Read Men of London 02 - Sight and Sinners Online

Authors: Susan Mac Nicol

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Men of London 02 - Sight and Sinners (8 page)

BOOK: Men of London 02 - Sight and Sinners
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As Jim flounced off, Taylor glared at the table, wishing it would burst into flames and follow the young waiter like a table tornado, reducing him to a pile of ashes.

“Fuck. That is one mean look you are giving this table,” Draven laughed. “I’m glad it’s not directed at me. I’d be worried.” He reached out and slowly traced his thumb across Taylor’s bottom lip, his eyes dark and sultry. “There’s only one man I want to kiss here. And it isn’t Jimmy over there. And to be honest, kissing isn’t the only thing I want to do to you.”

The heated look in his eyes melted Taylor’s reservations about anything this man might want to do to him or with him. He knew Draven wasn’t very accepting of what he did but he seemed to be willing to listen at least. And at the moment, Taylor couldn’t care less. He hadn’t been laid in a while, the man was mesmerising, and sex was sex. He’d take what he could get and if that made him the slut he thought he was, so be it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jimmy approaching their table with a basket of bread.

I think it’s time to give this little upstart some competition.

*****

 

Taylor leaned into Draven and ran a hand down the clean-shaven cheek, hearing him hiss at the touch. Jimmy stood before them, a look of sad, resigned surprise on his face.

“And what exactly
is
it that you want to do to me, Draven?” Taylor drawled, licking his lips and seeing Draven’s pupils dilate in sheer satisfaction.

Oh yes, Jimmy lad, take notes. I’m the one doing that to him, not you. So piss off and leave us alone.

“God, you are one teasing little bastard.” Draven’s voice was husky and he shifted in his chair. Taylor smirked at the fact that he didn’t even seem to see Jimmy at his side. “I guess my reply would be, what don’t I want to do with you, Taylor? Perhaps we should leave and find out just how far we can get.” Draven smirked back. “Do you think we’d make it to my car or will I be fucking you right here on this table?”

Jimmy gave a plaintive squeak and scurried off like a frightened rabbit. Taylor stared into grey eyes that held so many promises, and he knew he was irretrievably snared. Jimmy’s impression of a scared cottontail had nothing on Taylor’s desire for this man to possess him in any way he wanted, to hold him down, take him and use him.

The two men couldn’t get out of Galileo’s fast enough. Taylor left money to cover the drinks even as they argued over
who
would do it, and he hoped Gideon would forgive him for deserting their post before their food arrived. He
had
given Sarah on the front desk a rather garbled explanation about a family emergency as he’d exited the restaurant and “sorry for the mess up.” Once on the pavement, he and Draven looked at each other.

“My place,” Draven commanded. “Closer and more private. Get in the car.” He waved towards an expensive-looking Honda Civic parked in a bay a few places down from the restaurant. He clicked a remote from his pocket and the car beeped. Draven slid into the driver seat, as Taylor slid in beside him, and they both fumbled with seatbelts.

Taylor tried to distract himself from the fact he was going home with this man to be fucked into oblivion. “Nice car,” he said lamely. “How did you manage the parking space? They’re like, really rare around here.”

“I have a special permit in the window to park places I want to. No one messes with it. And the car is a tourer. Suits my work. Space and comfort all in one.” Draven started the car and pulled out at a speed Taylor was sure wasn’t legal.

“Where are we going?” He wondered if he should tell someone, perhaps Gideon, where he was off to in case Draven turned out to be a raving killer. Although Taylor was sure Gideon wouldn’t let a man who was a little crazy into his cherished restaurant. He was reputed to be a good judge of character. Taylor grinned inwardly. But then Giddy
did
like Eddie…his thoughts randomly buzzed in his head like anxious dragonflies trying to escape a net. Draven’s voice interrupted his musings.

“Charing Cross. I have a house there.”

“Oh. Nice area. I’m in Kennington myself. Roebury Avenue.” Taylor sat back and closed his eyes, willing the drive to finish before Draven killed them both. His fists clenched at his sides, his erection slowly deflating. He’d always hated fast cars and speed, ever since a close friend had died in a fiery ball after hitting an embankment speeding. Taylor had experienced it, felt Michael’s agony and fear, and been incapacitated for the best part of the day. Now he felt as if he was reliving that event and the emotional toll was rising.

Draven drove like he seemed to live his life. No nonsense, take charge, efficient and fast. Risky and on a knife’s edge. He didn’t seem to notice Taylor, sick feeling in his stomach, gripping the leather seats with white knuckles, bracing his feet in the foot well, his body rigid with expectation and panic each time the car slew around a corner, or stopped sharply to meet the needs of a red traffic light. Taylor concentrated on his breathing.

In, out. In, out. In, out.

He was just starting to get the hang of this ride from hell when Draven shouted out a fierce expletive and the car shot out, going even faster. Taylor heard a screech of metal brakes. He couldn’t help it. He shrieked like a girl and turned to Draven in fury.

“Hell, do you have to drive like a bloody maniac? You almost hit that guy!”

Draven turned to look at him in surprise and Taylor felt faint. “Look at the road. Please. Look at the damn road, not at me. Oh hell. I’m going to be sick. Stop the car. Stop the effing car.”

Draven swore loudly. “Just hold on, I need to find somewhere to stop. Good Christ, what is it with you whenever we’re together?”

A few seconds later, he’d pulled over under a streetlight in what appeared to (thankfully) be a fairly deserted road for London, and Taylor unclipped the belt, staggered out the car and was promptly sick into the rubbish bin attached to the light. When he’d finished hacking up the contents of his stomach, he stood up, dizzy and still nauseous.

Draven’s eyes glinted in the dim light but his face looked worried. “Taylor, are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m just peachy fine, fuck you very much,” Taylor spat in fury. “Who the hell taught you to drive? Stirling-fucking-Moss?” He held tight to the lamppost. “Oh wait; he’s dead, isn’t he. Well, one day you might join him if you keep driving like that!”

Draven rolled his eyes, which didn’t help Taylor’s temper. “Christ, you are such a prima donna. I knew this was a bad idea.”

“A bad idea?” Taylor was hyperventilating now. “You’re a bad idea. This whole bloody thing is a bad idea. I think you need to take me home.” He patted his pockets, looking for a cigarette and groaning loudly when he realised he must have left them at the restaurant in his hurry to get out.

Draven moved forward, a look of resolve on his face. “No.”

Taylor glared at him. “No? What do you mean, no? Who died and make you God?”

“Taylor, you’re upset. My home is about five minutes away. Let’s get back in the car, and you can calm down at my place. You can wash your face and brush your teeth.” He gripped Taylor’s arm, “Maybe have a shower and just chill out for a while.” His face grew anxious. “Shit, do you need a paper bag? You’re breathing very hard.”

“And I’m not even coming,” Taylor growled. “And that’s not going to be on the cards either when we get to your place.”

Draven shrugged but there was a hint of a smile on his face. “Fine. Let’s just get there and you can stop going all kamikaze on my arse and perhaps we can salvage just a little of this night. What do you say?”

Taylor said nothing, just stormed off to the car, ripped the door open and plonked into the passenger seat. His mouth tasted like crap, his breathing had gone back to normal, and his body felt like it had been through a fast spin cycle in a wash machine. He glowered at the dashboard as Draven got in the car and buckled up.

“Go slow,” Taylor muttered. “I don’t like fast. Brings back bad memories.”

Draven’s eyes widened. “Shit, why didn’t you tell me you’d been in an accident before? I wouldn’t have driven like I did.” He grimaced as he started the car and pulled out, very slowly and painstakingly. “With the work I do, we’re all taught defensive driving and do advanced speed courses. I sometimes forget other people aren’t used to it.”

“I haven’t been in an accident. It was someone else that died.” Taylor was suddenly very tired and all he wanted was to sleep.

“I see.” Draven’s voice was quiet. “I’ll go slower, I promise.”

Taylor was woken what seemed just like a few minutes later by a soft voice in his ear.

“Taylor, we’re here. Come on. Let’s get inside.”

Taylor yawned and stretched and clambered sleepily out of the car. They were in a quiet neighbourhood among a row of pretty terraced houses, and Draven climbed the few stairs to one at the end. He rattled some keys and the door opened.

“Come on in. Welcome to Chez Samuels.” He disappeared inside as Taylor followed into the dimly lit hallway. A light was switched on and he winced as the brightness hit his eyes. He looked around. It was small, cosy, masculine. Minimally furnished, with a lounge at one side, a kitchen on the other and what looked like a cloakroom. Decorated in deep shades of aubergine, white and bronze, the whole house looked elegant and classic. Very unlike Taylor’s little bedroom with peeling wallpaper, a broken faucet at the small basin and frayed carpets covered in various stains. He loved his home with Leslie but this one was in a whole new league. He groaned at that thought.
Leslie
. He hadn’t called him to let him know he wasn’t coming home tonight. Leslie would have a full diva queen strop if Taylor didn’t let him know. He pulled out his mobile and sent off a quick text.

Won’t be home tonight. Pulled and ready to rock and roll.

That should please his roommate–even if it wasn’t strictly true. He had no intention anymore of putting out for the man in the next room despite the hot and heavy breathing action in the restaurant. The vomiting and making a fool of himself yet again had put paid to that idea.

He went into the kitchen and Draven turned to him and passed him a toothbrush still in the packaging.

“Here, the bigger bathroom is upstairs if you want to brush your teeth. Feel free to shower if you fancy. I can give you a pair of sweats and a tee shirt. I’ll leave them in the upstairs bathroom.”

“Way to tell me my breath smells,” Taylor muttered sulkily.

Draven grinned. “Wow, aren’t you just a ball of sunshine.” He turned to the large pink pig cookie jar on his counter top. “Freud, what do you think? Shall we adopt him?”

Taylor looked at the pig jar in suspicion. “You named your biscuit jar after a psychoanalyst who was obsessed with sex? And really, who names their containers like that?”

Draven frowned. “Freud wasn’t obsessed with it. He was an advocate of psychosexual development.”

Taylor looked at him blankly. “There’s a difference?” He chuckled as Draven stared him down. “Okay. I’m off to give these stinky teeth a brush. Uhm, I don’t suppose you have any cigarettes here, do you? I’d love a smoke later…” His voice tailed as Draven raised an eyebrow. Taylor sighed in resignation. “Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll do without. Just don’t blame me if I get all cranky.”

That poxy eyebrow lifted even further and Taylor wanted to smack the face that owned it. But that was what had got him here in the first place.

Upstairs in the bathroom, after seeing the luxurious wet room, Taylor decided to have a shower. He was sticky and sweaty and noticed he had spots of sick down his front.

“Way to go, Tay,” he muttered as he shed his clothes and started the shower. “How can any man resist you in this state?”

He brushed his teeth, stepped into the shower and lathered himself up. Hot, steaming water had always had a restorative effect on him, making him feel better, washing away the emotions of the day and making his soul cleaner. He revelled in the smell of warm, orangey citrus shower gel, and hummed to himself as he washed his hair. He thought he heard a noise behind him and peeked out the curtain, but all he saw was fresh clothes laid out on the chair on the other side of the bathroom. Despite his resolve not to put out, Taylor felt a slight sense of pique that Draven hadn’t even attempted to get in the shower with him.

Finally he turned off the water, wrapped a towel around his waist and went into the adjacent bedroom to change. This was obviously Draven’s room—dark, deep shades of blue matched with white and lime green, giving the room a rather nautical flair. A clock shaped like a ship’s rudder ticked quietly on a far wall and here and there were small items of a nautical nature. A ship in full sail, a lighthouse and a pair of nautical rope doorstops lying carelessly on the floor. Taylor changed quickly, towelling his unruly hair dry then putting the towel back in the bathroom. When he stepped out into the hallway, he started at seeing Draven waiting outside.

“Everything fit okay?” Draven said softly.

Taylor nodded. “The trousers are a little long but they’re fine. Thanks.”

Draven eye-fucked him from his toes, up the length of his body and then finally came to rest on his lips. The air of desire emanating from the man was disturbing and playing havoc with Taylor’s decision not to fulfil their earlier intentions. He knew
that
bloody mindedness had been nothing but wishful thinking.

BOOK: Men of London 02 - Sight and Sinners
3.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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