ever got to spirituality.” H-G’s gaze searched Aidan’s face. He still looked confused.
“It must feel almost like you never wanted to come back down.”
“Yes. Exactly like that,” H-G said so softly that Aidan barely heard it.
Silence fell for a long moment.
Aidan stared back at H-G, seeking the truth behind the man’s words. It was there, in H-G’s bright eyes and suspiciously damp lashes, in the momentary disappearance of his habitual scowl, and in the catch of his breath, for his broad chest was barely moving. Aidan’s own chest twisted uncomfortably and his heartbeat sped up.
“But that wasn’t going to happen.” H-G broke the spell with a more familiar gruff comment. “Got a call from the bloody bank. Amazing they can track you down in the middle of the bloody Himalayas, isn’t it? The trip had run out of money, and I was summoned home to renegotiate the loan. Had to borrow most of the fare home from a mate. And so—” He lifted his free hand in a gesture of frustration, brushing right across Aidan’s hip on its way. “—here I am today.”
“But I assume that commitment comes with the territory. A dedicated explorer will be dedicated in all areas, whether it’s the climb, the photographic record, or the finance. I suspect your father was as single-minded.”
H-G’s smile wavered. “More so. Climbing was all he ate, slept, talked, and dreamed.” There was a thread of bitterness underlying the more obvious pride. “He wasn’t interested in following anyone else’s achievements or seeking the most famous mountains. He chose what he wanted to do, where he wanted to go. And then he did it in the fastest or most challenging way he could. It was all about victory to him and always on his terms. He was in one of the first teams to scale Makalu by the difficult west face. It was his penultimate climb.”
“I’m sorry. He died…?”
“Three years ago.”
“A hard act to follow?” Aidan kept his voice low.
“Bloody impossible!” H-G announced. A bit too loudly, in Aidan’s opinion, because more than a few of the guests turned to stare. “I’ll tell you the truth, Zeb, shall I?”
“If you want—”
The question was obviously rhetorical, because H-G had continued regardless. “He was a bloody awful father. He was hardly ever home, and when he was, he argued with my mother all hours of the day and night, then spent any free time in his study, planning the next trip or scarpering off to Wales or Scotland to put in the practice.” He looked at Aidan; his eyes were a bit hazy. “The rock in both places is similar to some overseas mountain ranges, you know? But he always seemed to choose an inopportune moment for Mother and me to accompany him, so we were left behind again and again. It was his life, his time, he said. For God’s sake, it was all his time.”
“Please.” Instinctively, Aidan put his hand on H-G’s. “That doesn’t mean you don’t love him. Don’t miss him.”
The noise that came from H-G was an honest-to-goodness growl. “Why don’t you call me by my name?”
“I—what?”
“You’ve barely mentioned my name in all the hours we’ve been here. Maybe you’ve forgotten it.”
“Of course not.” Aidan was just trying really hard not to slip up with H-G again. It had been so difficult to look at his date and see Dominic, not H-G. At least… it had been. Maybe not so much now. He risked another look into Dominic’s eyes. “Hello, Dominic.”
“Well hello, Zeb.” Dominic’s voice had gentled. “Sounds good in your voice. My name, that is.�
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Aidan was treading water here, trying to keep up with Dominic’s mood. The moment of crisis seemed to be passing, yet Dominic was still tense. Aidan could feel it in his shoulder, where Dominic still grasped him.
“That’s enough soul-searching, okay?” Dominic’s eyes held a plea.
“Of course.” Aidan would have apologized for taking the conversation into emotional territory, but that would probably only prolong it.
“And what about your family, Zeb? Not as dysfunctional as mine, I’ll bet.”
Dominic’s smile was a bit of a grimace, but he was obviously trying for a lighter touch. He ran his hand back through his wavy hair, disturbing the careful style. Aidan watched the movement, liking the more natural look.
“I don’t know about that.” Aidan had been an orphan since the age of fifteen, when his parents were killed in a car crash. He and Zeb—or Sean, as he was in those days—had been taken in by a distant aunt and uncle, but it was only seen as a temporary measure until the pair of them could be self-sufficient. It had been Aidan who kept a hold on his grieving twin during those last few years of childhood. They were both distraught, of course, but Zeb was already volatile at that age and determined to go his own way. Authority and he became sworn enemies. His schooling had suffered; he’d barely passed any exams even though he was smart enough, and his halfhearted attempt at going to uni had ended in dropping out after three months to join a model agency. Whereas Aidan had worked doubly hard to get good academic results, kept an eye on the worst of Zeb’s excesses, and made sure Zeb was taken in by a decent agent who would find him a place to live and give him good financial advice for his new riches.