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Marc swallowed a laugh at that thought, but Royce had something about him. Something big and kind of scary. He didn’t even have to speak.
He’d turned bossy, talkative Lilah into nerve-wracked mush with one glare. Marc had known very well that was what Royce had been doing when he’d buried Marc’s face in his neck. He wanted to groan with the memory of how damn good the man had smelled, how hot his skin had been against his lips. He’d wanted to lick and bite. Explore all his tattoos. Throw him on the floor to crawl onto his dick.
“Marc?”
Royce’s deep voice in the darkness of the room made him shiver. He moved his legs restlessly. “Yes?” Shit, had that sounded breathless?
“What’s the deal with your sister?”
“She’s coming off a painful divorce and trying to get back on her feet. She—”
“No, I mean what is it with her and your sexuality? You’re a grown man, so she’s had plenty of time to get used to it.”
Marc rolled onto his side and propped his head up on one hand. “It’s not that she doesn’t support me.” How to put this? “She and my brothers all think this is a phase and that my love of the art world makes me think I have to be gay. Like it’s a persona I’ve taken on to better fit in. Gabriel said something to that effect once.”
There was silence for a few moments, then, “That’s a crock of shit.”
He snorted. “It is. I came out to them in my teens, and I’m twenty-eight now, so they’ve had plenty of time to come to terms with the fact that I am most definitely a gay man. Lilah, in particular, has more trouble with it. Especially when she’s confronted with the physical aspects of what I do in bed with men.”
“How much older is she? I expected her to be closer in age to you.”
“Thirty-eight, so she’s ten years older. My brothers are eight and twelve years older.”
“So you’re a late-life baby.”
It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway. “I am. I came as a big surprise to them all. They had their little family, all perfect with three children, then I came along to mess things up for them.”
“Surely that’s not how it went down.” There was rustling as Royce shifted on the chaise. “You were probably spoiled rotten. You seem like you might be.”
“Spoiled?” Marc barked out a laugh. “Maybe a little. But no, I was more ignored by my siblings. Considered an annoyance. And if you mean spoiled because of how I live, I did inherit money when my parents died. But my house? My cars? I earned all of this on my own. I have an eye for spotting talent, and I know how to make that talent a financial success. I used my inheritance to start my first gallery. That’s it. The rest is hard work.”
Royce was quiet for a long time, and Marc rolled onto his back and scratched at the itchy line the elastic waist had left on his abdomen. He’d spent a fortune on these Marino wool and silk sheets and liked them better against his bare skin.
“That’s impressive.” Royce finally said, his voice more hushed as if he were getting sleepy. “I’d like to see some of your art. I noticed you didn’t show me one of the rooms upstairs. Is that where you keep it?”
Marc closed his eyes. His lack of artistic talent was the single most painful constant in his life. He’d worked hard and could never seem to find that certain something that would set him apart from others. The muse had eluded him. The bitch. But he wasn’t ready to share all of that with his bodyguard, not even if the man kissed like he could absorb a man into his skin.
“I have nothing to show you,” was all he said.
Royce stayed quiet after that.Chapter SixWith palms flat against the cool tile, Marc groaned as the hot water pounded on his head and shoulders. They were running late already, but he had to have at least five minutes to himself to get his thoughts together if he was going to make it through the night.
“Fuck it,” he muttered to himself while wrapping his left hand around his rock-hard cock. Closing his eyes, he slowly stroked himself, enjoying the rough feel of the still-healing cut across his palm. Made it easier to pretend it was Royce’s coarse hand rather than his own.
One week of Royce playing his shadow and now every shower included him jerking off for just an ounce of relief. Whenever anyone was present, Royce was the attentive boyfriend, with little touches and devastating kisses that left him practically pleading for more, regardless of the fact that every last one was fake. When they were alone, Royce kept his distance, but he could still feel the heat of the man dancing along his skin until his entire existence seemed to be reduced to an unending hard-on.
