Stefan stepped into Luke’s path. “But you’re taking the PEP meds, you’ll get tested regularly, and we can use condoms again until—” He reached for Luke’s shoulder but dropped his hand when Luke flinched. “That’s not really the issue, is it?”
Luke wrapped his arms tighter, fingers digging into his sides. “It’s so fucked up. I wasn’t even there and yet I feel like I got . . . got raped. How much of who you are is your body and how much is your mind, you know?”
Stefan inched closer but didn’t try to touch him. “You need to talk to someone about it.”
“Yeah? Who? What therapist would listen to me spout off my feelings about some other guy walking around in my body and not clap me in the loony bin? Look what happened to Thomas, and all he was blathering about was his uncle, the ghost.”
Stefan’s brow knotted in a frown. “Okay, you’ve got a point.”
“Damn straight, I do. I’ll look like I’m trying to cry ‘not guilty’ for crimes they haven’t discovered yet—which’ll make somebody suspicious enough to investigate.”
“Is that why you’re worried? Because you suspect there were crimes?”
Luke collapsed onto the stool next to the worktable, shoulders slumped. “It hardly matters if they weren’t crimes per se, but no way can there be zero consequences. I may have been shut up in that damn gothic bedroom 24-7, but DiBartolo was out test-driving his new wheels.” He pointed to himself. “And I’ll never know what he did until one of those consequences rears up and bites me in the ass.”
Stefan shrugged, palms up. “Then we’ll deal with it.”
“What I don’t want—” what he desperately didn’t want, to the extent that he’d be willing to leave Stefan if it meant keeping him safe “—is for the consequences to bite you in the ass.”
Stefan stood in front of him. “Is it okay if I hold your hands?” Luke nodded, and Stefan laced their fingers together. “I understand that this is a big deal for you.”
“‘Big’ is a fucking understatement,” he muttered.
“Okay, monumental. But I’m here, okay? Whatever you need, I’ll be here, and we’ll figure it out. We can talk to Peg tonight, see if she has any ideas.” He smiled wryly. “She is a Psychic Counselor, with a capital P and C, after all.”
“A less PC person I’ve never met. She’s got a filthier mouth than any ten sailors.”
“I’d have thought you’d appreciate her directness.”
Luke sighed. “Ordinarily, yeah. But this isn’t . . . isn’t—”
“Ordinary?”
“Exactly.”
“Then maybe she knows someone else. The point is, we’ve got resources we haven’t tapped yet. Even a regular therapist might help you get over the . . .” Stefan dropped his gaze to their joined hands. “The trauma of the assault.” His shoulders lifted as he inhaled deeply. “I’ve been thinking I might need some help myself. There’s still a lot of baggage I need to unpack, between Marius’s death and the Arcoletti incident.”
Luke’s belly turned over. Why didn’t I ever realize that? Of course Stefan had issues to deal with—grief and guilt and his own supernatural assault. And I’ve been ragging on him to move in with me, crowding him, trying to fix him with financial support instead of letting him deal with his trauma his own way.
In hindsight, thank God Stefan had resisted. Until Luke got his head on straight, Luke needed the space himself. They both did.
“Yeah. Okay.” Squeezing Stefan’s hands once, he then let go, barely stopping himself before wiping his hands on his chinos. From the pinch of Stefan’s lips, he caught the aborted gesture. I need to do something to let him know I’m working on it. That it’s not him, it’s me.
But what?
“Yoo hoo!”
Stefan tore his gaze away from Luke’s tortured face at Rudy’s cheery greeting.
“Hey. Come on in.” He cast a worried glance at Luke, who was struggling to his feet, then crossed to give Rudy a hug. “I didn’t think I’d see you again here.”
“Oh, you know. Just picking up a few things. Last checkie. Saying goodbye to Ms. A, helping her get Mr. D down the stairs.” He shook Luke’s offered hand, leaning forward to whisper conspiratorially, “Although I did not wish Mr. D a gracious good afternoon, thank you very much. I am devoted to my patients, absolutely devoted, but when it comes to a full-frontal assault, I draw a very definite line.”
Luke chuckled, which was a first for the day. “You and me both.”
Stefan tried not to feel hurt that Luke could laugh with Rudy but had yet to laugh with him—let alone spend more than an hour or two in his company before scurrying off. Hell, he never even closed the studio door anymore, as if he was afraid for them to be alone. Although I guess I get it now.
“What’s next, Rudy? Does your service have a new gig for you?”
He cocked his hip, arms akimbo. “Honey, after this one, I’m going on vacation. Then I’m getting me a nice calm, safe job. Like in the South Miami ER graveyard shift. Although after what you told me about ghosts being real, maybe I should stay far away from graveyards of any kind!” He kissed Stefan’s cheek. “Bye-bye, Steffie. If you ever need your A-list model again, you give me a ringie. I’d never turn down a chance to get naked with you.”
Rudy sashayed past Luke, whose eyes popped wide when Rudy smacked his butt on the way out the door.
“You okay? He doesn’t know—”
“That’s not it. The guy packs a wallop.” He rubbed his ass. “I may have a bruise.”
A moment later, Rudy wheeled the glowering DiBartolo past the door, Antoinette trailing behind. She paused in the doorway, smiling tentatively, a large manila envelope in one hand and her purse in the other. “Good morning, Stefan. And Monsieur Morganstern, you are here as well. Bon.”
Stefan had dreaded this meeting. Their interactions in the last week had been stilted to say the least, and Katrina had whispered to him that Antoinette was planning to sell the gallery. If she did, Stefan would have to start over again, find another studio, another home, since Luke hadn’t once mentioned moving in together since he’d been restored.
“Stefan, this is for you.” She held out the envelope. Stefan shared a puzzled glance with Luke before he took it. “Open it, please.” She hugged her purse to her chest.
Stefan extracted a sheaf of official-looking papers. Luke edged closer, so he could read them over Stefan’s shoulder. “You’re kidding. You’re giving him the gallery?”
She nodded. “Yes. The two of us will return to Italy, so Jacques may spend his last days there, perhaps find a bit of peace. We have a home outside Milan. I believe you may be familiar with it?”
“More familiar than I want to be, that’s for damn sure,” Luke growled.
She smiled, a wry twist of her lips. “This gallery . . . it meant something to me, something special I had never found over all my stolen lifetimes. It means something to you too, non? And despite what happened, everything I have done, I still think of you as a friend. I hope one day you can forgive me.”
Stefan stuffed the papers back in the envelope. “I can’t accept this.”
“You must. It is nothing compared to what my conscience says I owe. For my sake, if not your own. Please.” She paused, holding his gaze, her eyes haunted. “Stefan.” She pronounced his name the Americanized way.
If she hadn’t done that, he might still have refused, despite how this would solve at least some of his problems. “All right. Thank you.”
“And Monsieur Morganstern.” She pulled a business-sized envelope out of her purse. “Your commission from your job for Argilloso Imports.”
Luke opened the envelope. “This is five times my fee and expenses.”
“Consider it the pain and suffering surcharge. I wish I could have made it more, but—”
His lips thinned, and he thrust the envelope at her. “I can’t take it.”
“Nonsense. If Stefan can accept the gallery, you can accept payment. And I hope someday you w
ill be able to accept my apologies. For now, au revoir.”
She disappeared, following the sounds of Rudy chatting to DiBartolo as he ported him down the stairs.
Luke shook his head, tucking the envelope in his back pocket. “If I ever think about taking an Italian job again, do me a favor: shoot me.”
“Or if either of us ever even think about working for anyone named Giacomo again.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “You got that right.” He took a shuddering breath and blew it out, carding both hands through his hair. “Yeah. Okay.” He started to unbutton his shirt.
Stefan’s heart hopscotched in his chest. “Luke. What are you doing?”
“Making you a promise.” Luke glanced at the open door. “You, not the world at large.” He strode over to the door, closed it, and flicked the lock.
“Uh . . .” Stefan’s mouth dried as Luke tossed his shirt over a chair back and stripped off his undershirt.
“This body has been through the wringer, Stef,” he said, as he unbuckled his belt. “It’s definitely worse for wear, but it beats the hell out of recent alternatives.”
He dropped his pants, kicking them aside, then lost his briefs, shoes and socks. Stefan goggled at him as he walked to the end of the room and mounted the dais.
“You’re kidding. You want to pose for me now?”
“Like I said, it’s a promise. This body belongs to you as much as it belongs to me, and until I can let you touch it again, at least I can give you this.”
A lump the size of his heart lodged in Stefan’s throat. “Luke . . .”
Luke gestured imperiously to the easel. “Get over there and get to work, Cobbe. Are you a painter or not?”
“Yeah.” Stefan chuckled—a rather watery one, but he wasn’t ashamed of that—and took his place in front of the blank canvas as Luke struck his pose. “I love you too.”
Explore more of the Art Medium series: riptidepublishing.com/titles/series/art-medium
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading E.J. Russell’s Tested in Fire!
We know your time is precious and you have many, many entertainment options, so it means a lot that you’ve chosen to spend your time reading. We really hope you enjoyed it.
We’d be honored if you’d consider posting a review—good or bad—on sites like Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Goodreads, Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, and your blog or website. We’d also be honored if you told your friends and family about this book. Word of mouth is a book’s lifeblood!
For more information on upcoming releases, author interviews, blog tours, contests, giveaways, and more, please sign up for our weekly, spam-free newsletter and visit us around the web:
Newsletter: tinyurl.com/RiptideSignup
Twitter: twitter.com/RiptideBooks
Facebook: facebook.com/RiptidePublishing
Goodreads: tinyurl.com/RiptideOnGoodreads
Tumblr: riptidepublishing.tumblr.com
Thank you so much for Reading the Rainbow!
RiptidePublishing.com
I am beyond grateful for the opportunity to work with the team at Riptide Publishing. Rachel Haimowitz and Sarah Lyons, I’m humbled by your trust in me. Rachel and Carole-Ann Galloway—editing FTW! L.C. Chase, your covers for this series are so gorgeous, I can’t even . . . Amelia Vaughn, you drag me out of my internet introvert cave (yeah, yeah, I know it’s good for me—and you don’t even mind if I whine about it). Alex Whitehall and the copyediting angels corral my commas and hyphens when they threaten to stampede. Thank you all so much!
My family’s casual attitude toward my writing (to paraphrase: “I’m writing another book.” “Uh-huh. How’s the dog doing?”) is eternally comforting because it means they take it for granted that I’ll succeed. There’s nothing more reassuring than their total lack of amazement. Love you guys.
Art Medium
The Artist’s Touch
Fae Out of Water
Cutie and the Beast
The Druid Next Door
Bad Boy’s Bard
Legend Tripping
Stumptown Spirits
Wolf’s Clothing
Geeklandia
The Boyfriend Algorithm
Clickbait
For a Good Time, Call . . . (a Bluewater Bay story), with Anne Tenino
Sun, Moon, and Stars (in Magic and Mayhem: Fiction and Essays Celebrating LGBTQA Romance)
The Probability of Mistletoe
E.J. Russell holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally she spent three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business intelligence consultant (as one does). She’s married to Curmudgeonly Husband, a man who cares even less about sports than she does. Luckily, C.H. also loves to cook, or all three of their children (Lovely Daughter and Darling Sons A and B) would have survived on nothing but Cheerios, beef jerky, and satsuma mandarins (the extent of E.J.’s culinary skill set).
E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.
Sign up for E.J.’s newsletter at ejrussell.com/newsletter or find her online at ejrussell.com, on Facebook at facebook.com/E.J.Russell.author, on Twitter at twitter.com/ej_russell.
Enjoy more stories like Tested in Fire at RiptidePublishing.com!
The Gravedigger's Brawl
When the past comes back to haunt you, order a double.
www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/gravediggers-brawl
Rock N Soul
He’s a ghost. I’m a bellboy. What could possibly go wrong?
www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/rock-n-soul
Tested in Fire Page 17