He needed to go home, get out of his suit, shower, have a beer, and forget he’d ever met someone called Luce Sherwood.

  Chapter 2

  Luce put his head on the table, but resisted the temptation to bang it up and down to punish himself for his big mouth.

  “Luce, love, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he said, not lifting his head to look at Shona. “I just stuck my size elevens into my piehole. Again.”

  “Just say sorry, and it’ll be all right. He’s a nice looking bloke, that one. Known him long?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Three o’clock.”

  “Six hours then.”

  She laughed. “Oh, that kind of a friend. Never mind, love. Want another cup of tea?”

  “No, I can’t, sorry. I have to go back to the shop.”

  He paid her the small amount left after what Steve had given her, and walked back to the gallery, avoiding the trails of conflicting scenes and actual people in the market. He wished he could relocate somewhere out in the country, but his customers were here in London. Unfortunately, there was nowhere in London he could get away from people. He didn’t like people en masse, only individually, and he was very choosy about the people he considered friends. Steve McCallum had fallen into very small category of guys Luce Sherwood would like to get to know better and possibly climb like a tree, the minute he’d walked back into the studio carrying a Sainbury’s bag.

  But then Luce had to go and make his opinions known to a bloke who depended on the rich and evil for a job, even though he wasn’t rich or evil himself. At least let him shag you next time, he told himself. Idiot.

  Chun was engaged with a couple of tourists as he walked in, so he slipped out the back and hid in the workshop. Strangely, people who didn’t know him, rarely recognised him in his own shop, though he couldn’t complain about that. He went out back to make more tea. What the hell was wrong with him? A nice, handsome guy who’d already shown a fair bit of friendliness didn’t deserve to have his job thrown back in his face by anyone, let alone someone he was having lunch with.

  If only Steve didn’t work for private security. Luce had met so many rich wankers with bodyguards, and even if they bought quite a lot of his art, it didn’t mean he respected them for what they did for a living. It was the bit about Luce being like Steve’s clients, he supposed. He’d always thought of himself as different. Better. And yet he ran a business and owned an apartment and had money in the bank, so he was a proper tosser like the rest of them.

  Chun opened the workshop door. “Are you all right, Luce?”

  “I’m fine, darling. Have we been busy?”

  “We had a rush just after you left with Mr McCallum. Quiet now. I was wondering if you’d mind if I slipped away a little early today? It’s Mum and Dad’s anniversary.”

  “No, go. Close up, and have a lovely night.” He went over to kiss her on the cheek. “Will your brother be there?”

  She winced. “Probably. But I’m taking Jin with me.”

  “You don’t have to stay if he’s abusive. Promise me that, love.”

  She smiled. “I won’t. See you on Monday.”

  She shut the door, and he heard the window shutters being closed, then the front door being locked. He relaxed, knowing that for as long as he stayed here, he would be alone and away from the demands and penalties of his stupid Talent.

  He looked at the work he’d done that morning. Rubbish, most of it. He was designing textiles for a bedding and towel retailer as a special collection, but his head hadn’t been in it. He closed that sketch book and pulled out a new one. He tried to think of the feeling of lying in bed with someone you loved, a lazy Sunday morning, tea at your side, sunshine on the window.

  He worked for an hour, but the designs were worse than the first lot. Might work for something else, though. He didn’t throw anything he drew away if he could help it.

  He should go home. But instead he puttered, tidying, organising—delaying—until the light through the skylights utterly failed. He turned on an overhead light. He needed to draw but his brain wasn’t cooperating. Instead he kept seeing Steve—solid, nice, earnest Steve.

  So he drew the man. Drew his hands. Imagined them on his skin, then felt like bashing his head against the table again.

  Fuck it. He drew something else, found his mobile phone in his desk, and took a picture. Then he sent it.

  Now he was going home, for real.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Steve had showered, changed, had a beer, and was now a bit less annoyed with life, the universe and everything. It had been a while since someone had taken against the job he’d done—not since he’d been on the Force. Nowadays he didn’t meet many people off the job and those on the job were more than happy to have him around. He tended to forget that private security had a bad rep amongst some of the people who didn’t need it.

  It had been a shock, that was all. After a nice enough meal, even with the nosiness, Sherwood’s words had been like a smack in the face. But Steve was a big boy, he could cope with the occasional smack. And they had just solved an abduction case, so he had plenty of reasons to be happy.

  So he stopped sulking and set about making a lasagne which he’d then freeze. That and ready made bags of salad would keep him and Hannah fed for a couple of nights. He already had a chicken roasting, which he would dismember and also freeze. Hannah liked pasta, and he could buy or make the sauce for that. And she had late classes three nights, so she bought her supper in town.

  She could manage very well without him now, but cooking for her was a habit he refused to get out of. While she was away in America over the long vac, he could be a slob, but he’d still make things to freeze, things she liked, even if she wouldn’t be there to eat them.

  With the lasagne in the oven, he had nothing else to do. The washing was done and in the dryer, Hannah had hoovered, so Steve could relax. Except he hadn’t done any exercise today that didn’t involve running after toe rags, so he needed to do that before he vegged out.

  He started on the treadmill. Five miles today would be enough. To the sounds of The Kinks, he started slow then increased the speed until he was in a comfortable rhythm. He had just hit the halfway point when his mobile told him he had a message. It could wait—anything urgent from work and it would be a phone call. Probably Hannah sending him a photo of herself holding a martini glass to wind him up again.

  He finished the run, then wiped his face with a towel in one hand, while checking the message with the other. Unknown number. He opened it up. This is Luce, Steve.

  Huh. He opened the attachment. A drawing...no, a cartoon. Of Sherwood sitting at a table and hitting himself over the head with an enormous mallet.

  He grinned and replied. Thought you didn’t have a mobile.

  By the time he’d showered again, there was a reply. I said I didn’t *carry* a mobile. Except I am right now. Can I call you?

  He replied, and waited. It took ten seconds for his phone to ring. “Mr Sherwood, I presume?”

  “Luce, please. Mr Sherwood was not someone I cared for.”

  “Funny cartoon.”

  “Thanks. Though the reason for it wasn’t funny. I’m so sorry for being a shit.”

  “It’s okay. I know what you meant. But it’s what I do for a living, so like it or lump it.”

  “How about I just ignore it?”

  “If you like.”

  “Steve, are you busy tonight?”

  Should he answer yes or no? “Not really. Why?”

  “Well, this terribly nice ex-cop gave me a lovely bottle of champagne today and drinking champagne on your own is pathetic, so I wondered if you’d like to help me drink it.”

  “Maybe?”

  “If I threw bed and breakfast and a blowjob into it, would that help you decide?”

  Holy fuck. Steve was already half hard from the silky voice and the dirty offer. “It might,” he teased.

  “Well, if you decide you would like to, then pop on over. Have you eaten?”

  “I had a late lunch with this posh tosser so I’m not really hungry.”

  Luce’s laugh was a silvery thing that made Steve smile. “I’ll make some croutons or something. Please come?”

  I hope to. “Okay. Text me your address. I’m in Hendon so I won’t be that long.”

  “Lovely. See you soon.”

  What did you wear to a blowjob offer? Steve had had sex with three men, and none of them went past a hot and heavy half a night stand (because the guys always turned out to be married, which was a hard line for Steve.) This...would be different. At least he hoped it would be.

  Now he was panicking. He didn’t know what people at Luce’s income scale expected from a date. Flowers? Chocolates? Not from anywhere in Hendon. Maybe they were a second-date-thank-you-for-the-blowjob kind of thing.

  He decided that a clean body and a change of clothes would be enough for now. So he had a third, more thorough shower, used the nice aftershave, and dug out the shirt and slacks he wore sometimes on the job when the client wanted him to blend in while they went somewhere like the Tate with the kids. Then he called Hannah.

  “Hey, Dad, all right?”

  Kids today. “Just checking. You staying at Laura’s?”

  “Yup. What are you doing?”

  “Uh, visiting a friend.”

  “You? You don’t have any friends.”

  “I do. Anyway, I might be out overnight too. Not that far away. Call me if you need me.”

  “I’m fine, Dad. I’m even studying at the moment.”

  “Good girl. Love you. See you tomorrow. I’ll be home in the afternoon.”

  “Dad, do you have a date?”

  “Me to know.”

  “Da-ad.”

  “Bye, love.”

  He grinned to himself. It wasn’t often he got to wind up Hannah and not vice versa.

  He called a minicab, and thirty minutes later he walked up the path of a block of apartments near the Gospel Oak end of Hampstead. He rang the bell and the intercom told him to come up.

  Luce stood smiling at the doorway, still in a long skirt, but a different one, and a white linen shirt unbuttoned nearly to the navel. “Hello.”

  Steve dared to kiss him on the cheek. “Hi.”

  Luce’s hand snaked around his waist. “Come in.”

  The apartment was huge, modern and airy, nearly as big as Steve’s whole house. Though it was dark now, he could imagine how, in the daytime, it would be full of light. “Nice place.”

  “Yes, I think so. Come and sit.”

  Steve went to the sofa. Luce headed for the kitchen, returning with the champagne in a wine bucket and two glasses. “I’m slightly embarrassed that I own one of these,” he said, putting the bucket on the coffee table. “I can’t remember where it came from. Left over from a show, I think.”

  “I’ve got one. Wedding present. Never use it.”

  “No, I don’t either. Except on special occasions, this being the first.” He leaned in and kissed Steve on the lips, cupping his chin. He tasted clean, like toothpaste, and his lips were soft. Steve put his arms around him and pulled him closer. He hadn’t really done this much with guys, but he knew his way around a cuddle and a kiss, no problem.

  Luce pulled back eventually, stroking a long finger down Steve’s cheek. “You’re gorgeous.”

  Steve grinned. “You’re not so bad yourself. But can I ask...?”

  “It’s the skirt, isn’t it?”

  “Well, yeah. And the make up and the nail polish...are you transgender?”

  Luce gave another one of his silvery laughs. “I’m not hung up about gender, but I’m male. The skirts are just more comfortable and I feel happier in them. And I’ve always loved pretty nail polish. The makeup is my game face.”

  “Stella used to call it war paint.” Though Luce wasn’t wearing any tonight.

  “Exactly. It bothers you?”

  “Not really. Just didn’t want to say the wrong thing.”

  “You haven’t.”

  Steve reached around and stroked Luce’s long ponytail. “This is pretty. Most blokes don’t look after their hair like this.”

  “I like pretty things, even on me. I love it being played with.”

  Steve tugged at the leather tie holding the hair in a tail, and managed to take it off, tossing it onto the coffee table. He pulled Luce on top of him and buried his fingers in the thick mass of hair, dragging Luce in for another hot, luscious kiss. Luce straddled him, holding the sides of his head, plundering his mouth and thrusting against him. When he pulled back, Steve pulled in a long breath, exhaled. “Bloody hell,” he whispered.

  “My thoughts exactly.” But then Luce climbed off him.

  “Hey.”

  “Patience, darling. Champagne.”

  “Put it back in the fridge, I want to drink you instead.” He pulled Luce back onto him and seized his mouth, tasting deep.

  Luce melted against him, his hands in Steve’s short hair, gripping and comforting in turn. Steve’s hands were in Luce’s hair and his long, thin back, and under his shirt, feeling soft skin. “Bed. Please.”

  “Don’t want to stop.”

  So Steve didn’t for a bit, but when he pushed up, bringing Luce with him to a standing position, he whispered, “Bed?” again, and Luce pointed towards a room to their left. Steve walked, half carrying Luce, still kissing and groping him, across the floor and into the bedroom. Luce threw himself onto the bed.

  “You know the other nice thing about skirts?”

  “Hmmm?” Steve was busy taking off his shoes, socks, and slacks.

  “No underpants.”

  Kicking his trousers off his feet, Steve fell onto the bed beside Luce and ran a hand up under his skirt. All he found was warm skin. “Naughty.”

  “Comfortable. You should try it.”

  “Maria would have a fit. What do you want?” he asked in between kisses.

  “I promised you a blow job. But I want you to fuck me too.”

  “Greedy.”

  “Needy. Lube’s in the drawer, condoms too.”

  Steve wasn’t in any hurry to get down to business. The feel of Luce under his hand, the slightly transgressive skirt, was all new and wonderful, and he’d never had the luxury of this before with a bloke. Luce, too, was exploring with hand and lips. Was Steve his type? Did he have a type? Steve didn’t, really. Not with men. Being up for it was all he’d ever asked for. Being handsome, or even pretty as Luce was, hadn’t been on offer. But he was no oil painting himself, Steve thought, then gave himself the giggles.

  “What?” Luce murmured.

  “Tell you later. I could spend the rest of my life touching you.”

  “You’ll drive me mad if you do. Please, Steve?”

  Steve rolled over and reached around in the drawer, which didn’t have anything in it except the lube and condoms. He pulled them out. “Front or back?”

  “Front. I want to see you.” Luce pulled his skirt up around his hips, revealing neatly trimmed pubes, a long, eager cock, and pale legs that went on forever.

  Steve bent and kissed Luce above the line of pubic hair, and felt the skin shivering under his lips. “Beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  Steve lubed up his fingers and traced one over Luce’s hole, easing it in.

  “More.”

  “Give us a chance.”

  Steve gently pushed two fingers in, adding more lube. Luce squirmed around, trying to pull him in. Steven bent again and touched his tongue to the tip of Luce’s cock. Luce jerked, and Steve grinned. He used his mouth, taking Luce in while his fingers worked his arse. Luce moaned and begged for more, so he kept going. He pushed his fingers in deeper until he felt Luce jerk again, moved his head up and down to pull Luce to the edge of coming. Then he stopped. Luce actually whined.

  “Mouth or hands?” Steve asked.

  “Mouth please, oh god don’t stop.”

  So Steve sucked him again, thrusting with his fingers until Luce was jerking and crying out and coming in a warm gush over Steve’s tongue. He swallowed. It wasn’t as hard as he thought. Not bad for a first time.

  Luce reached for him and pulled himself up, his hair wild around his face. “God, Steve.” He kissed Steve, and held him close. “You’re lovely.”

  “Not done yet. Still want me inside you?”

  “Oh yes, please.”

  Luce lay back down and canted his hips invitingly. Steve nearly came just putting the condom on. Thank God for middle age.

  He put more lube on the condom, then pushed inside Luce’s tightness in one slow movement. Luce wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist, his green eyes on Steve like he’d just got religion. Steve found the familiar rhythm, and put one hand on Luce’s damp cock, the skin so soft and sweet under his fingers. Luce clutched his other hand, squeezing with more strength than a skinny guy should have, except this one worked clay and wire and knew how to get what he wanted from them.

  Luce sighed and Steve fell over the edge, spending inside Luce and closing his eyes from the sheer force of his orgasm. He opened them to find Luce smiling at him. “Thank you,” Steve said, pulling out carefully.

  “He’s thanking me,” Luce said, rolling his eyes and grinning. “Over there.” He pointed to a closed door. “Bathroom.”

  Steve cleaned up and disposed of the condom, and brought a washcloth back to the bedroom. He sat down next to Luce and wiped him down slowly, admiring the pale skin under the shirt and on his arse. “I wish I could paint. I’d paint you.”

  “What colour?”

  Steve grinned. “Green. Kermit green.”

  “I fancy purple myself. Maybe stripes. Come here.” Luce cupped his head and pulled him down for a kiss. “You really are lovely.”

  “I’m nothing special.”

  “No, not at all. Just a considerate, careful lover, a handsome, kind man—so common and ordinary. Or, you know, not ordinary at all.”

  “You’re making me blush.”

  “Can’t see it.”

  “Cheek. Let me get rid of this. You still want that champagne? I can bring it in.”

  “If you like.”