Screwing the System (12 page)

It wasn’t until they passed through the kitchens on their way out to the spa complex that Alasdair finally felt at home. The bustle of the workers, the coarse language and the clouds of steam were something more familiar. Roger walked through with his nose held in the air, and Alasdair noted more than a few hostile glances at the new boss. Clearly Roger hadn’t been making himself popular. Stupid, that, as bad feeling among your workforce really wasn’t good for business.

Things could only get worse when Roger laid off all the cleaning staff to replace them with Alasdair’s contracted workers. Still, it wasn’t like his lot would have to deal too closely with any existing hotel staff, was it? Entirely different company, different bosses. However, Alasdair couldn’t help but feel a twinge of unease at sending his workers into somewhere with an atmosphere like this.

As they walked across a yard filled with giant bins and linen trolleys, Roger pointed at a gaggle of hotel cleaning staff standing smoking by one of the doors. “You see what I have to put up with? Some of them can’t go ten minutes without nipping out for another nicotine fix, on company time. I trust your workers can all be relied upon not to smoke on the job?”

“Absolutely. That’s something they do in their allocated breaks only. I’m strict about that.” Alasdair watched as a skinny, pink-haired woman who must have been in her fifties burst into raucous laughter. She seemed to be some kind of ringleader, holding the rest of the group transfixed by her story. He liked her generous smile, which reminded him of Cosmo’s. Shame she’d be losing her job soon, but it couldn’t really be helped. It was Roger’s decision. Alasdair just happened to be a beneficiary of that.

The spa was housed in a modern complex, but it had the same understated elegance as the main hotel. Alasdair followed Roger around the treatment rooms, paying more attention to the bathroom locations and access than the list of expensive and unnecessary treatments Roger was detailing.

“Roger, darling!” a voice called as they walked back through the atrium. “Oh, and Ali too. Do come and join us for coffee.”

Alasdair turned to see Tori, Roger’s wife, sitting at a table with another woman, both wearing towelling robes. Oh God, it was Millie Havers. The one he seemed to end up sitting opposite whenever he attended a dinner party at their place. She didn’t have much to say for herself, and her cut-glass bone structure and giant, pale eyes were utterly unearthly, making her look like an overgrown porcelain doll.

Alasdair accepted the usual continental cheek kisses from Tori but refrained from offering the same to Millie. He didn’t want to encourage the girl. Bad enough that Tori seemed determined to match-make. She patted the chair between her and Millie, and once Alisdair had sat there, poured dark coffee out of the cafetière into a couple of spare cups.

“We’ve just been for fish pedicures, and this afternoon we’re having mud baths and massages.”

“Tori’s determined to try out every last treatment they offer,” Roger explained. “Main reason I bought the place, really. It’ll save me a fortune.”

“Don’t be silly, darling. I’ll just spend the difference on something else. Maybe a new nose. What do you think? This one’s so last season.” She wrinkled her nose, then burst into unladylike guffaws, reminding Alasdair of just why he enjoyed her and Roger’s company.

“Your nose is delightful,” he said.

“Not as pretty as Millie’s, though.” Tori’s words didn’t come across as a complaint. More like a not so subtle nudge in the direction of him paying the button-nosed Millie a compliment.

Alasdair merely smiled at Millie. If he didn’t get out of here soon, he was going to say something he’d end up regretting. In the end, he made his excuses about a lunchtime meeting he had scheduled. It was only the usual chinwag with Mavis over their white-bread and cheese-and-onion canteen sandwiches, but Tori didn’t need to know that, did she?

As he headed back along the herringbone-paved driveway to his car, Alasdair’s stomach protested against the strong coffee. Or perhaps it was against the whole situation. He shouldn’t feel like this. He never felt like this. His longing for Cosmo should not be impinging on his business, for Christ’s sake.

He stopped in the shade of a large tree and shut his eyes for a moment. He appeared to be in some kind of arboretum, and it really was peaceful. All he could hear was birdsong and softly rustling leaves, so why did it feel like his head was about to explode?

He knew exactly why though, didn’t he? That stubborn little shit and his flat refusal of Alasdair’s offer. He’d been expecting a sheepish phone call from Cosmo ever since, but the lad hadn’t caved in yet. It would look weak to be the first one to make contact, but Alasdair had to do something. Letting this state of affairs carry on for any longer was intolerable.

But perhaps if he made it about something different. Not the offer but something else…

Before he’d even realised what he was doing, he had his mobile in his hands. He called up Cosmo’s number and pressed Dial before he had a chance to change his mind. And if the brat didn’t answer? Well then, he’d—

“Alasdair Grant.” Cosmo’s tone didn’t give much away, but at least it wasn’t gloating. “Should have known you’d call.”

“Oh yes? And why’s that?”

“Because you’re a persistent bugger who wants everything his own way? I’ve gotta tell you, it ain’t gonna happen.”

Alasdair chuckled as warmth soothed the roiling in his stomach. Yes, this was what he needed. Someone wild to tame. Someone who told him exactly what was on his mind.

“You’ve been thinking about me, don’t deny it.”

Cosmo sucked in an audible breath. “Wasn’t going to. The sex was hot, even if you are an overbearing control freak.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“I bet.”

Alasdair let the silence stretch out. He might have been the one to phone, but he wasn’t planning on making a needy plea for Cosmo’s company. Let him be the one to suggest it. He was just beginning to wonder if Cosmo was going to call his bluff, when the lad caved in.

“So, you wanna do it again sometime? Or are you checking up on whether I’ve given in to your insane sugar-daddy domination agenda?”

Alasdair couldn’t help snorting with laughter, no doubt a large part made up of relief that Cosmo could joke about it all.

Even though Alasdair had been deadly serious about the offer. And still was.

“I just wanted to check that you’re doing okay. See if you had any more questions about it all.”

“Questions? Really?” Alasdair could practically hear the raised eyebrow. “You mean you’re not aching to have another go at my arse, then?”

All right, so perhaps he wasn’t as good at fooling Cosmo as he’d thought. Time to come clean. “Yes, that too. It is a particularly pert, shaggable arse, as I recall.” Just the memory of the tight, clinging heat and eager way Cosmo had met his thrusts had his dick starting to thicken.

“Where are you right now?”

“Chalfont St. Peter. Why? Where are you?”

“I’m in my room. Anyone around to see you?”

Cosmo’s voice took on a husky tone, and Alasdair realised what he was getting at. “I’m in public, but there’s no one close enough to hear me.” There probably wasn’t anyone close enough to see him either, but he wasn’t going to chance getting caught with his dick out. Besides, he had enough self-control not to get hard at the sound of Cosmo’s voice, didn’t he?

“Yep, I’m just lying around in my boxers,” Cosmo breathed. “Just waiting to see what comes up.”

His body decided it was siding with Cosmo against him, but Alasdair fought his instinctive response to that sultry intonation and took a deep breath. “Are you free tonight?”

“I’m free right now.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Mmm, has anyone ever told you what a sexy voice you have? I reckon I could come just from listening to you talk.”

“Cosmo? Do you want me to tie you up later?”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Which would you like it to be?”

“Uh, I’m not sure. Would it be uncomfortable?”

“A little. You remember we discussed shibari?”

“Some kind of raw-fish thing, wasn’t it?”

Infuriating boy. Alasdair could hear the tease in his tone. “It’s more of a knot thing. I’ll take a length of fine rope and knot it around your torso, then bind your arms behind your back.”

“And then you’ll fuck me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just leave you like that for a bit, as punishment for being such a smartarse.”

“Nah, you’ll screw me. You won’t be able to resist.”
 

A memory of the heady scent of Cosmo’s arousal temporarily wiped out his higher functioning. When he recovered, Alasdair could hear the noise of skin on skin. “Stop that.”

The noise ceased. “Whoa, you really are a control freak. Think you can command me from afar, do you?”

“If you want anything tonight, you’ll need to stop that right now. I don’t want you touching your dick until I tell you to.”

“What about my balls? Can I stick something up my arse? I haven’t got a proper dildo or anything, but there’s always the broom handle. Or maybe I could borrow Brett’s hockey stick.”

“You’re to touch nothing below the waist.”

“Gonna give me problems taking a slash.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Okay, but how are you going to know, anyway? I could just lie to you and say I didn’t, when actually I’ll have spent the whole afternoon wanking myself stupid.”

“I’ll know.”

“Seriously?” Cosmo’s voice dripped with scepticism. “You got a lie detector in that big old mansion of yours?”

“Yes. Me. Trust me, I’ll know if you’re lying. You won’t even make it into the car.” It would be hell, but he’d turn him away if the boy didn’t follow orders. If he let Cosmo get the upper hand now, he’d never tame him properly.

Although perhaps he liked him better wild.

“So, what do you say, boy?”

Cosmo was quiet for a long moment, before letting out a frustrated noise. “I can’t believe you’re not going to let me have a wank if I want this. You’re some kind of sadist, you know that?”

“Thank you. I’m pleased you noticed.” Alasdair could do annoyingly mild and polite till the cows came home.

“Right, yeah, of course. Yeah… Okay, okay, I’ll do it. What time are you going to come and pick me up, though, because I’m gonna be going out of my head waiting. It’s a bloody good thing I’ve already spanked the monkey twice today.”

“Seven thirty.”

“No, that’s just cruel. Can’t you come straight from work?”

“That will be straight from work.”

“You work till seven thirty on a Friday? That bites the big one. Can’t you let yourself off early just this once?”

But Alasdair refused to back down, and in the end, a grumbling Cosmo agreed to be ready at seven thirty. He didn’t question it when Alasdair told him to bring enough clothes for the weekend. In fact, if anything, he thought there was a certain note of satisfaction in Cosmo’s complaint of “any more orders, boss?”

When he hung up and began walking back to his car, Alasdair noticed the headache seemed to have evaporated into thin air.

By seven thirty, Cosmo had spent so long pacing up and down by the living room window he was amazed he hadn’t worn a groove in the shag pile. Not that you’d be able to tell with that threadbare excuse for a carpet. He lit up another rollie. Fuck it. Alasdair probably wouldn’t approve, but then again, Alasdair hadn’t explicitly forbidden smoking. Cosmo could exploit a loophole as well as the next man.

“Fancy coming out for a pint down the Horse?” Nasher asked, poking his head around the door.

Cosmo opened his mouth to answer, when Rizzo’s laconic voice drawled from the sofa. “No point asking him. He’s jumpy as a virgin about to get shafted. Reckon he’s got a date with Mr. Mercedes again. The man must be hung like a rhinoceros to make a tart like Cosmo that jumpy.”

How the fuck did the bastard do it? Cosmo hadn’t mentioned anything about his evening to anyone. “Sounds like you’re jealous, Rizzo. Thinking of defecting to the gay side, were you?”

“Screw you.”

“No thanks. I like my men with a bit of meat on their bones.”

“Gross.”

“Not as gross as those slappers you brought back the other night.”

“Hey, they were twins. Who gives a shit if they were sleazy?” Rizzo’s leer reminded Cosmo of the dirty old man in his raincoat and wellies who’d flashed him on the way back from school one time. “Think about it, man. Twins.”

“You could have spared one of them,” Brett piped up from the armchair, his face a picture of wistfulness. “Having two’s just greedy when there’s blokes about who didn’t score.”

“Wait till Halloween.” Rizzo smirked. “Reckon even Nasher could score then, wearing a mask.”

“Fuck off, Rizz,” Cosmo said, watching Nasher’s face fall. Rizzo was a bastard like that, digging at Nasher all the time. It was no wonder the guy never had the courage to approach girls, with Rizzo constantly dripping poison in his ears. Why the hell had he ever invited Rizzo to join the band?