Safe in His Arms (7 page)

and exchanged startled glances. Some sort of silent communication must have passed

between them, because after a moment they both turned toward him with smiles on

their faces, nodding if not their approval, at least their acceptance.

Stuart, never one to mince words, asked, ―What‘s it like to have sex with strangers

for money?‖

Russell shrugged. ―Not that different from the bar scene, except I get paid.‖

They all laughed, but then Stuart leaned forward, frowning. ―Seriously, though,

Russell. You‘re a big guy and all that, but aren‘t you afraid sometimes for your life? I

mean, there are real whack jobs out there.‖

Russell shook his head. ―Elite is good that way. They really vet the clients, almost as

thoroughly as they vet the workers. Sure, I‘ve had my share of odd balls, like the guy

who wanted me to tie him to a spit and roast him over a barbeque pit he‘d built in his

backyard for the purpose, but no one‘s ever physically threatened me.‖

―Oh my god!‖ Vince interrupted. ―You didn‘t, did you?‖

―Of course he didn‘t, Vince,‖ Stuart answered. Turning to Russell he added in a

worried tone, ―Did you?‖

Russell kept a serious face for several seconds before letting himself grin. ―Uh…no.

I did truss him up on the spit and make him sweat a bit, but no fire was lit. I explained

to him if I cooked him, I wouldn‘t be able to come back next time.‖

He sobered, adding, ―Believe it or not, most guys who call for my services are just

lonely and in need of affection and attention as much as anything. Some of them are

married to women and not yet ready to come out. Some are on business trips looking

for an easy lay with no strings attached. Some are seriously good looking guys with

great bodies and plenty of money and you can‘t help but wonder why the hell they‘re

paying for what they could get with a snap of their fingers.‖

―Sounds like you‘re referring to someone in particular,‖ Stuart remarked, raising

his brows.

Russell said nothing, though of course Stuart was right. In the two days since he‘d

been with Hank Seeley, the memories of Jesse had been reawakened, and thoughts of

what it might be like to try again had collided with common sense. Hank was even less

clued in to his own feelings and more fucked up than Jesse or even Russell himself once

upon a time had been.

Hank was bad news, and Russell knew he should cut his mental losses while he

could and stay away, far away, from Hank Seeley. And yet…and yet, when Hank had

lowered his guard, Russell had had a glimpse into the vulnerable, aching man hidden

behind the arrogant mask. He‘d been touched by the level of trust Hank had shown by

allowing the tears to fall, even if unwillingly.

Hank had pulled feelings of tenderness from Russell that he hadn‘t felt for a long

time. But beyond that, Hank‘s strong sexual reaction to Russell‘s gentle dominance had

also been a serious turn on. Hank‘s intense gut reaction to his subtle but firm control

had excited something in Russell, reawakening desires he‘d put to rest with the loss of

Jesse. Something about the guy was sexy as hell. There was no getting around that.

A sudden image of Hank, naked and kneeling with his arms cuffed behind his back,

sprang into Russell‘s mind like an erection. He mentally chided himself at the image.

For, while he suspected Hank might respond very well to BDSM play once they worked

past the superficial defenses, he understood that Hank was nowhere near ready for that

kind of interaction. A sub needed to come from a place of strength to submit. Hank was,

to be blunt about it, damaged goods.

―Sometimes,‖ he admitted, reaching for his wine glass and taking a long sip, ―there

are guys who affect you. I mean, mostly this is about the money. But sometimes there is

someone who gets to you, who you still think about, even after the gig is done and paid

for. The kind of guy you wish you didn‘t have to take money from, but who just wanted

you on your own terms.‖

He realized both Vince and Stuart were eyeing him curiously. Embarrassed, he

shifted the topic. ―Enough on that. Tell me about the grape harvest this year.‖

It was all the invitation the two men needed to hold forth on their favorite topic.

The next half hour was spent talking shop, lounging in the hot tub and getting

pleasantly soused on good wine with old friends.

~*~

Saturday morning Russell‘s cell phone rang and he saw it was the escort service.

His heart did a tiny summersault as he answered. Was Hank Seeley requesting his

services at last?

―Russell, it‘s Jacob. I have a new client for you. In from New York. Wants someone

to have dinner with and then take back to his hotel. His name is George and he likes

big, tall redheads, so naturally I thought of you.‖

Something deflated inside of Russell. He really needed to let Hank Seeley go. It had

been nearly a week since their strange, intense interaction, and Russell knew in his

heart of hearts that Hank wouldn‘t call for him again. After all, Russell had seen him

with his pants down, not only literally, but emotionally speaking. He‘d seen the broken,

lonely man hidden beneath the façade of arrogance and indifference. Hank wouldn‘t

call for the man who had witnessed that. No, he‘d be back to paying for guys nearly

half his age to bend over and keep their mouths shut, except when sucking Hank‘s dick.

Russell grabbed a pen and jotted down the information Jacob was rattling off.

―Thanks,‖ he said. ―I‘ll do it.‖

Dinner with George at the elegant hotel where the guy was staying had been

pleasant if rather dull. George was a fifty-something guy who sold life insurance and

wore a wedding ring. Russell asked no questions about his personal life and George

offered none. He was very nervous at first, and Russell did his best to calm him. By the

time they returned to his room, George had relaxed considerably, and he allowed

Russell to give him a full body massage and a hand job, which was all he wanted, along

with some cuddling.

When Russell had first got into the sex business, he‘d expected to find the usual

guys who were just purchasing sex, pure and simple. He‘d come to realize the kind of

man that requested a big, cuddly bear of a man like himself was often looking for

something else, or something more. He was continually surprised by how many men

just wanted touch and a little companionship. They wanted to be listened to by

someone who seemed to care about what they had to say, and they wanted to be held.

They wanted to be witnessed in a world where it was all too easy to remain anonymous

and invisible.

It was only eleven on a Saturday night when George bid Russell good night, a

sizable tip in his pocket and a promise to call for him again when he was in town later

that year. Russell had planned to get to bed early so he could focus on the

microbrewery. He was eager to try a new beer recipe Nolan had come up with and had

planned to get up as early as possible Sunday morning to give it a go.

Yet instead of driving to his place on Arapahoe, he found himself heading toward

Cherry Creek. He pulled up in the circular driveway of Hank‘s elegant two-story home,

wondering briefly what it would be like to have that kind of money, and if Hank had

earned it or inherited it.

The lights were on. That at least was a good sign. It occurred to Russell he could

still keep going on that circular drive and head back to his own neighborhood, which

was probably the sensible thing to do.

Instead he turned off the ignition and opened his car door. There was no law that

said Russell couldn‘t stop by to say hi. Just to see how Hank was doing. He didn‘t allow

himself to think past that, not yet. He‘d wait and see how Hank reacted to his showing

up without invitation.

He rang the doorbell and stood back, waiting. After about twenty seconds he

pressed it again. He considered leaving, but held his ground, deciding to see this

through, if for nothing else, to get the guy out of his head.

Nearly a full minute passed before he heard the sound of the lock turning. Hank

pulled open the door and stood there with a goofy smile on his face. His dark brown

hair was tousled and his dark eyes glittered in the porch light. He was shirtless, his

jeans slung low over his hips, his feet bare. Russell swept his eyes over Hank‘s strong,

bare torso and in spite of his intentions to just say hi, his cock seemed to be having other

ideas. The deep tug of longing he‘d been trying to keep at bay surged through him,

making him catch his breath.

―I didn‘t call anyone.‖ Hank‘s words were slightly slurred and as Russell moved

closer, he caught an unmistakable whiff of marijuana. Hank held a glass of what looked

like scotch over ice in his left hand. He took a long drink and wiped his mouth with the

back of his hand. ―Didja get lost, rent boy?‖ He laughed, white teeth gleaming.

―You‘re stoned.‖

―Yeah? You gonna call the cops on me?‖

―Can I come in?‖

―I didn‘t call anyone,‖ Hank repeated.

―I‘m not here professionally,‖ Russell responded, wondering why he
was
there.

―Oh, I get it.‖ Hank stepped back, gesturing for Russell to enter. ―You want some of

this incredible Ultra Haze?‖ Hank reached for a joint he‘d set in a heavy crystal ashtray

on a table by the front door that also held a tottering pile of mail that appeared to be

mostly junk.

Hank took a deep hit, closed his eyes and held his breath while the smoked moved

its way through his lungs. He blew it out through his nostrils and held out the joint.

Russell shook his head. ―No thanks.‖ Hank shrugged as if to say,
your loss
.

―Man, I‘m starving,‖ Hank said emphatically. ―How about you? You starving? I can

call for Chinese. Indian? How about Mexican?‖ Hank weaved toward a large leather

sofa and flopped down, his arms and legs sprawling. He grinned foolishly up at

Russell.

―You aren‘t so bad looking, you know that? I don‘t usually go for facial hair, but on

you that goatee and mustache look mighty good. Tell me, is that red hair natural? No,

better yet, prove it to me. Show me what you got, babe. Go on, take down your pants.

I‘ll make it worth your while, just like last time.‖

―Stop it, Hank. You‘re drunk and you‘re stoned off your ass.‖

―So the fuck what? It‘s not like I gotta be sober for anything. Just me, myself and I,

alone on a Saturday night. Not even Julio to keep me company, the rat bastard.‖

―Julio?‖

―Houseboy. Butler, chef, maid, occasional fuck. Took off after a spat a few weeks

ago. Well, I guess I kind of fired him, but he was a real pain in the ass. Jesus, you can‘t

get good help these days.‖

Despite his bantering tone, the look in Hank‘s eyes brought to mind the words he‘d

uttered when his guard had been down:
I miss him.
Hank had clearly been hurting over

someone, but somehow Russell doubted it was the houseboy. No, someone or

something else had hurt Hank, and hurt him bad.

Russell glanced around the large living room, with its fancy Oriental carpets,

leather furniture and what looked like original art on the walls. Clearly the guy dripped

money, but Russell also noticed the thin layer of dust that covered the surfaces, and the

empty pizza box lying on the floor beside an empty, overturned bottle of whiskey.

While not filthy, the place had an unkempt, uncared for look. Probably Hank wasn‘t

used to doing anything for himself. When he‘d fired the houseboy, he‘d been left to

fend for himself, and wasn‘t, so it seemed, doing a very good job of it.

―Sushi,‖ Hank said. ―They don‘t deliver, but I know this great sushi joint

downtown. We could zip over there in my Mercedes.‖ He raked Russell‘s body with his

eyes and grinned. ―You wouldn‘t fit in the Porsche.‖

Russell shook his head. ―Why don‘t I make something for you? You don‘t seem to

be in much shape for stepping out. Come on with me into the kitchen, why don‘t you?‖

Hank rose unsteadily to his feet. ―I have to warn you, I don‘t cook much. I have no

idea what‘s in the fridge. Julio forgot to stock it up. I‘m going to have a word with that

boy in the morning.‖

Jesus, the guy was completely wasted. Russell toyed with the idea of just tucking

him into his bed and getting out of there. He‘d come back next week, if he came back at

all.
Probably best to wash your hands of this one
, something in his head warned.

But his body seemed to have its own will, irrespective of his mind‘s advice. He

found himself heading toward the kitchen, hoping Hank was following him. There he

saw more evidence of the lack of housekeeping. There was a spill on the counter that

had dried into something unidentifiable, and the sink held several dishes with bits of

food dried and crusted on the fine china. There were three wine glasses and two empty