by Tara Lain
Paolo swung himself up and gazed at the wall. “Man, you made some progress. But you covered over some of the light parts. Decide against them?”
Robin planted a hand on his hip. “Yes, I didn’t think it deserved to be too sunny.”
“I like this better.”
“You would.” He arched a brow, and Paolo snorted a laugh.
“So did you get the pieces mailed?” Paolo kept staring at the canvas.
What the hell? “Uh, yes.”
Those piercing eyes stared at Robin. “Was Robin there when you went in?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, he was.”
“So he went to the post office?”
“Uh-huh.” Robin daubed some paint on the mural. What the hell was Paolo talking about?
“So you sent off that coat and jacket?” Paolo stood. Robin could feel the movement more than see it as he stared hard at the wall.
Well, shit. Coat? “Right.” Try to look engrossed.
Strong hands clasped his shoulders, and he was physically turned. Okay, Robin was pretty strong, but Paolo stood a good five inches taller and fifty pounds heavier, plus Robin wasn’t fighting. Paolo gave him a narrow-eyed smile. “I thought we could take up where we left off last night.” He leaned in and his lips captured Robin’s with an intensity that spoke of dark bedrooms, not narrow wooden platforms in the sky.
Do not give a shit. Those lips are heaven.
Robin dropped his brush—God knew what it did to Paolo’s $300 jeans—and wrapped his arms around Paolo so tight he could have been arrested for kidnapping. Paolo’s tongue scoured the secret hiding places in Robin’s mouth, and for a moment Robin forgot try to take charge. He just enjoyed and let one leg float up Paolo’s hip. Five inches doth not a solid contact make, but Robin humped Paolo’s thigh and pressed the heel of his hand against the big bulge in Paolo’s pants. Oh yeah, that got a moan of enthusiasm from Mr. Hunky Architect.
Robin slid his hands over Paolo’s hard-as-iron butt—What does he do with that thing?—and squeezed and released. Damn, if they lay down, could they fuck here? No, no lube or condoms. But a good blowjob could still be in order.
Robin released Paolo and started sliding to the floor. It took work to inch down Paolo’s fly over that mighty erection, but finally he achieved release and reached into a pair of baby blue boxer briefs to free the inhabitant.
“My oh my.” Long, sturdy, cut, and straight as an arrow.
Paolo just breathed—really loudly.
“Mine.” Robin licked the fat head and got a slow, soft moan from Paolo. Ah yes, encouragement. Wonder how far Bobby went last night? He laved the sides of the shaft, then, counting on the element of surprise, thrust that solid eight-inch dick into his mouth and down his throat in one smooth move.
“Holy shit!” Paolo locked his hands in Robin’s hair. Pushed and pulled back, pushed and pulled back. Robin’s tongue reveled in the smooth firmness of the shaft, the silk of the head, and the intrigue of secret crevices. “Oh man. Oh.” Steadily, Paolo pushed Robin in farther and farther—then suddenly, with a yank, he pulled Robin’s head away from his cock until he looked down in his face.
“Why’d you make me stop? You don’t appreciate talent?” Robin grinned.
Paolo gazed at him. “I do appreciate talent, and you’re loaded with it on every level. What I don’t appreciate are liars, and you sure as fuck aren’t Bobby.”
Robin’s heart slammed against his ribs. Gut it out, baby. “Don’t be silly. Why would you think that?”
Paolo still held his head in a vice grip. The bastard. “I don’t think it, I know it. When I said you sent off a coat and jacket, you agreed. That wasn’t what Bobby said he was sending off.”
“I was distracted.” And if you don’t take your hands out of my hair, you asshole, I’ll kick you in the balls.
“So what were you sending?” His narrowed eyes shot sparks at Robin.
“Paintings, obviously.” It had to be, right? And why did Bobby lie? We didn’t send off anything. At least as far as I know.
Paolo kept staring. Silence—charged with frustrated desire, the smell of sex, and a whole hell of a lot of suppressed anger. “Sorry, gorgeous, no go. Bobby wouldn’t have sucked my dick like his own personal lollipop. In fact, I got the distinct impression Bobby wanted nothing to do with me sexually.”
What the everlasting hell? “That wasn’t true last night, and it’s not true now.” He wrenched his head from Paolo’s hands and stood, backing away with his arms crossed over his chest.
Paolo stared at the mural. “I don’t think Bobby paints that way.”
Robin took a pugnacious step forward. “Listen, believe what you want. You hired us because you wanted the best and you knew it when you saw it. Then you proceeded to question our process and make stupid demands that had nothing to do with the success of the outcome. So your fucking mural is almost done. It’ll be a project for the ages—or at least unique in Orange fucking County. At that point you don’t have to worry about who’s painting what, and my brother and I can go on to other projects where the client doesn’t think he’s God’s gift to art.”
“You’re definitely Robin.”
“Be that as it may, Mr. Lind, I notice you were already dead certain of that fact before you let me suck your cock.” He pointed dramatically. “Now get the fuck off my scaffold and let me finish the work on your impossible and ridiculous timeline.”
Amazingly Paolo blinked, turned, and climbed down the ladder, never once looking back at Robin.
Robin stood there shaking. Not only had he just compromised their single biggest client, he had to explain to Bobby how Robin lost him his boyfriend.
HOLY SHIT.
Paolo leaned against the wall in the elevator, grateful he had it to himself. No possibility he could stand there and pretend he was okay. His heart beat too hard, and it wasn’t from climbing down the ladder, but his heart played second fiddle to his unsatisfied, screaming cock. Even doses of strychnine-quality anger couldn’t get that thing to quit hoping.
Worst was the possibility that maybe some tiny portion of the crap Robin yelled at him was true. He had tried to interfere in their process with no more cause than being a fourteen-karat SOB. He’d wanted to make Robin suffer in some way, and he couldn’t withhold the contract for the mural because that would be classic cutting off his own nose. The McMillans were the best. End of argument. So he’d gotten pissy and declared that Bobby had to do most of the painting. I wonder how much of the work Bobby actually did? Got to admit, that mural doesn’t look like Bobby. It was too… what? Deep? No, Bobby was plenty deep. Dark? The mural wasn’t really dark or gloomy in any way. Maybe emerging was the word. The mural showed a heart of brilliant light emerging from surrounding darkness, like yin embedded in the heart of yang. Just the thought gave Paolo goose bumps.
The elevator door opened. Angie’s teeth greeted him. Why the hell had a mean, obnoxious bastard like him chosen a damned smiley face to run his office? She giggled. “Hey, boss, how’s it hanging?”
If he told her it wasn’t hanging, it was still at half-mast, would she blush? Fuck no. She’d laugh herself silly. “Fine.” He hurried past her, powered to his office, dove inside, and closed the door after him.
Now what?
Like some kind of damned Bat Signal, his phone buzzed. Text.
Itf me. Lerning to tsct. You stl not socializing?
Paolo laughed. Autocorrect must have intervened on that last word he got right. Son of a bitch. Joseph is trying to learn to text. Hell is fifty degrees colder.
He leaned back in his chair. So Joseph being cute didn’t change the fact that Paolo had little interest in bedding him. Still, I kind of ran off my other prospective bed partners. Yeah, and how do you feel about that, Mr. Lind?
Cosmic jokerness again intervened in the form of a tap on his door and the insertion of Alonzo’s head through the opening. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
“You ran through like the zombie apocaly
pse was behind you.” He walked in and closed the door after him. Alonzo knew when he was needed—even if not invited.
“Right.”
“So?” He flopped in the chair.
“Remember the twins who are painting the mural downstairs?”
“The one you dated? Sure? Not likely to forget a guy you give up business for.”
“Yeah, well, it turns out he’s been lying to me.”
“Hey, sorry, man. Is he married or something?”
“No, he and his brother have been changing places.”
“On your date?” He sat up in the chair with wide dark eyes.
“No. Painting the mural. I said Bobby should paint most of it, and it’s been Robin, but he’s been lying about it. Pretending to be his twin.”
Alonzo snorted.
“This is funny why?”
“Sounds like grade school. Like when kids pretend to be their twins so the teacher can’t tell them apart.”
“Yes, well, it was still a fucking lie.” He scowled at Alonzo, who returned to laid-back.
“Why did you get to say who was painting? Is Bobby the better painter, so they gave you an inferior product or something?”
Paolo stared at his desktop. “No. As far as I can tell, Robin’s better.”
“Uh, so they made an effort to give you the best, and you’re pissed?”
“They lied!” He slammed a hand on the glass, and it hurt. Shit. Do not shake your hand.
“Right. Because you asked for something stupid, and they were protecting you from yourself.” He shrugged. “It’s not exactly like you to do really dumb things.”
“Robin pisses me off, and I didn’t want him around.”
“But he’s been around and you haven’t been pissed. In fact, wait—didn’t you ask him out?”
“Fuck no!”
“Oh, so Bobby was the one who was painting when you fell in lust and decided to throw over your rich, important business boyfriend for a hot twink.”
“Right.”
“But you couldn’t tell them apart.”
“It was Bobby I asked out. Both brothers showed up at dinner, and the other guy was definitely Robin.”
“Wacko, man. You gotta tell me this whole story.” He stood. “But sadly it’s gotta be later. I’m due in a production meeting.”
“See ya. Keep the door closed, okay?”
“Sure. I’ll put a sign on the door. ‘Official brooding. Do not disturb.’” He laughed.
Paolo didn’t. Had it been Bobby he asked out?
What the fuck? He picked up his phone.
Chapter Eighteen
OH GOD oh God oh God. Robin put his hand on the front door lever and pushed. Early to be home. He’d worked a few more hours, but every time he heard footsteps below the scaffold, he’d jumped. Not scared, exactly. He’d gladly have soared two stories down and slammed Paolo Lind into a pile of polished granite—if he wasn’t so damned conflicted. Conflicted by the sweet taste of one lovely cock in his mouth and soft lips on his own.
Get over yourself.
He crossed the living room to his bedroom, not exactly hurrying.
“Robin?”
“Hi.” He went into the bedroom and started stripping. It’d take a shower to get rid of the paint—and the smell of sex.
Bobby poked his head in. “Aren’t you home early?”
“Yeah. Same to you.”
“I asked Helen to watch the booth for me so I could get some more product. Is everything okay?”
Oh shit, why did he have to lead with that question? “Uh, not exactly.”
Bobby flew the few steps between them and grabbed his arm. “Are you all right? You’re not hurt?”
Leave it to his sunflower brother to worry about him first—not the job. “I’m fine, darling. But you better sit down.” He pulled on his sweats.
“Oh dear.” Bobby put a hand over his mouth.
“Come on.” Robin took Bobby’s arm and walked him to the big bed. “Seems like we’ve been here before—not long ago.”
Bobby nodded, crawled across the spread, and buried himself in the pile of pillows, laying his head against a big purple poof. “I’m listening—I guess.”
“Paolo climbed up the scaffold shortly after I got there.”
“Oh.” He didn’t meet Robin’s eyes.
“He started asking me questions about something I was supposedly mailing. Something I knew nothing about.”
“Oh.”
“He mentioned a coat and jacket we were mailing, and I agreed.”
“Oh no.”
“He, then, uh, came on to me.”
“What?”
“We ended up in a big clinch.” Spare the details. “In the middle, he grabs my hair and says I’m not you and we’re liars.”
“Oh shit.” Bobby flopped a pillow over his face. For several minutes he lay like that. Finally he uncovered, sat up, and faced Robin. “This is all my fault.”
Hmm. Not exactly what he’d expected.
Bobby locked his fingers behind his head and bent forward like a crab. His words rushed out. “When I got home with Paolo, I suddenly realized that I didn’t want to invite him in. I pretended you were already home and that I’d remembered a terribly important package I needed to mail. I came inside and Paolo left.”
“Didn’t it occur to you that he might say something about it to me?”
“No. Stupid, I realize, but no. I was just embarrassed to admit that, after all my drama about wanting a boyfriend, Paolo wasn’t doing it for me.”
“You didn’t want to tell me?”
The slow shake of his head communicated a world of hurt.
Robin flopped back on the bed. “Truthfully, it’s a relief. I’ve been thinking that I lost your boyfriend for you.”
“No. But did we lose the job?”
“No. We’re way too far along, and even though he may hate us, Paolo actually loves the mural. I don’t think he’s been lying about that.”
“But you still have to finish it.”
“Yeah. I have a few more days. I figure I can go in at night. I’ll tell the guard they don’t want me up there during the day.”
“I’ll help you. That way we can finish twice as fast.” He smiled that sweet show of teeth and dimples. “After all, you need time to see your boyfriend.”
Robin sat up and faced Bobby—and the music. “While we’re confessing, I need to tell you that Micah and I are just friends.”
“What?” Now that really seemed to interest him.
“Yes. We kind of figured out we don’t have any chemistry, but we love moving furniture together.”
“What does that mean?”
“Long story, but anyway, that’s the truth. I didn’t want to tell you either. Funny how we never keep things from each other—until now.”
“Yeah. Really crappy idea. Look where it got us.” He glanced up. “Why didn’t you want to tell me about you and Micah?”
“I thought you might be sad about choosing the wrong guy—since maybe you could have had either of them.”
“I think I kind of did. Feel bad, I mean. When we were all four together, I clicked more with Micah. Besides, I think Paolo was really disappointed with this Bobby—” He pointed at his chest. “—when he’d gotten used to that Bobby.” He moved his finger toward Robin.
“I doubt it. And it doesn’t matter now anyway. He’s come down solidly on the side of hate.” Air seemed to rush out of his lungs. “I need to tell you, dear. Micah has a brother who hates that he’s gay, so he’s pretty touchy about, uh, us being such flamboyant femmes.”
“Oh.” That was a sad face. “Especially me, right?”
Robin didn’t confirm. “So I think we begin seriously looking for a new boyfriend for Bobby. Start fresh. Clean slate.”
His eyebrows pulled together in some line of pain. “What about you?”
“Oh, you know me. I’m never serious.” He smiled.
How much of that lie could Bobby s
ee?
“HEY, GORGEOUS, want to dance?”
Bobby looked up at the attractive guy who’d been eyeing him for the last hour. “Oh, I don’t know—”
“Come on, Bobby, go. Go!” Rodney pushed Bobby out of the chair.
He smiled, but it took some effort. “Okay, so I guess yes.” He followed the man’s trim ass in nice summer-wool slacks toward the tiny dance floor in the lounge at the Rose. Jerry and his honey, Mick, were already dancing. The two big firefighters took up more than their share of the available boogie space, but they looked so happy it made Bobby tear up.
The guy turned and pulled Bobby into his arms. Clearly he intended to lead. Okay with me. “I’m Aaron, by the way.” The guy had nice hazel eyes and carefully brushed brown hair.
“Bobby.”
He started a not-very-complex box step. “You’re an artist, aren’t you?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“I saw you at the Sawdust. I really like your stuff. Very unique.”
“Thank you.” Come on, be charming. “What do you do?”
“Stockbroker. Let me know if you need any investment tips.”
Bobby laughed. “Believe me, artists need tips on keeping their rent paid, although I’ll admit, we’re having a good summer.”
“We?”
“Me and my brother. We paint together.”
“Oh. Interesting. Keeping it in the—holy shit!”
Bobby looked up at Aaron and followed his line of sight to the door—where, sure enough, Robin had just walked in. Bobby waggled his fingers and called over the piped-in music. “Hi, dear.”
Robin waved back.
Aaron said, “But you two are identical.”
“Yes, of course. We’re the McMillan twins.”
Bobby felt Aaron react—somewhere between a jerk and a laugh.
“What?” Bobby looked up into a face that had been pleasant and now leered.
“Fuck, why didn’t you tell me you were Double Trouble?”
Bobby frowned. “Was I supposed to?”
“Shit, yes. I mean, what does it take to get some backroom action from you two? Hell, I can pay.”