Steve disposed of the cloth, and went out to the living room bare-arsed to fetch the wine and glasses. He returned to find Luce had stripped off his shirt and was sitting naked against the headboard, his hair now back in a ponytail. “Now that’s a lovely sight,” he said, putting the bucket and glasses down next to Luce on the bedside table.

  “Same to you. You can hang your stuff in the wardrobe if you like.”

  He did because he didn’t want to turn up at the house tomorrow looking like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards if Hannah was there. Then he sat down on the bed next to Luce and accepted the glass of champagne. “Cheers.”

  Luce touched glasses with him. “To rescued children and making love.”

  “And not telling the bosses.”

  “I’m not telling mine,” Luce said. “And I have no reason to ever mention it to yours.”

  “Thanks. She has these ideas about us not getting above our station, at least with the clients.”

  “Where on earth did you get the idea that I’m posh?”

  Steve shrugged. “You sound it. You live here.”

  “Posh comes from the inside. I’m not posh. I lived on the streets and did things I’m not proud of before I found somewhere to live and started making art properly.”

  “Posh family?”

  Luce made a see-sawing motion with his right hand. “Sort of. My mother came from money made in industry, not the land. Dad died when I was three, and Mum married an older army officer who adopted me. He and I...didn’t get on. Enough that Mum thought boarding school would keep us from killing each other. I came home after I finished my first year of A-levels and told them I was gay. He flipped out. It was almost funny in a not very funny way. He went so red, I thought he was going to explode.”

  Steve took his hand, and stroked the back of it with his thumb. “That’s really not funny. For you, I mean.”

  “I think I need more champagne.” Luce freed his hand so he could manage the bottle.

  “Don’t tell me if you don’t want to.”

  “I owe you after interrogating you at lunch, darling Steve.” He took a long sip from his glass. “Anyway, since I was seventeen, he told me I could bloody well sod off and shift for myself. Mum tried to convince him otherwise but I’d had enough. I went to stay with a friend, then a friend of a friend, then things went a little pear-shaped and I found myself on the streets, broke and begging for a living. By then this fucking Talent had really kicked in and I had no idea how to handle it. Fortunately the only drug I got into was alcohol, but I was in a bad state for a while, and hung out with people who weren’t good for me. If a charity working with gay kids hadn’t found me a place to live and encouraged me to dry out, I’d probably be dead by now. Shona was the one who encouraged me to start drawing again, bought me some materials to use. I worked wherever I could, McDonald’s, Tesco, to earn some money while I kept creating. Eventually I wrote to Mum and told her where I was living, and that’s when I found out that stepdaddy had dropped dead from a heart attack three months before.”

  “Sounds like he came by that honestly.”

  “He did. He loved Mum though. I can’t say I ever saw him treat her badly. He just couldn’t handle ‘poofs’. And then Mum died five years ago, of cancer.”

  Steve kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  Luce’s mouth turned down. “So am I. She wasn’t a bad old thing. She’d tried to find me, she told me, but I just disappeared. We had a good relationship those last few years. Anyway she left me a bit of money and her house, and with that I bought this place and opened the gallery. By then people were paying attention to my work. I’d thrown myself into my art over Mum’s death, and the stuff I made at that period sold really well. I kept going. And here we are, snuggling with champagne.”

  “Posh as fuck.”

  Luce smiled. “I guess. I’d love to draw you. I did already, but from memory.”

  “You drew me?”

  “Just a sketch. Better from life.”

  “I don’t mind, but Maria would have kittens if you drew me nude and anyone saw it.”

  “Well, she’s no fun, is she?”

  Steve took Luce’s glass, and set it and his own on the bedside table. Luce gave him a puzzled look, then yelped when Steve attacked, smothering him with kisses and rolling Luce on top of him so he could feel their cocks rub together. He cupped Luce’s buttocks and gave them a squeeze. “I’ll show you fun,” he growled, and Luce laughed.

  They kissed for a while, Luce lying on top of him. “You’re a skinny thing, aren’t you?” Steve said.

  “Compared to some muscle-bound brutes, I suppose. I’ll probably run to fat and wear vests and tracksuit pants when I’m your age.”

  “Are you calling me old?”

  “Not at all. Well-aged, I should say.”

  Steve sucked at Luce’s long neck for a bit. “Forty. I know you wanted me to tell you.”

  “I guessed as much. You could pass for thirty-five.”

  “I thought you were Hannah’s age.”

  “Do I need to ask?”

  “She’s twenty.”

  “I do not look twenty!”

  “You could pass for eighteen.”

  Luce pretended to tug on his hair. “Bastard. Probably a bully too.”

  “Never. I can immobilise you in two seconds flat but I’d never hit you. Not unless you pulled a gun on me.”

  “Ugh. Guns.”

  “Pretty much my feelings on the subject.”

  Luce sighed and rolled off him, so he could sit up. Steve didn’t move. He was comfortable right where he was.

  “I didn’t actually make any croutons, but I can whip up a cheese toastie in minutes.”

  “Not really hungry, but go ahead if you want. You need feeding up.”

  “Oh you are going to be such a handful, I can tell. No, I’m okay.” Luce grinned suddenly. “Do you know that joke about the fellow who’s risen to the top of the scrap metal industry and become a multimillionaire even though he’s illiterate? And when a reporter asks how he managed it, he explains that when he left school he applied for a job as a dustman for Lambeth council, but he couldn’t complete the form. So he went to work for a scrap yard and worked until he rose up to be the manager, and then he bought shares in the firm and made money, and bought another scrap yard and kept going until he was where he was now.”

  “No?”

  “Well, the reporter says, ‘That’s amazing. Imagine where you’d be now if only you could read.’ And the rich guy says, ‘I’d be emptying dustbins for Lambeth bloody Council’.”

  Steve chuckled. “So what brought that to mind?”

  “You. If you hadn’t been rude to me this morning, I’d never have seen you again.”

  “Ah. Got it. I was just frustrated—”

  Luce put a finger on Steve’s lips to stop him. “It’s over. I understand. Lost babies and loopy artists would make anyone cranky. And look where we are now.”

  Steve put a hand around Luce’s wrist. “I’m happy. You?”

  “Very.” He snuggled down next to Steve. “I want to get to know you better, I hope you realise.”

  “There’s nothing to know. I’m the most boring ex-cop in the universe.”

  “Who gives amazing blowjobs.”

  “Blowjob. One. I’ve never done that before.”

  Luce laughed. “Wow. Am I a lucky little boy or what?” He kissed Steve on the cheek, then licked his neck, sucking thoughtfully at it. He would leave a mark for sure. Steve didn’t care.

  “I’m the lucky one,” he murmured, burying his hand in Luce’s hair so he could hold him close.

  Chapter 3

  Going against all artist stereotypes, Luce was a morning person. He loved the light in his apartment, especially here in the bedroom. And if it fell across the body of a completely fuckable man, even better.

  So he perched on the chair in his bedroom, sipped his tea, and filled a sketchpad, page after page, with sketches of Steve. His prematurely grey cropped hair, his strong arms, and his beautiful, talented hands. And his face—resolute, symmetrical, sturdy even in sleep. The family that had this man looking after them was lucky indeed.

  Around eight, Steve rolled over and woke with a jerk, clearly wondering where Luce had gone.

  “Over here, darling.”

  Steve turned over. “Hi. Are you drawing me?”

  “Yes. Do you mind? They’re all very chaste and innocent. Not a single arse cheek to be seen.”

  Steve made a ‘gimme’ gesture, so Luce brought the pad over to him to look at. “How long have you been at this?”

  “An hour or so.”

  “You’re so bloody fast. And these are good. What will you do with them?”

  “Keep them. Use them for inspiration. You can have one if you like.”

  Steve started to say yes, Luce was sure, but then he shook his head. “No, keep them. Who would I show it to? Hannah would never stop teasing me if I showed her.”

  “Sounds like a brat.” Luce sat on the side of the bed, leaning down to kiss Steve. “Morning.”

  “Good morning to you. She’s really not. But you know, dads, daughters.”

  “I don’t, actually. Is it horrible?”

  “She’s the best thing I’ve ever made, best thing I’ve ever been part of. Of course she takes after her mum. Brainy, confident, beautiful enough to make you cry. I’m glad she grew out of wanting to be a police officer.”

  “Saw the hard side of the job, did she?”

  “Yeah. And she’s a genius at maths. Wasted on the Force. I reckon some computer company will snap her up straight out of university next year, although she’s thinking of postgraduate studies in America. Just like her mum.”

  “You talk like you’re some incompetent idiot no child would want to take after. You’re not.”

  “I’m not smart like her. Kids make their parents feel stupid on most days. She was way past me before she finished primary school.”

  Luce stroked Steve’s cheek, and noted the bruises he’d given him on his neck. “She sounds wonderful and I’m sure she owes as much to you as to your ex-wife.”

  “Doubt it. Anyway, it’s all up to her now. She’s an adult, nearly finished her studies. She’ll have to make her own way, like I did, and you did. Only I hope it’ll be easier for her than it was for you.”

  “Easy isn’t always best. If he hadn’t thrown me out, perhaps I’d be someone I didn’t like much. I wouldn’t be the artist I am now. I’d be someone very different, making different art. And I like what I’m doing now, mostly.”

  “I haven’t seen it. I wasn’t really looking at your gallery when I went there yesterday.”

  “Then you must come by again and I’ll show you what I’m doing now.” He kissed Steve’s ear. “Only if you want to. For all I know you might go home and think you’d had a lucky escape.”

  Steve suddenly grabbed him around the waist and pulled him down to the bed. “Not a bloody chance, mate,” he growled, and Luce’s cock perked up. Steve’s commanding voice made him shiver with delight, a kink Luce didn’t even know he had until last night. “Now, do you want sex or breakfast?”

  “Sex first. Then breakfast.”

  “You’re on.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  An hour and a half later, Luce sipped his tea as they sat in bed, eating scrambled eggs on toast. He leaned against Steve’s warm, naked shoulder. “I could get used to this.”

  Steve smiled briefly. “Best not to. Not Sunday mornings anyway. Those with young kids get those off. The rest of us have to make do with the rest of the week, and free evenings if we’re lucky.”

  Luce pursed his lips. “Well, I won’t repeat what I said yesterday, but it’s a shame.”

  “Security’s a twenty-four hour, seven day a week job because assassins and kidnappers don’t take time off. Our clients want as normal a life as they can have, so they don’t want to be told ‘sorry, your guard is on his day off, you’ll have to wait until he comes back’. We always work Xmas and every Bank holiday, and if there’s something special happening in London we’ll be sure to be there because our clients will. Only we’ll be watching them and not the show.”

  “Don’t you mind?”

  “Money’s good. I can pay my mortgage and support Hannah and still put money away. Couldn’t do that as a copper, and the risk’s the same, more or less.”

  “I don’t know how you do it, risk your life for strangers, without a weapon or anything.”

  Steve lifted an eyebrow. “We don’t carry guns. I wouldn’t say I don’t have weapons. Being a police officer is also about looking after strangers. You know what you said about our clients?”

  “Being rich, evil, and in exile?”

  “Yeah, that. They’re not, you know. Not ours. We won’t work for criminals or anyone connected to them.”

  “You think they all came by their money completely honestly and by the sweat of their brow?”

  “Well, did you?” Luce looked away. Steve touched his arm. “Sorry, I only meant you inherited a lot of money. Some of these people are like you, the children of the very wealthy. Okay, some of them might not bear close inspection, but none of them deserve death. Or what happened to that child yesterday. Do you enquire about everyone who buys your art?”

  “No. I know enough about some of them that I wish they wouldn’t have bought it, but I can’t afford to be that picky.”

  “There you go then. Neither can I, or Maria. We’re honest, even if our clients aren’t completely. We try and weed out the worst though. We won’t work for anyone who won’t have female guards or drivers. Plenty of that sort around.”

  “I can imagine.” Luce sighed and put his cup down. “Are you saying I’ll never see you again for an overnight stay?”

  “No, I’m saying that weekends are almost never free. And a lot of evenings aren’t either.”

  “Then I’m booking you in advance for every weekend you are free for the rest of the year, and every free night, and I’ll just have to have a word with my slave driver of a boss to sneak away on your days off. Is that okay with you?”

  Steve put his hand behind Luce’s neck and gently tugged him over so he could kiss him. “Sounds pretty bloody brilliant to me.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  Steve was half-waiting for a pigeon to crap on his head as he walked across Hampstead Heath towards Hendon. He figured he felt so good, that the universe would surely take notice and do something to balance things out. But no, the birds left him alone, the sun continued to shine, and he continued to feel like a kid who’d just got a bike for Xmas.

  Luce—short for ‘Lucian but if you ever call me that I will hire someone to kill you and hide the body’, so he’d discovered—was beautiful, talented, interesting, fantastic in bed...the last time he’d had someone with him that perfect, he’d married them. And whatever else had happened between them, which was as much about his bloody job as a cop as anything else, Steve couldn’t regret those early years married to Stella and watching Hannah grow from a baby to a toddler and then a kid at school.

  Oh, he didn’t expect it to last. Luce was serious about booking him for the rest of the year, but he’d be bored long before, Steve was certain of it. But Steve would suck the juices out of this while it lasted and not regret it when it was over, because something good had already come out of knowing the man, and more would surely come.

  He was glad his clothes looked decent enough as he walked into the house, though. Doing the walk of shame in front of his daughter was too horrible to contemplate. Hannah was there with the possibly vaguely infatuated Emma—or was it Molly?—and she jumped in front of him as soon as he entered the kitchen. “How was it? Was she pretty? Who is it?”

  “None of your business, none of your business, and none of your business. Hello,” he said to Emma or maybe Molly. The girl mumbled something back. “What are you up to today, love?”

  “We’ve been shopping.”

  “Oh. Am I skint now?”

  She gave him an exasperated look. “Of course not. Mum sent me two hundred quid for my birthday, remember? So I bought some stuff for America. And Emma’s coming with me!”

  Steve raised his eyebrows. “First I’ve heard of it.”

  Emma spoke up, but kept her eyes down. “Mum and Dad only agreed this morning, Mr McCallum. I’ve got some money saved and I found a cheap fare, and they said they’d pay for the flight. It’s all booked.”

  Hannah put her arm over her friend’s shoulder. “We arrive at different times on the same day. Mum said it’s fine, she’ll pick us both up. Isn’t that brilliant?”

  Steve put the kettle on. “Sounds like good fun. Will you be scouting for places over there too, Emma?”

  “I might have a look, yeah,” she said, not with the most enthusiasm Steve had ever heard.

  “We might end up at the same university,” Hannah said excitedly.

  “That’d be nice,” Steve said, knowing that it was unlikely that Hannah’s path would resemble most of her pals. “Tea?”

  “Coffee, please. I can’t wait,” Hannah said coming over to give him a hug. “Dad, you’ve got love bites all over your neck.”

  “Have I?”

  “You did have a date last night!”

  “Hannah Rose, do I quiz you about the young men you see and what you do with them?”

  “Sometimes—”

  “Do I inspect your body and demand to know what you’ve been up to?”

  “No.”

  “Then leave me alone and go and sit with your mate. I’m entitled to a private life too, you know.”

  She pouted. “But you’re my father. Dads don’t have sex.”

  He turned around and folded his arms. “Want me to describe how you were conceived, young lady?”

  “Yeah, go on.” But she ruined it by dissolving into giggles. “You’re terrible.”

  “And you’re nosy. Push off.”

  “You were making me coffee.”

  “Before you started interrogating me. Go play with your dolls.”

  “Voodoo dolls, you mean.”

  “I don’t care if you’re playing with Chucky. Run away.”

  He shooed her with his hand. She dived under it for a quick kiss on his cheek. “Love you,” she whispered.