Loverman

by B. D. Roca

  Food. Viva loved Thai, so he arranged for a delivery from Charles’ favourite Thai restaurant. While he waited, he went and stood out on the spotlit terrace and stared down into the early evening garden. Strings of lights glimmered, marked paths, and glowed against lush green growth, disappeared down towards the water.

  Somewhere in that velvet darkness, Charles had sought refuge from today’s events. Kemp hesitated to go find him. Like a wounded animal, he’d sought that privacy, and this house had, from what Kemp knew, always been Charles’ alone. He’d bought it a few years ago. Instinctively, he knew this place was Charles’ safe space.

  It felt like a haven of calm to Kemp himself right then.

  He texted Charles. Got food. Shall I come down there and haul yr arse back in here?

  A few seconds later, a reply pinged. No. No need. I’ll head back. How’s Viva?

  Kemp keyed, Tough. Surviving. In shock

  Pulsing dots. Then they faded. No, no answer to that one.

  Kemp rolled fresh vodka in the tumbler but didn’t empty it.

  All along. Charles had known all along exactly what Viva had done.

  Charles had always known that Viva had killed old man Durant that night. Not deliberately, but fuck, close enough to it. He’d known that fall down the stairs had not been an accident… well, not entirely. Kemp had never blamed her. If he’d known what that piece of shit was doing, he would have shoved him down the stairs himself.

  And Charles had always known that Viva had done it.

  Had filmed it in fact.

  Fucking hell.

  He’d been fourteen years old and tough enough and hardcore enough to set up a security camera to get evidence on his own fucking father. Christ, tough didn’t begin to cover it. Those early weeks, after old man Durant’s death… Journalists sniffing around and Charles hidden away at that boarding school. The sheer relief in Charles’ eyes he’d tried to hide when he’d first seen Kemp walk through the dormitory door, finally, after that long separation. He’d known he wasn’t going to be alone in that place any longer.

  Charles had that fucking USB on him even then.

  How difficult it must have been to hide that knowledge from Kemp. Had he secretly resented Kemp’s involvement, even on the periphery, of covering up the real cause of his father’s death?

  But no. That Kemp could never believe.

  The food arrived and Kemp was arranging the containers, together with plates and cutlery, on the coffee table. He figured none of them were in the mood for formal dining. The smell of food was turning his stomach, but when Viva and Charles appeared, they both fell into the assortment of dishes as if it was exactly what they needed. He opened a bottle of sauvignon blanc, glasses for two, and poured water for Charles. It was a relief to see him eating. The guy had been in the hospital only that morning.

  A morning that felt like a million years before. Bloody hell.

  Finally, the food devoured, Kemp stacked the cartons and cleared the table. When he returned, Viva was drinking a little wine. Kemp sat down on the sofa next to her, and she half curled against him.

  She gave Charles a curious, flat stare. He was sitting on one of the big leather seating cushions on the floor, an arm crooked around his bent knees.

  “It looks lonely down there.” She stretched out a hand. “Come up here with Kemp and me.”

  Charles lifted a brow, mouth tight. “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. Come and sit next to me, Charles.” Her mouth quirked and her eyes glittered, as if she was just a little drunk on that half glass of white. “It’s the least you can do after dropping that bombshell on me. Now come on.”

  With a half shake of his head, Charles got up and looked awkward as Viva elaborately hustled Kemp over, leaving plenty of room on her other side. Catching back an impatient, almost self-conscious sigh, Charles sat on the sofa next to her. Shy, Kemp realised, almost disbelieving. He’s actually shy. Viva picked up the water glass and handed it over.

  “Enjoy, Charles.” She grimaced. “I just wish it could be alcohol right now. I’m sorry about that bastard attacking you. I’ll be glad to see the cops catch him.”

  He gave a noncommittal nod. Partway into her wine, she set it down with a clink on the coffee table and laced an arm about Charles, gave him a sudden half hug that looked painfully clumsy on both sides.

  “Thank you,” she muttered. “Just in case I didn’t say that earlier. And for—for well, trying to help, years back. For seeing exactly what your father was and trying to find a way to defend me.” She caught back a thin, shaky laugh. “You were a tough little bastard back then. A complete shit. You’re a tough bastard now, but now I know just why, I like you a whole lot better.” She shook her head. “Apologies, I’m a little drunk. So, right, I’m going to take this wine, take a long hot bath, and think about what in the hell all this means. The world is upside-down. I haven’t adjusted yet. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

  Kemp got to his feet as Viva did. “You want anything? More food? More wine? Anything?”

  Viva shook her head. “No. Just time to think. That’s about it. Tomorrow, Kemp, Charles, okay?”

  And with an awkward nod, she scooped both the USB and her wineglass from the table and left the room.

  Kemp stood, watched her go, and when they were alone again, glanced down at Charles. “Did I ever tell you that only two people in this world have ever truly blown my mind? And I just ate dinner with both of you.”

  Charles looked up from his glass to meet Kemp’s stare. “We can’t have shocked you that much, Kemp.” His mouth was wry but his bruised face enigmatic. “You’re pretty much bulletproof at this point.”

  “Viva hugged you, Charles. And you let her. Consider me shocked.”

  Charles ducked his head, glanced away. “She’s under huge pressure, and today’s been a massive shock. I’m sure she’ll be herself again in the morning. In the meantime, I might have a walk in the garden. It’s the one thing here I’ve really missed. Don’t wait up for me, okay?”

  Kemp scowled. “You only got out of hospital this morning.”

  Charles headed for the door. “I like this caring, sharing side of you, Kemp. You’ll be buying me a puppy next.”

  Kemp snorted, but he wasn’t fooled. He’d just been dismissed.

  Charles moved slowly, bones still aching, from the empty master suite to the next bedroom and found Kemp asleep in the circle of light cast by the bedside lamp. A book he recognised as a fifties pulp thriller from the shelves in the living room lay on the duvet cover, Kemp’s fingers stretched over it.

  Those outrageously long black lashes of Kemp’s cast a dark shadow against his cheeks. It didn’t disguise the heavy circles beneath his eyes. His hair was damp. It looked like he’d showered, fallen into the bed, and tried to stay awake.

  Kemp’s overnight bag was open, spilling its contents out by the window.

  Charles’ mouth tightened. He wanted Kemp in the master suite, not here. The bed had been too big without him. Charles shucked off the towel knotted at his hip, wincing, feeling the throb and ache of multiple bruises. He’d lied a little to Kemp about the walk in the garden. He’d actually been hungering for a swim in the pool. Problem was, swimming—the wrong word, really; wading like a toddler in the shallow end would have been more appropriate—hadn’t help ease the ache and throb of his bruises.

  Ignoring them, he drew back the covers and slid onto the bed. Kemp moved, murmured something, wrapped an arm around him. Charles curled into his warmth.

  “Mmm.” Kemp sounded fuzzy. “Finally. Take your meds?”

  “Yes.” He’d found them set out neatly on the kitchen counter. He’d also found the fridge full of leftover takeaway. “You eat anything more?”

  A husky chuckle against his temple. “Yep. Vegemite sandwich.”

  Dear god, Kemp was a barbarian. Charles wound an arm even tighter around him. He may have been a barbarian, but he loved the man with every ounce of his blood and marrow. Exc
ept that every time Charles closed his eyes, Viva’s stoic shock replayed against his lids. How long would it take her to truly recover? That hug earlier had to be pure trauma, not real, he knew, no matter how he might have admired her and wanted her friendship. Those wry, saltily welcoming words of hers must have been alcohol fuelled. And now he had her brother in his arms. Did Kemp hate him for knowing their secrets so long, yet saying nothing?

  In the morning he’d ask. In the morning he’d have to face it all. The shock of that surveillance video would have worn off, and they’d all be dealing with a tilted new world.

  But right now, he was going to selfishly take in every moment of Kemp’s warmth against his.

  The day had been a nightmare. Every chicken coming home to roost. Such a frivolous way to express a dark truth. Every secret shoved into the light of day. Now that was more like the brutal reality of it.

  He didn’t have much faith that tomorrow would bring better.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kemp stirred awake. Exactly what he’d been dreaming of he could no longer remember. Tension had leached out of his body overnight as if the past days had been a battle he’d barely survived. Round two was around the corner. It could wait.

  He absorbed the warmth of the long, muscular body lax beside him. His heart rate picked up. Pleasure stirred his nerve endings. His eyes opened to daylight streaming through the long fine drapes massed at the unfamiliar, floor-length windows, catching the flawless curve of Charles’ cheekbone, his silky lips.

  Clearly Charles had preferred a bed with himself in it to sleeping alone in that king-sized bed back in the other room. It warmed a few of the raw edges away. Yesterday Charles had made his craving for solitude so bloody obvious.

  Leaning over him, Kemp hummed as he traced a pattern down over Charles’ arm, followed the curve of his bicep. He felt Charles stir.

  He brushed a kiss against Charles’ neck, pulled back to meet his wary gaze. A corner of his mouth curled up in a wry, twisted smile. Even as Charles watched, Kemp deliberately caught hold of the duvet. His eyes met Charles in a question, and at Charles’ small nod, he slowly drew it away from Charles’ body. His gaze slid down over that long golden torso, and as Charles watched, he could feel this man—this mysterious man, who he loved with every ounce and inch of his dark, dirty heart—who had done everything to protect a pair of siblings he owed nothing to—tensing as he took a grim inventory of every deepening bruise across his shoulders, arms, torso.

  It was the first time he’d been permitted to see just exactly what state Charles was in after that attack. Still his Viking shifted uncomfortably under that open scrutiny. So typical.

  Kemp’s mouth tightened. His gaze slid back up. “I want to kill that guy for doing this.”

  “You did try.” Charles was regaining his usual composure fast. “I believe you destroyed Zelda in the process.”

  Kemp shook his head. “I want him to pay for it.” He trailed a fingertip over Charles’ mouth, over the golden, wonderful stubble Charles had not yet shaved clean from his jaw and down over his throat to trace patterns over his chest. Charles shivered. His cock—as beautifully formed and impressive as the rest of him—was giving away everything of Charles’ reaction to this slow seduction, and Kemp loved that open response after the brutal turmoil of the last days.

  Charles said casually, “One way or another, I’m certain we won’t see him again.”

  Kemp flicked him an enigmatic look at that. Certain, huh? He truly sounded it. Right. That security dude Williams and yesterday’s shady secret meeting, whatever the hell that had been about.

  “That so?” he drawled. “Good.” He kissed him, too gently, his tongue tracing Charles’ lips before he shifted, fluid as a cat, and brushed his mouth first over one pebbled nipple and then the other. Charles gasped and groaned, fingers lacing through Kemp’s hair, gripping his skull. Kemp chuckled. He tilted his head up, eyeing Charles’ hotly flushed face up over the curve of his ribs.

  Holding his stare, he ran a hand up one of Charles’ legs, fingertips tracing and stirring the fine golden hairs. His touch was deliberately delicate. Exquisite. Charles swallowed. Kemp gave him a wicked grin. His fingers curled around Charles’ hardening cock and tightened. Charles gasped. Kemp released him, ran his tongue over his palm, and slowly pumped him. Charles arched into that commanding grip and clearly tried not to grunt like an animal. A pity, since turning Charles into a total fucking beast was exactly the response that Kemp had been going for.

  Some private, pathetic hurt in him still needed to be soothed. Charles utterly losing himself under his hands would just about do it.

  “Good, huh?” he drawled.

  “You know it is.” Charles’ gaze slid over Kemp’s own body, caught on the thick, rigid length of his cock. He swallowed visibly. “Fuck my mouth.”

  That. That combination of absolute filth and abandon in private backed by a public face of cool patrician control and correctness. It was the perfect match to his own sheer chaos.

  Kemp had always loved it. He hoped the next time he said that magic word it would be more welcome.

  In the meantime, he grinned and swung over him, tossing aside pillows. He’d just begun arranging Charles exactly as he wished when he heard a raised voice and then a slamming door. Footsteps sounded in the corridor.

  The words rang out through the door, another door slamming in the corridor beyond the bedroom. Kemp froze. Something about the sheer despair mixed with anger in Viva’s voice slammed Kemp back in time to another house and a younger version of his sister.

  More words, still muffled, as she paced past and snarled something, now out of earshot.

  It was like a bucket of cold water. The heat between them died away in seconds. Kemp was already on his feet. Charles had grabbed a spare pair of Kemp’s trackpants from the bag on the floor and dragged them on.

  They found Viva pacing the living room, fragile morning sunlight streaming through the windows. She was clutching her phone. She looked up as they entered the room.

  Her face was stark.

  “Maxine. Somehow she got my number and rang. My god, I haven’t heard from her in… forever. I thought she was over trying to use me. But she’s saying… the things she’s saying are outrageous. Insane.”

  It was a simple matter to get Edward Williams, Charles’ head of security, on the line. Charles paced the terrace, intensely aware of the need to pick his words carefully.

  “Williams, I have a small task for you. Deal with it yourself. You already know of the lady and have some idea what to expect.”

  Just over an hour later, Williams pulled the black Range Rover up on the driveway in front of the house. The guard who was currently resident on the property stood at the house’s front door and held it open as Maxine Durant-Carreton stepped down from the vehicle.

  Standing inside the soaring entrance hall, Charles leant a shoulder against a wall and narrowly watched her progress.

  The heels of her platform sandals clacked over the warm, glowing wood of the entrance floor. As she reached Charles, she gave the soaring, light-filled space one dismissive glance before turning that look on him. “I’d expected better of you, Charles. This place is… well, you’re almost slumming it.”

  Because it wasn’t the largest, shiniest compound in the area?

  Vintage Maxine. The first security guard had disappeared. As Williams closed the front door, he caught the man’s discreetly sardonic expression and wondered what gems Maxine had treated him to on the drive over from her temporary lodgings. He’d most certainly heard that comment. Charles decided he didn’t give a fuck and gestured in to the house. “They’re waiting for you in the dining room. It seemed the best place for this.”

  “By this you mean your cruel and relentless attempts to separate me from the affection and companionship of my own children?”

  Charles had been wondering exactly what tactic she’d take.

  Now he knew. He refused to react. The woman was
utterly shameless. It was a useful trait—one he wished he could emulate. Perhaps now was the time to start.

  “You have no sense of family, Charles. I can’t blame you. Your father was—well, obsessed with his business, and your sad, sad mother… Frankly, the woman was just too fragile to have made a suitable wife for the empire builder your father was.” Aside from a slight glitter to Maxine’s eyes, she looked perfectly in control.

  Kemp knew better. From his seat at the dining table, he saw Charles’ face turn to stone. Had crossing every line been Maxine’s aim? Christ, Charles’ mother had committed suicide. Charles had once told him about finding her body. It had taken him years to get over that—if he ever had. But then Maxine would know that, and right now, she’d just weaponised that information.

  For sure, she’d taken a chemical hit before getting in that shiny SUV out there. That would fit with her modus operandi.

  She liked to match her drugs to the task ahead. This morning’s choice had sharpened her up, given her natural arrogance a boost. It had also finally tipped her right over the edge of what he was prepared to put up with from her. She didn’t seem to see the disgust in his face, instead glancing around the other occupants of the room—Charles and Viva, before her gaze returned to Charles’ taut face, and she gave him a pitying look. “Charles, I don’t blame you for the ruthless way in which you’ve attempted to sever every bond between me and my children. You’re damaged, and that damage is affecting every human relationship you have. I only fear for my son and the responsibilities he may have taken on, committing to a relationship with someone so fragile. Have you considered that, Kemp?” She shot him a glance. “Because truly, is that a life you want for yourself?”

  Kemp glared at her. “Leave Charles out of this—and the memory of his mother. That was an obnoxious bloody comment.”

  “It was simply the truth.”

  The bitch was actually enjoying this. “Charles has had to deal with enough because of our family.”