Rough Canvas (28 page)

“It’s a provincial gay dance club, dearest. Count on it.” Marcus gave her a smile, tapped his Shiraz against her glass.

“So.” She cocked her head. “You’re even deeper gone over him than you were

before he left. That must suck.”

Marcus lifted a shoulder. “Relationships move on. I’m glad he at least wanted to visit. Ah…
Christ
. You little bitch.” He stopped, squirmed, stuck his hand down his shirt to grapple with the ice cube she’d dropped down the front of it.

“God only knows what’s been done in the shadows of this booth, probably ten

times already tonight,” she said dryly. “I don’t want to be up to my knees in bullshit as well.”

Marcus lunged at her, ice cube in hand. Shrieking, she knocked it out of his grasp and sent it skittering over to the next table, earning a startled look from the group of men there.

“Straight girl.” Marcus waved apologetically. “Loss of motor control due to all the unavailable testosterone in the room.”

Satisfied, they went back to their conversation. He narrowed his gaze at her.

“Revenge is best served cold, anyway. No pun intended.”

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She smacked him in the arm. “Asshole.”

“Busybody.”

“So why not just chain him in your secret dungeon room this time? Surround him

with canvases, take away his clothes?”

“Are you trying to turn me on?”

“When it comes to Thomas, it doesn’t take much. It never has. Being around you

two is like being around an erotic film fest, all that barely suppressed sexual heat. I’ve burned out vibrators in one night after hanging out with you two for an hour.”

“There’s a visual I’m not sure I needed.”

“Oh, shut up.” Julie settled back, laying her head on Marcus’ shoulder and

subsided, sipping her drink.

“You really need to get yourself a man and stop being such a fag hag.” He made his tone light, teasing, but she rolled her head around and looked up at him, brushing his chin briefly with her fingers.

“You know that night, why I never tried to get you to make it an annual event, like any sane woman would have? Hell, weekly. It’s the way the two of you did it. So in concert, as if reading each other’s thoughts. Then the way you looked at one another. If you don’t have that, and you really want it, then it’s too hard to be around bare naked displays of it too often—no pun intended.”

She smiled. “That vibrator’s the best lover for me right now. I haven’t even gotten close enough to the real thing to have my heart broken, not really. The guys who hurt me, they hurt me because they didn’t love me. When your heart’s broken by someone who loves you back, that’s the only heartbreak that’s worth the risk. There’s always a chance it will come back to you even after the heartbreak. If I can’t have even a chance at that, I’ll settle for something I know up front is fake.”

Marcus wasn’t sure what to say to that. He watched Thomas try a new step with

Ellen. She was the instructor this time. She laughed as he took the step, made it his own and gave it a little more panache.

“Sometimes I think when he walks out, that’ll be it. I’ll just…break. Never pull it back together again. It’s like somehow he crawled in and replaced all the shit I’d been using as glue, and now…” Marcus stopped, realizing he’d never spoken such thoughts before. He’d barely acknowledged them in his own head. He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Marcus.” Julie put her hand over his, her face reflecting her surprise. He pulled away from her touch, ostensibly to pick up his wine. “You aren’t giving up, are you?”

Wistful piano notes and a sax accompaniment introduced Aretha Franklin’s
Ain’t
No Way
. Her poignant opening line, about loving someone who wouldn’t let her give him everything that she was, filled the club. The song was so powerful a stillness spread into every corner, pushing the fast dancers to the shadows and bringing lovers to the floor.

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Marcus shook his head. “Hell, no.” He downed the rest of a whiskey he’d bought to chase the Shiraz. Rising, he offered her a hand. “Help me go do a partner switch. I don’t want to cut in on Ellen and leave her hanging.”

Ellen had looked uncertain when the slow song started, but Thomas drew her into his arms and was doing a slow mix of waltz and two-step movements with her, holding her as she relaxed in his arms. The music was far too loud for talking, so she’d just put her head on his shoulder and swayed with him. To make her smile he’d been making short comments in her ear about the other dancers.

He’d noticed her wedding ring. Though it was on her left hand, the way she

touched it so often, as if for reassurance, he was willing to bet she hadn’t lost her husband to divorce.

“Mind if I cut in?”

He’d tried to take his mind off Marcus for about two minutes, but here he was,

larger than life, the pulsing heat of the club as intimate a cocoon as being wrapped together in a much smaller space.

Ellen looked between the two of them. “Why no,” she said, smiling uncertainly.

Julie stepped neatly in front of Marcus and took the hand Thomas had released,

pulling Ellen over to her. She winked. “Sweetie, in a place like this, when someone asks to cut in, you need to realize he could be cutting in for either partner.”

“Oh. Oh.” Ellen flushed. Thomas reassured her with an easy grin and a quick stroke of her hair as Julie tugged her into female arms. “This song’s too good to waste. Let’s you and me dance. You can close your eyes and I’ll whisper to you in Gaelic. You can pretend I’m a really short Liam Neeson.”

As Julie maneuvered her away, Thomas shifted his gaze to meet Marcus’. His smile faltered at the edges. They’d danced in clubs before, but usually to something fast. He’d actually never slow danced with a male lover before and wasn’t exactly certain how to go about it.

Marcus moved closer, his arm sliding around Thomas’ waist, fingers hooking into the belt loop of his jeans as he took Thomas’ other hand and brought it to a reverse position on himself. Thomas felt the shift of Marcus’ hip and the muscles above it as Marcus moved them into a slow, easy rocking step, allowing a gentle bump and shift on the downbeat. He rested his other hand on the side of Thomas’ neck, his palm curving around so his fingers played beneath the collar of Thomas’ T-shirt, caressing the skin damp from the heat of the dancing.

It left Thomas with his other hand resting naturally on Marcus’ biceps, moving with him. Since he’d mainly done this type of intertwined dancing with women, adjusting or working out leads should have been difficult. However, Marcus simply took the lead and Thomas just as easily followed it. As they made the slow turn, Marcus’ thigh shifted so it pressed between them. His hand drifted lower, sliding into the back pocket 145

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of Thomas’ jeans, pressing him more firmly against him. Thomas’ left leg brushed Marcus’ hardening groin.

“If you try a dip, I’m punching you out.” Thomas attempted to dilute the intensity of the moment.

Marcus didn’t respond. Not in words. He held Thomas closer, until they were

moving as one creation, managing it so easily Thomas noted some admiring glances, but it was a vague awareness. Marcus stretched his other arm high around Thomas’

back, holding him with a grip on his opposite shoulder so his head found a natural resting place alongside Marcus’ jaw and temple, his lips close to that tempting throat.

Eventually Marcus brought his other hand out of the jeans’ pocket to cover Thomas’

on his hip, while Thomas slid his free arm around his lower back, holding him, moving in the same rhythm, feeling him against him, heart to heart as they turned, stopped, turned again. Marcus’ body guided him, arms holding him, making Thomas achingly aware of his touch.

Here in front of everyone, where sex wasn’t an option, Marcus had gone for the

more devastating tactic of intimacy, the slow possession of Thomas’ senses. He turned his face, mouth brushing Thomas’ cheek, and Thomas’ fingers reflexively convulsed on his hip.

It
was
sexual, but it wasn’t about sex. Not with Aretha pleading for her lover to just let her love him, so she could give him all he needed. She begged for him not to tie her hands. When Marcus’ hand tightened on his shoulder, Thomas knew he was listening to the words as well.

“Everything you hold in your arms is yours, pet,” Marcus murmured.

“Everything.”

Thomas pulled his head back, intending to kiss Marcus senseless, anything to shut him up, but Marcus wasn’t letting him get away with that. And Aretha wasn’t going to shut up, either, building to a wailing crescendo capable of wrenching his guts out.

Marcus caught Thomas’ head, cradling the side of his throat with one hand, holding him with a thumb placed on his lips, a light but unshakable collar. It put them eye to eye, turning and moving to the soulful song, unable to hide from what was in each other’s gaze.

One more day. They had one more day together like this.

In four days, Thomas had gotten inspired enough to sketch out a solid dozen ideas.

He could say it was caused by the removal of the dam he’d built inside himself, but he knew that was bullshit.

He’d been a talented artist. But Marcus had opened the well inside Thomas to

connect to a muse whose inspiration was pure magic, drawn from what the heart of love and life was all about. What Marcus was to him. Whenever Thomas was immersed in a creating session, it was as if he was somehow guarded by the explosive yearning that being part of Marcus’ existence kept switched onto high volume.

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Even before Marcus, his muse had been inspired by the belief that there was

something like what he felt for Marcus out there. So while his art hadn’t needed Marcus before he met him, Marcus had taken him to higher levels, capable because of the way Marcus made Thomas feel. Not just about Marcus, but about himself. About anything, everything. There was no settling or going back from that.

If he left Marcus, his muse would die again. Thomas finally realized it. The muse was a two-way street. She drew from his heart as much as he drew from hers. Instead of an expression of his life, his art would again become the self-destructive drug he would inject into himself to get through the rest.

With an oath, Thomas broke free. Aretha blessedly faded away and was trounced

by a vacuous techno-pop dance beat that would allow him to go through the empty, mindless motions of turning and dancing.

Much the way his life would be after this week was over.

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Chaining him up in his “secret dungeon” naked was sounding pretty damn

appealing. Marcus took Ellen to a table for a drink while Thomas cut up the floor with Julie. Good luck doing some of those moves with a hard-on, he thought with dark satisfaction, even as Marcus pushed down the bleak truth that he could keep Thomas in a permanent state of arousal and he’d still choose to leave again.

“I’ve never watched men together.”

He arched a brow in Ellen’s direction, expecting to see her gazing with avid

fascination around her. Instead, she tossed back the whiskey sour like water, her fifth of the night, and studied him, blinking, a little glassy-eyed. “Watching the two of you…it doesn’t really matter. When you know the real thing, you recognize it.”

Desperation gripped her features. “You’re so pretty. You’re the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.” Ellen reached out, touched Marcus’ face. “Why don’t I want to sleep with you? Why does it hurt to look at your face and feel nothing?”

Marcus’ brow drew down in puzzlement as he caught her clumsy fingers, but she

pulled away and laid her cheek down on the table, narrowly missing the drink.

Julie had apparently registered what was happening, for she and Thomas came

back from the dance floor.

“I’m sorry, Marcus.” She gathered Ellen to her as she started to cry, soft, muffled sobs punctuated with hiccups. “I thought…I’m such an idiot. Ellen’s husband,” her voice lowered as if Ellen couldn’t hear her, and maybe she couldn’t, lost in her grief and the alcohol. “He died a couple years ago and it’s been really hard on her. I thought if I took her out with guys who aren’t really guys—”

Marcus and Thomas exchanged a look. Julie’s face suffused with color. “Oh, Jesus, how awful did that sound? Of course you’re guys. That’s not what I meant. Guys who don’t…no pressure, you know? Oh, geez, just tell me I’m a total asshole.”

Ellen lurched up from the table and Thomas caught her arm to steady her. “I’ll take her out for some air,” he said quietly, squeezing Julie’s shoulder and shepherding her friend away.

Marcus rose as Julie clenched her hands together. When she reached for her purse, he waved her money away. “The tab’s mine, remember? I make the money around

here, after all.”

“Marcus…”

“Hey.” He tipped up her chin, ran his knuckles alongside her face. “I know what you meant, Julie.”

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“If I hurt your feelings… God, Marcus. I think I’d rather cut off a limb than make you think I don’t love everything about you. Okay, yes, I’ve often, fervently wished you went for short brunette females instead of gorgeous guys like Thomas, but that’s not what I mean. And it’s not because you were one of my first major benefactors.”

“Julie.” Marcus let his expression relax into a slight smile and leaned in, nose to nose. “Shut up.”

“Okay, shutting up.”

When they emerged from the Club, they found Thomas and Ellen sitting on the

curb of a landscaped natural area outside the front of the club. Ellen was cradled in Thomas’ lap while she sobbed. Thomas held her close as her hands clutched his back.

Julie squatted behind her, rubbing her shoulder. “Oh, sweetie, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I thought this would help.”

“It does. It did.” Thomas said. “Don’t worry, Julie. She just drank too much. We got rid of most of it.” He inclined his head toward the shrubbery. “Now we’re having a cry, then we’ll be better. Sshhh, baby, it’s okay…” He rocked Ellen as her sobs increased, the clutch of her hands. “Give us just a few minutes, okay?”