Men of London 02 - Sight and Sinners (7 page)

Draven had rushed back to dead parents and a brother who the doctors told him was in a permanent vegetative state with no discernible brain activity and unable to breathe on his own. The machines keeping him alive were the thin line between life and death for Jude and one that Draven had never quite managed to sever. That line was all he had left of his family. He felt the guilt every day at not being there for them, at being on business at the time his whole family had been wiped out.

Sometimes, in his darkest moments, he wished he’d been in the car with them.

The only silver lining in the whole tragic tale was that his parents had left Draven a very substantial amount of money in both life insurance and wise investments. Every penny Draven had from that went to keeping Jude on these machines, and would continue to do so.

Doctor Frederick had talked about switching them off but Draven just couldn’t do it. Not while there might be hope, something he clung to even though the doctors had told him quietly that there was none.

He opened the book and smiled at Anita when she came in to check Jude’s airway, change his position to prevent bedsores, replace the tape on his eyes keeping his corneas healthy, physiotherapy, checking his catheter and other waste bags and several other functions that kept Jude comfortable and relatively healthy.

“He seems to be doing okay. Thanks for the cup of tea, by the way.”

The nurse smiled gently. “You know we love to look after you, Draven. You look tired. You should get some more sleep. You’ll have Sister Alison on your case if you don’t.”

The retort on Draven’s lips that he’d get more sleep when he was dead didn’t seem right under current circumstances. Instead he inclined his head.

“I’ll do my best. I wouldn’t want to upset Ally. She’d probably put me over her knee.”

Anita nodded and left the room with a whish of starched white uniform.

Draven sipped his tea and sat there, watching, touching and talking, pretending that one day, Jude would open his eyes and everything would be all right in Draven’s world once again.

He got home around about eight o’clock, exhausted, emotionally drained and feeling the effects of the punch to his jaw. Taylor had quite a right hook on him and was stronger than he looked.

After pouring himself a whisky, Draven slumped down into the easy chair in the lounge in his small but cosy two-bedroomed terrace house and stared at the wall while he sipped his drink. A picture of happier times of him, Jude and their parents laughing on a beach somewhere hung there.

“Evening, guys,” he murmured softly. “Is it okay to tell you all about my day?” It was something he did when he felt down, feeling that perhaps somewhere, they might be listening. “Where the hell do I begin? I went to the funeral of a well-respected business colleague. Then, I saved a man from bashing his head in, kissed said man, who’s the most annoying and volatile man I’ve ever met, and got punched in the face by… yep, you guessed it, the same man. Who’s sexy as hell, I have to say. Then I had yet another conversation with your doctor, Jude.” He frowned at the memories of the conversation about possibly turning off Jude’s life support. “I just wasn’t in the mood to discuss his thoughts tonight. I like Doctor Frederick but he can get all rational and sympathetic and that makes me feel even worse.”

Jude’s brain damage was so severe that it was a miracle he existed at all. His neural activity was virtually nil, and while Draven understood all the terms they threw at him, having done extensive research himself to try and find a miracle cure, he knew that a minimal Glasgow coma scale of three was a very bad thing.

Since the accident Jude had never opened his eyes, made a sound, moved by himself or given any indication that there was anyone still inside his damaged body.

“I know they have your best interests at heart and they all think there’s no hope and I’m holding on because I’m a selfish prat…” his voice trailed off as he choked up, “but Jude, you’re all I have left now.” He waved helpless hands in the air. “I can’t do this on my own. How the fuck do they expect me to make that kind of decision? How does anyone
do
that?”

Draven didn’t cry often, yet thinking about his brother no longer being around made his heart ache and his eyes prickle. He sat, sipping his drink, then poured another one until he could think unpleasant thoughts no more and retired to bed.

It was the best place to be at times like these.

Chapter 5

Taylor sat in Galileo’s at his corner table and picked at his plate of chicken wings. It was a quiet Tuesday night and he’d come there straight from work. The events of the week before had been on his mind and he’d spent the weekend mulling them over, having come to the conclusion that even if Draven Samuels was an arsehole, perhaps Taylor had misjudged the hot kiss at the funeral. Taylor had never punched another man before and he felt really bad about it. He’d once hit a pervert with a truncheon to save a friend, but in his book, that didn’t count as anything to feel guilty about. So he’d tracked down Draven’s telephone number via Gideon. Gideon, being the soul of discretion, had called Draven first to ask if it was okay to pass his number on. Taylor guessed he’d been happy with that from the smirk on Gideon’s face as he’d handed it over, with Eddie grinning like a Cheshire cat behind him.

“What?” Taylor had said in irritation. “I just want to apologise to the guy for planting him one. Take that damn smug look off your face.”

The conversation with Draven had been short and sweet. A quick “Hello, this is Taylor, I’m sorry for hitting you, I think I might have overreacted,” was blurted out in a vomit of words, followed by silence on the other end of the phone.

“Ermm, okay,” had been Draven’s response, drawled out rather uncertainly. Then he’d spoiled the whole ‘Taylor–being-the-bigger-man thing’ by asking cheekily,’ “Does this mean I get to kiss you again?”

Taylor’s jaw had dropped and instead of telling the man to sod off, the next words out of his traitorous mouth had been “Would you like to have a drink with me at Galileo’s tomorrow night?”

No sooner had he said the words than he’d been mortified. To his surprise, Draven had chuckled sexily, causing Taylor’s nether regions to react in a way he didn’t think boded well for said drink, and said he’d see him there at eight p.m. Tuesday night. Taylor had put the phone down feeling very unsure about what he’d just agreed to.

Now he sat, waiting for Draven to arrive. He’d been outside for a couple of smokes already, to fight of the nervousness. Once or twice he’d thought about eating up his snack and bolting out of the restaurant. He’d just made up his mind to settle up at the front desk and take the coward’s way out when a familiar scent of a woodsy cologne hit his nostrils and a deep voice said,

“Evening.”

Taylor swallowed the half-chewed piece of chicken he’d been busy with. It burnt as it went down his throat and he grimaced.

Shit. That’s going to give me heartburn.

“Errm, evening. Please,” he motioned at the empty seat across from him, “take a seat.”

Draven did so, his usual scowl for Taylor replaced with one of the most charming grins Taylor had ever been the recipient of. His stomach clenched and his black Levi’s grew tighter. The other man was dressed in an open–neck, deep wine-coloured shirt with long sleeves. It hugged his torso like a wetsuit, revealing a body that had definitely seen its share of gym work. Taylor had already noticed the rather chic-looking grey chinos plastered to the man’s long, lean legs and the way they clung to his arse like a second skin. He wondered faintly if Draven knew how damn sexy he looked. That thought was confirmed when the waiter came over to take a drink order and deliver menus and Draven gave him a five-hundred-watt smile that seemed to make the teenager—well, he was eighteen at least—almost cream his pants and return the smile. The waiter fell over himself in his effort to impress Taylor’s dinner partner and Draven fed off it like an incubus. Taylor scowled and played moodily with the stem of his empty wine glass.

Draven finished his drink order—a whisky on the rocks—and raised an eyebrow at him. “Not a fan of whisky then?”

Taylor frowned.

“You seemed to disapprove of my choice of beverage from that frown on your face.” Draven’s eyes glinted with amusement.

Taylor stared at him loftily. “I have nothing against whisky.”

Draven’s lips quirked.

Taylor ignored him as he turned to address the star struck waiter. “I’ll have a rum and Coke please. Make sure it’s white rum. I don’t like the dark stuff. Bacardi would be fine if you have it.”

Jim—Taylor had now seen the tag on the waiter’s jacket—nodded but continued to smile at Draven who winked at him. Taylor’s blood began to boil.

You’re
my
fucking dinner date, you moron. And Twinkie— you keep your paws off him.

Where this sudden possessive instinct had come from, Taylor didn’t know. He just knew that if Jim Boy didn’t stop ogling Draven, he was going to have his eyes poked out with Taylor’s fork.

I am going to fork you up, Jimmy, my lad.

He sniggered at that random thought and Draven pursed his lips, the amusement on his face plain to see.

”I’m glad to see you’re in a better frame of mind than the other day.” He poured a glass of water from the jug on the table. “You pack quite a powerful punch.” He sipped the drink, his eyes regarding Taylor.

Taylor flushed as he fiddled with the cream napkin on the table. “Yes, I’m sorry about that. It was probably uncalled for and I suppose I should apologise.”

Draven leaned back in his chair. “I wasn’t looking for an easy lay,” he said softly. “I just really wanted to kiss you. I can’t explain it either but there you go.”

“I wasn’t really at my best,” Taylor muttered. “You caught me off guard with knowing what Drew got up to in his ‘secret’ life.” His tone sounded bitter even to him. “I was fine with what he was doing with me when he was alive, then I saw his wife and kids and…” His voice tailed off. “I felt like a slut.”

Draven leaned forward and placed a warm, firm hand on top of Taylor’s, stilling his fidgeting. “Drew thought very highly of you,” he murmured.” “He never told me the name but he did tell me about his beautiful, chocolate-skinned young man and I just knew it was you when I saw you at the funeral. You really made him feel special and he was very fond of you in his own way.” He sighed and his thumb continued stroking Taylor’s hand.

Taylor was holding his breath because having Draven doing that unconscious caressing was causing him to have one very extreme reaction in his trousers, not to mention the constriction in his chest that made breathing difficult. His mouth was dry, his skin warm and prickling with heat and Taylor wondered why the hell he was feeling this way toward a man he’d only met a few times.

“Drew would never have left his wife. And he said the times he spent with you made him feel whole. So whatever you’re thinking of yourself, slutty certainly isn’t a word I’d use.” Draven grinned. “And he was right anyway. You
are
beautiful.” His brow furrowed. “I know I’ve expressed some opinions about you in the past, and I still feel the same way to a point. I can’t believe in things I can’t see, and anyone that makes a living out of these so-called feelings and crap…well, it’s just difficult to get to grips with.”

Taylor pulled his hand away. He was still in shock at Draven calling him ‘beautiful.’ The warm glow that suffused his body from head to toe at that comment was still heating him up. “I don’t make a living out of anything I’ve done,” he said curtly. “I do it because they need me, not because they pay me.” He laughed sharply. “Believe me, if I did I wouldn’t be working in a music store nine hours a day, six days a week, and eating ramen noodles and tomato soup.”

Jim arrived with the drinks and they fell silent as he busied himself with fussing over getting a coaster for Draven while he simply placed Taylor’s drink on the tablecloth. With a smile and a promise, the young waiter disappeared.

“He is so hot for you,” Taylor grumbled. “Doesn’t he realise we’re here together?”

Draven raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Oh? Are we ‘together’ then?” His lips quirked and he raised his whisky to them and Taylor watched as those full, pink lips wrapped themselves on the rim of the glass as he drunk. He swallowed.

“Well, we are here having dinner, so I guess that counts as being together. Don’t get too full of yourself. This isn’t a date; I just wanted to buy the man I hit a drink.”

Draven nodded, his eyes sparkling. He acknowledged the comment with a tilt of his head. “Of course. Not a date.”

Taylor bit back a rude retort as Jim appeared once again to take their meal orders. Taylor was surprised that the waiter didn’t feel the waves of dislike emanating from him. Jim managed to brush Draven’s shoulder with his hand every time he moved, leaned in to listen to Draven place his order like a man about to deliver a passionate kiss and finally bestowed a dazzling smile on him as he helped Draven tuck his napkin on his lap. Taylor’s eyes narrowed.

Oh really? You needed to go
there?
God, I need a smoke.
He glanced longingly at the pack on the table next to his lighter.