“Me too. Go on.”

  The girls went up the stairs to Hannah’s room. Steve didn’t care what they were up to, so long as they didn’t start a fire or a flood or take drugs. But Hannah had seen enough friends start down the road to ruin that way, and had sworn never to even try them. If Steve could put his faith in one thing, it was Hannah’s solid good sense. He trusted her and until she gave him reason not to, he always would.

  He felt sore in all the best places, and relaxed in a way exercise couldn’t make him. He’d stayed long enough at Luce’s to be sure that the man enjoyed his company and not just the sex, but not long enough for their limited stock of things in common to talk about to run out. He usually felt wrung out and vaguely shitty after a night’s shagging, but mainly because he’d been having sex with the wrong kind of people. Luce was single, unashamed, and uninhibited. He was lovely.

  But now Steve had to do some exercise and iron some shirts for the coming week. Back to reality, unfortunately. The lovely man would have to go back on the shelf because Steve wouldn’t have time to play for a while.

  Monday brought him an assignment as a driver to a family in Kensington for the morning. A lot of his assignments were short term like this, usually with him as a driver cum guard, which was why one of the firm’s limos was garaged near his house for him to pick up as and when it was needed. Only two of their clients could afford and needed full time coverage, and both of those had small children or babies, so they wanted the kids protected while with nannies out on walks and the like, or to and from school. Most of their clients wanted protection while shopping or on an outing or a medical appointment. Today he was with Elsa, taking the family to Oxford Street and watching their car while Elsa went with them into Selfridges and other high end shops. Steve had done exactly the same work while on Royal protection duties. The only difference was the lack of actual police officers following them in another car.

  He was booked to cover another client going to the theatre that night, and Tuesday, the same client wanted an all day guard going to Luton. He didn’t get home until nearly nine, and since he’d started at six am, he was knackered.

  Fortunately he had a late start the following day, so he slept in. He thought he heard Hannah yell something as she went off to classes, but he’d rolled over and gone back to sleep. Waking again later, he wandered downstairs to make breakfast and found Hannah had left the post on the counter. One of the items was a large, rigid photo envelope. He thought it would be for his daughter, but no, it was addressed to him.

  Inside, carefully protected by stiff board and a clear cellophane envelope, was a drawing by Luce. Of him. Not the monochrome pencil sketches he’d done that morning, but a full colour pastel, showing him with his back to Luce, the sheet around his hips, back and shoulder bare. All very tasteful and erotic as hell if you knew what it was about. Which Steve did.

  There was a note. Miss you already. Hang it in your bedroom. Or the loo, if you dare. Love L.

  The picture in his hand was worth over a thousand quid, if Steve’s researches on the weekend had been accurate. A thousand quid to a stranger, priceless to him.

  He thought about sending a text, but Luce might not read it any time soon. He’d been serious about not carrying a mobile most of the time, and Steve didn’t have another phone number except at the gallery. So he dug out some nice stationery that Hannah had given him years ago for his birthday, and wrote a note to Luce at his home address. Too beautiful for the loo, will hang where I can see it and remember a wonderful night. Miss you too. Steve. PS give me your email address?

  He added his own, private one, and sealed the envelope. He could post the letter on his way to his next assignment, driving a pair of sisters to lunch with their grandparents.

  An evening assignment at the O2 arena, and then waiting for a client’s son outside a club in Soho meant he didn’t get home until four am. He was back out again at eleven, and he had to be ready to leave for an all weekend booking driving to Manchester and back with Robert. At this rate, he wouldn’t see Hannah until next Monday, though he’d called her each day to check in.

  Robert went to his room at the client’s choice of hotel as soon as they checked in, but Steve had to guard them until eleven pm, while they attended meetings, had lunch and dinner. He could only nip off for a quick bite to eat and use the loo while the client was actually safe in the board room. Robert took over from him outside the client’s room, and Steve could finally go to bed and check if there were any messages from Hannah. There were two, and an email from luce@lucesherwood.co.uk. He read his daughter’s messages first, telling him she loved him, hoped he wasn’t working too hard, and that she was studying madly for an exam on Tuesday.

  Then he opened Luce’s email. Dear Steve, so glad you liked the picture. Hope it’s not too shocking for your daughter. I have been in the best mood all week, and longing to see you again. Please tell me when you are next off? Love Luce. PS this is my email address.

  He replied. Dear Luce, am stuck in Manchester until Sunday night. Hannah has exams this week so should be home to support her. Might be able to wangle something for the week after? Sorry I can’t see you sooner.

  He woke to find that Luce had sent him a very naughty cartoon of himself with a erection, weeping copious tears, holding a broken heart in his hand. I’ll have to wait, though I’m very sad as you can see. Will have to wank to my sketches. See you as soon as I can, love Luce.

  Steve’s cock paid attention. “Down, boy,” he murmured. He had to get to work so there wasn’t time for a wank, but the idea of his lovely man doing that to pictures of him....

  I wish I was there to do it for you. I love holding your cock. Steve.

  He almost asked for a photo of Luce taking himself in hand, but since he’d given Hannah the safety lecture about sexting, he wasn’t going to be stupid on his own account. Steve’s job prospects would be zero if any naked pictures of him turned up on the internet.

  He received the roster for the following week, and notwithstanding what he’d said to Luce about being around for Hannah’s exams, he had a slot on Monday that he might be able to use. He didn’t tell Luce what he planned, figuring if the man was unavailable, he could just go home as usual.

  He rolled up to the gallery at eleven. Chun was behind the desk, on the phone. She smiled at him in a way that suggested Luce hadn’t exactly been quiet about who’d been fucking him on the weekend. Steve waited, looking at the original pictures on the wall. Mostly pencil, a few pastels. He knew from his research that Luce favoured those mediums, but also did a lot of watercolours. No oil paintings that Steve knew of. He loved the style of the pastels, dreamy, but with a definite sharp edge. You could either take them as simple sketches of modern life, or, if you knew Luce’s politics, as commentary on it.

  Chun hung up. “Mr McCallum, Luce is out the back.”

  “Please call me Steve. Any chance we could be left uninterrupted for a bit?”

  Chun grinned. “Absolutely. Just let me know when you’re done...you know.”

  “I will.”

  He opened the door. Luce was at an easel, working in charcoal. He didn’t turn around. “Another cuppa would be lovely, Chun.”

  “I thought I might offer something else.”

  Luce turned around and smiled. “Steve! How...you said you were busy.”

  Steve walked over and hugged Luce, careful that his smudgy hands didn’t wreck Steve’s nice suit. “I had a gap in my schedule, and thought I’d try to fit you in.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll do more than try.” Luce kissed him, but kept his hands away. “Let me wash these. I missed you like mad.” He walked over to a sink at the side of the workshop and began to soap up.

  “Me too. You and your cartoons and your dirty emails.”

  Luce rinsed and turned around, beckoning Steve with a now clean hand. “Here, now.” Steve obeyed and leaned in for a kiss. “Glad you liked them.”

  “Liked? You drove me nuts.”

  Luce let Steve pin him against the sink and thrust his hands into his hair while kissing him, hips hard against each other, grinding for more friction. “God, I want you. I wish we were at the flat.”

  “That sink bear your weight?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Hop up on it.”

  Luce frowned, but did as Steve asked. Steve shoved Luce’s skirt up to his waist, and bowed, taking Luce’s half hard cock in his mouth. Luce exhaled and cupped Steve’s head as Steve sucked, his hands gripping Luce’s hips.

  The hands on his head tightened as Luce came. Steve swallowed, already addicted to the taste of the man, then looked up to see Luce’s face lost in wonder. “Didn’t want to get my trousers dirty.”

  “Ah. I should put a mat down if you plan to visit.” Luce slid off the sink, and dropped to his knees. “I don’t wear trousers.”

  Steve let Luce undo his belt and unzip the trousers. “I noticed...God.” Luce had his erection in his mouth and was pressing his knuckles gently against Steve’s balls through his trousers, the sensation weird but also wonderful. Steve buried his hands again in Luce’s thick hair, revelling in the feel on his skin as Luce tormented him slowly, doing evil things with his tongue.

  Afterwards, Luce kissed him. “You like your own taste?”

  “I love yours,” Steve confessed. “Never thought I would. What do I taste like?”

  “Cock.” Luce grinned at Steve rolling his eyes. “Like you. Like a man. I can’t explain it. But I like it.”

  “Good because you can stop giving me blowjobs when you’re too old to kneel.”

  “I’ll suck you off in the wheelchair, how’s that?”

  Steve laughed. He didn’t take the idea of them growing old together seriously but it was a funny image. “Would you like to have lunch with me? I’m free until two o’clock, then I have to go back home to pick up the limo.”

  “Shona doesn’t open on Monday. Bit early for a pub but there’s a lot of cafés around. Anything will do.”

  Steve kissed him, pushing a loose strand of hair back behind Luce’s ear. “What about your Talent?”

  “I can cope. Just let me keep my back to the crowd.” Luce pulled him closer. “Thank you for coming over. I’ve been pining.”

  “Sure you have.”

  “I have. And I’ve been so productive this week. Finished the bedding designs and my manager has sent them off. She’s sure the company will love them. I was thinking of you when I drew them.”

  Steve gently stroked Luce’s cheek. “How inspired will you be if I tell you I have Monday off, and Sunday afternoon too? Hannah can manage for that long.”

  “Could I steal you for Monday night too?”

  “Maybe?”

  “We could go to your place.”

  “And blow my daughter’s mind? Seriously, she doesn’t need the distraction at the moment.”

  “Fair enough. I won’t be greedy, but I intend to get my money’s worth out of you while you’re there.”

  “A hundred quid an hour is the going rate.”

  “A bargain.” Luce took his hand. “Now, let me feed you something better.”

  “Not possible.”

  “Well, a bit more nourishing anyway. And stop looking at me like that or I’ll have to ravish you.”

  “Do you see me complaining?”

  “God, you’re bad for me in the best way.”

  Chapter 4

  If someone had told Luce that he could date an ex-cop security officer for more than three months without any sign of it going sour, he would have told them they needed their heads read—and not by a pet police mind reader. But three months had been and gone, and here he was. Happy, sexually fulfilled, more creative than he had been in a year. Yet he didn’t know why Steve did it for him when so many apparently similar blokes would have turned him off. If Luce had been straight and female, and taken Steve home as a possible marriage prospect, his stepfather would have beamed at him and offered Steve a scotch. His mother would have been delighted regardless of Luce’s gender and orientation. Steve was good, solid, devoted, true mate material.

  Luce normally looked for men a little more daring, a little more screwed up, creative and weird like himself. Bhavin had been a perfect example, but they’d only made it to two months before they’d started fighting and the pressure from Bhavin’s family had finally put an end to their relationship. And before Bhavin, there had been Ciarán and Ashley, both massively talented, both needy and insecure. They’d made Luce look like a stable individual.

  But Steve wasn’t an artist, though he liked art and knew a little bit about it from the exposure gained on the job. He wasn’t fucked up, beyond the bitterness that his police career had been derailed by a spoiled male friend of one of the princesses he’d guarded. The brat had formed a crush on him and kissed him in full view of his protectee and Steve’s colleagues. Since they didn’t want yet another Royal protection scandal, Steve was moved to a desk post which he’d hated. He’d answered an ad from Titan House, and Maria Costello, showing more sense than the Met, had snatched him up. Other than that, he didn’t have any serious hang-ups. He loved his daughter, who sounded wonderful, he got on with his ex, and their break up had been a simple matter of two people who had grown apart just enough that one wouldn’t give up their career for the other. Steve hadn’t wanted to live in America, his wife was a rising star in academia and wanted to take up a wonderful teaching opportunity that had been offered to her. Steve had let her go and wished her well. Luce couldn’t imagine staying that friendly with an ex.

  Steve just did it for him. He was generous and lovely in bed, despite a lack of experience that Luce only discovered when Steve told him. He was fun to talk to, with a wide range of knowledge, if not always in depth, because he had to be able to chat to clients, and he was naturally curious. And Luce loved looking at him, in a suit, on the bed, just over lunch, anywhere. He had dozens of sketch pads filling up with images of the man, because drawing him was such a pure pleasure.

  What he thought would be a negative—the fact that Steve’s job meant snatching a morning here, an afternoon or an evening there, and once, a whole weekend together—had been a positive. It prevented a routine forming, meant Luce never took their time for granted, and each meeting was sweetly fresh. Hannah was still away—Steve promised Luce could meet her after she returned—so a couple of times Luce had come to Steve’s house rather than the other way around. Steve’s bedroom, while not as light and big as Luce’s, was decorated with the sketches Luce had given him, so they made love under pictures of Steve in Luce’s bed, sitting in an armchair, and in the shower. Luce had never done that before. None of his former lovers had hung his gifts in such an intimate space, or shared it with him afterwards. It was such a small thing, but it touched him to the core. He didn’t know why, and didn’t care. It was just how Steve was.

  Tonight would be more special than most, because they were going to be out in public together. Not as two friends having a coffee together, but at a gala charity auction for Teenhaven, Luce’s favourite gay and trans teens charity, and others that he liked to support, to which he had donated four large works created specially for the event. Steve would be with him—not as his guest, but as his bodyguard, which had amused them both. He had offered Steve the chance to come as his boyfriend, but had had the idea of allowing Steve to be paid instead of having to use some of his precious time off. So he had called Maria Costello, asked her if his help earlier in the year would earn him the favour of an evening’s worth of guarding, and specifically requested Steve.

  “That way,” as Luce explained, “I get two nights with you for the price of one. Because now you’ll have a night off on top of it.”

  “You,” Steve had said, “are a bloody genius.”

  So Steve would be right there with him the whole time in a tuxedo, while Luce did his stuff on stage and thought about the things he and Steve would do together after the gala was over. Normally Luce hated these things because of the crush of people, though he’d donated artworks a number of times before. Angela, his manager, had convinced him that his presence would bump up the prices offered and be good for raising his profile. And Luce, with employees to support and workshop rent to pay, couldn’t turn down that chance. Besides, he was making a speech. He had things that needed saying to the current government.

  They were meeting at Luce’s place where Steve could shower and change, and they could eat together before taking a taxi to the Tate Modern. Steve had offered to use the firm’s car but then he would have had to have someone with him to mind it while he and Luce went inside, and it was too much faff. Luce didn’t need guarding at all. He just wanted extra time with Steve.

  Steve turned up at half past five, carrying a suit bag and looking a little tired. “Hey, love, are you all right?” Luce asked, kissing him as he came in the front door.

  “Tired, been up since five this morning. Not going to miss this though.”

  “Hope it’s fun for you.” Luce took the bag and hung it up in the living room. “Ready to eat?”

  “Please. I’m hungry. Missed lunch.”

  Luce fed him pasta and a glass of red wine. Steve wasn’t allowed to drink on duty but he was off right now. Luce didn’t eat since he’d eaten a big lunch mid-afternoon. “I don’t want to puke from nerves.”

  Steve considered him over the wine glass. “You don’t get nerves.”

  “I do. Mainly when I’m surrounded by hundreds of people and all their history trails. Tangles me up.”

  Steve put his hand under Luce’s chin. “Think of me behind you. Talk to me, not them.”

  “I will. I just hope you like what I have to say.”

  Steve smiled. “I can guess. Tory bastards, cuts to services, bunch of tossers, blah blah.”

  “Got it in one. Though I’m not planning to call anyone a tosser.”

  “Damn, I was looking forward to that.”

  Luce kissed him. “You are an enabler, Steve McCallum.”