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Fallon’s heart sank—a reaction that left him even more discombobulated than his growing attraction to this unlikely queen. “Have you dated either one?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t betray his anxiety.

Ty shook his head. “No. We’re not supposed to date customers or coworkers. I mean, everybody does it, but we’re not supposed to.”

“Do you want to?”

More vigorous leg-rubbing and another shake of the head. “Neither one of them really interests me. Rick is kind of pushy and not too bright, and the other guy—Les, I think his name is—isn’t my type at all. Plus, he kind of gives me the creeps.”

Fallon swallowed so he could talk, but his voice still came out thin. “What
is
your type?”
Oh shit
, he thought,
why am I doing this? Where am I going with this?

Ty slumped forward, arms resting on thighs and hands linked between his parted legs. He scraped each thumbnail against the other.

“Tyler? Did you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s with you today? You seem a little out of it.”

Ty angled his chair to face Fallon. “Don’t get angry with me. I know you won’t want to see me after today, but I’ve gotta say something.”

“What do you mean, I won’t—”

Ty’s troubled gaze snapped up to Fallon’s face. “Just be quiet, okay?” Blushing again, he lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bark at you. Shit.”

“For godssake, Tyler, cut to the chase!” Fallon had no idea what the hell was going on. Bad enough he was struggling with his own unexpected and unwelcome feelings, but now Ty was all wired up too.

“You,” Ty said abruptly, color flushing through both sides of his face like spilled wine. “You’re my type. I guess you are, anyway. Considering I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since last week and I was already thinking about you too much before that.” He dropped his head to his hands. “Fuck. I’m really sorry, Fallon. I know it’s hard enough for you to deal with me as a client, and I’m not asking you out or anything, which would
really
be stupid of me, but I couldn’t keep pretending I’m all proper and professional when I come here, ’cause the stuff going through my mind hasn’t been proper or professional at all, and I’ve been feeling really guilty about not telling you,

’cause you have a right to know when—”

“Why?” Fallon asked, interrupting the streaming confession. It excited him more than the sleaziest come-on from the most photogenic trick he’d ever scored. Even though he was sitting, his legs had begun to feel weak and useless.

“What?” Ty asked.

“Why won’t you ask me out? Is it…is it because of the way I look?” He touched a roughened patch of skin on his neck, remembering that the rash appeared in its vilest form to men he thought were hot. And Fallon found Tyler Burke in his natural state very hot indeed.

Ty smiled wanly. “Stand up.” When Fallon stood, so did he. “I think you’re a knockout,” he murmured, looking into Fallon’s eyes.

“Really? Even now?” Ty was probably a good three inches taller than he and much more solidly built. Fallon wanted to melt into his arms.

“Why does that surprise you? So you’ve got some skin condition. So what? I’ve seen you without it. But that’s not what really matters.”

Fallon gazed up at him. “What does?”
Please kiss me.

“I admire you,” Ty said. “You’re talented and patient and funny. You’ve helped me and set goals for me. And you’ve… given me someone to dream about.”

Rising tears stung Fallon’s eyes. He’d never received such ingenuous, heartfelt compliments. At least, not since he’d left the dance world. He’d come across a few flatterers, sure. But flattery was light years away from genuine admiration and respect.

Fallon had grown accustomed to inarticulate mating rituals, the ones in which messages were conveyed with looks and touches that meant nothing more than
let’s do it
.

Ty began to look worried. “Fallon, have I overstepped? I’m sorry if I—”

“No,
I’m
sorry.” Fallon didn’t even sound like himself. He sounded humble, contrite.

“I’m sorry I didn’t have more faith in you. I’m sorry if I seemed condescending toward you. I had no right. You’re a wonderful man.”
Will you kiss me already?

Ty smiled. “That’s okay. It must get frustrating for a trained dancer to deal with clods like me.”

“You’re not a clod.” Fallon knew he wasn’t being entirely forthright, and Ty’s open, guileless gaze suddenly made honesty seem imperative. “Except when you’re in an evening gown and high heels. But you’re even getting better in
that
mode.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”
Now fucking kiss me!

“So…what would happen if I asked you out?”

“I’d like you even more than I already like you. And I probably wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you.”

Ty’s smile faded as his eyelids lowered. “You really mean that?”

“Oh, I mean it.” Fallon summoned more breath. “Do you believe in pre-date kissing?”

Ty cradled Fallon’s head, his breath readying Fallon’s mouth. “Why? Do you want some?”

“Yes, I want some.”

Ty flexed his lips against Fallon’s, then darted the tip of his tongue between them.

Fallon quivered down to his toes. The current felt dense and expansive in his groin.

“Don’t tease me,” he whispered.

“I’m not teasing you,” Ty whispered back.

He pressed his lips down more firmly, but only a little. Fallon closed his eyes and returned the kiss. His hands seemed to rise of their own accord to Ty’s chest, around to his back, down to his ass.

With a tentative poke, Fallon offered his tongue. Ty took it in and met it with his own, delivering a mild taste of sugared coffee. As their lips sealed, Ty’s low stubble gently scrubbed the skin around Fallon’s mouth.

“Do you shave anywhere?” Fallon asked between kisses. “Other than your face, I mean.”

“No. Hell no.”

“Thank God.”

Their hips made contact. Too much contact. Ty’s basket was packed full, and Fallon wanted very much to examine its contents. He started forgetting where he was.

“You’ll end up with more than a pre-date kiss if this keeps up,” Ty murmured in a gritty voice. He eased back…and his brow dipped.

Befogged and tense and perspiring, Fallon couldn’t interpret the look. His mind was elsewhere. In fact, his mind was barely functioning.

“Tyler?”

He looked thunderstruck. “Your face…”

Oh shit, oh no.
Instantly, the spell was broken. Fallon’s hands flew to his cheeks.

“What happened? Is it worse?” Sick with fear, he spun away from the man he wanted more, and in more ways for more reasons, than he’d wanted anybody in longer than he could remember. He headed for the dressing room. Even Tyler Burke, to whom looks were secondary, wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of him if this condition advanced much more.

“Fallon, wait!”

He couldn’t wait. He banged into the room and nearly fell across the dressing table that ran before a long, bright mirror. A box of tissues skidded to the floor. As he stared at his reflection, he froze in bewilderment.

Ty trotted in behind Fallon and tenderly laid a hand on his back. “I tried to tell you.”

The ghostly silhouette of a thumb extended from Fallon’s jawline to his cheekbone; in front of his ears and across his neck, the long, pale imprints of splayed fingers. He looked like some tribesman.

Within the borders of those flared lines, his skin was smooth. His skin was
normal
.

Mouth agape, he glanced up at Tyler’s image in the mirror and saw a guardian angel, dazzling yet devoid of any affectation, looming over his shoulder.

Ty slowly lifted his hands and studied them.

Fallon turned. “Hold my face like you did before,” he whispered.

“This is…really creepy.” Hands quaking slightly, Ty laid his fingers against the clear areas on Fallon’s face and neck.

“They fit, don’t they.”

Brow furrowed, Ty licked his lips and nodded.

“Touch another spot.”

More hesitantly, Ty brushed his fingertips above Fallon’s left eyebrow. His eyes widened, and he swiftly withdrew his hand. “I don’t get it. This is…I mean, why is this happening? I’m not Jesus or anything.”

Fallon’s concern took a new turn. Tyler was wigging out. Who wouldn’t? “Ty, listen.

Don’t freak over this.”

Shit, he had to come up with some medically logical explanation or at least one that sounded feasible. If he didn’t, he might lose this man. Oh the irony. Never did Fallon think it was his normal appearance that would drive the right guy away.

“My doctor just gave me a new prescription. He said…he said the effects of the medication might be…accelerated if I came into contact with certain…substances.”

Oh fuck, what am I yammering about?

Tyler stared at him in utter bafflement.

Fallon muddled on. “What I mean is, your skin chemistry is probably, you know, speeding up the healing process.”
Okay, stop there. Let him absorb it.
Apprehensively, he studied Ty’s expression for signs of acceptance.

Ty did seem a tiny bit more relaxed. “You mean—”

“Yeah.”
Yeah what, idiot?
“I mean, every person’s biochemical makeup is different—that’s why different fragrances smell different on different people—so your particular body chemistry must be working really well with the…Ordanoxin.”

Tyler frowned. “The what?”

“The Ord—” Fuck, he’d already forgotten the word he’d made up. “The medication.

It’s already building up in my system. That’s obviously why the eczema responded so quickly to your touch.”

“Wow.” Tyler sank into one of the three chairs in front of the dressing table. He looked up at Fallon. “That’s some amazing shit.”

Fallon sat beside him and managed a smile. “The wonders of modern medicine.”

“You know, you look pretty goofy now. Like you laid in the sun too long with gloves on your face.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to finish what you started.” Fallon swiveled his chair and rolled as close to Ty as he could get.

Rash or no rash, he was ready for a lot more touch. Rash or no rash, Tyler “Bubbles”

Burke seemed like a miracle worker.

In more ways than one, Fallon felt reborn.

*

For the rest of the day, as his schedule allowed, he phoned Jake and Todd to tell them the good news.

His calls went unanswered.

The new arrival’s name was Caleb Stuart, and he was a young man. Too young to be dead.

Todd would never get used to this part of his profession, the part where he had to confront the harshest of death’s realities—that it followed no rules, save for that of inevitability, and wasn’t obliged to issue any warnings to any-damned-body.

Ushering out people in their eighties and nineties didn’t bother Todd. He felt he was putting a period at the end of a full novel’s final sentence. But books shouldn’t end after a few sketchy paragraphs or promising chapters; their stories had never had a chance to be told.

“Accidental overdose,” pronounced Larry Bischoff as Todd stood in the funeral director’s office.

“How did the ME determine it was accidental?”

Larry shrugged. “I didn’t inquire. We’re morticians, not detectives.” Still seated behind his desk, he looked over a paper he held. “I just talked to the father. He opted for economy class.” That was Larry’s way of saying cremation, no embalming, no viewing, no service. “I got the impression Caleb was estranged from his family.”

“Christ,” Todd muttered. “So he’s going to get a shoebox send-off, I suppose.”

Larry smacked his lips. “Yep.”

It didn’t happen often, but the fact it happened at all grieved Todd. Caleb Stuart’s cremains were destined for a plastic-and-cardboard container, not an urn or a chest. And that meant Todd’s bank account would be taking a minor hit. He always paid for a proper receptacle when no one else was willing or able to do so.

“So why is he here at all?” Todd asked. “Why didn’t one of the crematories pick him up from the morgue?”

Larry vaguely waved a hand. “Oh, there was some confusion about disposition at first. I don’t think the family had a clue what to do when they found out about Caleb—

they live up north somewhere—so it seems Mr. Stuart asked the coroner’s office for the names of local mortuaries…and somehow we got chosen. That’s why I called in you and Gabe.”

Todd immediately had belly butterflies. “Gabriel’s here?”

“Yeah, I saw him come in.” Larry frowned at the office door, as if he were trying to see through it. “I haven’t had a chance to tell him we don’t need his services today.”

Larry’s gaze returned to the neat array of folders and booklets on his desk. Carefully, he picked through them. His movements were always subtle and unhurried, a habit he’d fallen into from dealing with clients. “Anyway, it was only after I talked to the father that I found out he wanted a Quick ‘n’ Cheap. So we just put the kid in the fridge. Stearns will be picking him up in a couple of hours.” With a small, knowing smile, Larry handed Todd a folder.

It displayed Sudbury-Bischoff’s choice of urns. “I’ll go over it downstairs,” Todd said.

“You don’t have to hang around. I’ll buzz Gabe right now and tell him he can leave.”

“I’ll tell him. I need to check on some things anyway.”

Todd took the rear stairway to the basement. When he peeked into the prep room and saw Gabe wasn’t there, he immediately went to the break room.

The coffee table was askew. Gabe sat cross-legged on the floor, his back against the couch, his head in his hands. No book lay in front of him. No wires connected his ears to his iPod. Something was wrong.

“Gabriel?” Todd eased the door closed at his back.

Heavily, Gabe lifted his head. His face was drenched in sorrow. “I’m not sure I can do it. I don’t think I can.” His eyes glistened.