AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Perhaps that's why Thomas had never felt the chain had been broken. Because it hadn't.
A hard shudder ran through him despite himself. Marcus' eyes grew more intent, more brilliant. Perhaps his mother was right. A serpent in the desert. Marcus' complexity, his gentleness, his urban polish, his humor, all of it was underscored by a generosity that was limitless. He even at times had a loving, nurturing nature.
But all of that was twined like a serpent's coils with this, a ferocious darkness, a Dominant's need to possess and control that Thomas had not realized he would match w
ith an equal submissive hunger. From the beginning he'd wanted to belong to Marcus and only Marcus, in ways a boy from rural North Carolina wouldn't have imagined existed inside himself.
"No!" He shoved Marcus away from him and backed into the open space of the parking area where he could breathe, though the world was teetering dangerously as if it wanted him to slide right back into Marcus' grip. "Don't fuck with my head. You don't need to pull that crap just to get me to make more money for you. " While he said it only to hurt, he needed the defense. Besides which, in his heart he knew it was true. Not the part about Marcus using him for money. Even before he walked away, Thomas had always known Marcus would tire of him in time, no matter how intimate they'd gotten. These were Thomas' roots and he needed those roots. He had to live up to them, because they were permanent and real. Unlike Marcus' attraction to him, which he knew was only permanent and real in his most fantastical dreams.
Marcus' face transformed into a mask of indifferent politeness, which told Thomas he'd hit the mark with enough accuracy to make his heart hurt. "I knew you were gutless when you walked away from me. I didn't think you'd resort to being that stupid redneck kid again as well. "
Thomas' spine snapped straight, his chin jutting out like his brother's. "Now you're trying to start a fight. "
"If it makes you remember the will to have one, gladly. " Marcus nodded once.
Coldly.
"This is who I am. Where I'm staying. "
"Is it what you want?"
"It doesn't always get to be about what you want," Thomas said between clenched teeth. "Life sometimes is making the best of what you're given. " Marcus considered him. The breeze moved his hair on his shoulders, a strand brushing his firmly held lips. "Fine, then. Ignore your feelings about me, bury them. Try to destroy them by throwing asinine insults at me, but do the work, send it to me. I'll sell them at the contracted price, send you the money and it will supplement your income to keep your family going.
"If nothing else, I'm still the gallery owner who has the connections to get your work noticed, Thomas. Your talent is phenomenal. You've only scratched the surface of it. No matter what you think about me, people don't spend thousands of dollars on a piece of artwork from someone whose name they don't even know, unless the talent is so remarkable they don't care whether it's a brand name or not. "
"Stop. " Thomas shook his head. "You know I can't handle that kind of shit. I can't. . . I haven't thought about. . . "
As Marcus' eyes narrowed, Thomas felt the gnawing teeth start up on his gut, as vicious as the blades of the chipper.
For months, the ideas had been elusive, formless, ruthlessly kicked into a hole in his subconscious like a swamp filled with sucking mud.
Because of that, he couldn't allow himself to accept what Marcus was saying.
Couldn't even enjoy the vision for a moment, though a greedy part of him wanted to bask in the idea of achieving success as an artist. Instead, Thomas almost felt sick. When he moved his hand to knead his stomach, he forced himself to stop as Marcus' sharp attention went to it.
It wasn't Marcus' fault. He knew that. He'd always known that. It just wasn't meant to be. Thomas took a deep breath, let it flow out of him, let the anger go. "You know your business, you always have. When you say things like that. . . it scares the hell out of me. It also. . . there's a part of me that's just fucking amazed by it. " A light smile crossed Marcus' face, but didn't reach his eyes. "You deserve to let all of you be amazed by it. Not just a part. "
"It's not there anymore. " Thomas forced the words past stiff lips. "I need the money, but I wouldn't know where to start. Everything's insecticide, feed, and 'what size couplings do you need for your plumbing'?" He gave a half laugh at Marcus' raised brow.
"I'm sure I don't want you to explain what a coupling is to me. " Thomas shook his head, reached out a hand. It felt as if it weighed three times what Kate did. "Thanks for dropping off the check. I'm sorry for how I acted. You. . . you didn't do anything. It was all me. I took it out on you. You just surprised me, is all.
Wasn't ready to see you here. "
"I don't exactly fit in this painting, do I?" Marcus looked around, still not taking the hand, though Thomas kept it out stubbornly.
"No, you don't. "
When Marcus clasped it at last, Thomas tried not to show how the contact rippled through him, ached in his bones as if he'd been gripped by the flu. Already the sandwich he'd packed to have at noontime was something he knew he wouldn't be eating.
"Give me a week. "
"What?"
"You've been here eighteen months, working six or seven days a week with no time off, no breathing room at all. I think they can cover for you a week, particularly if it means they can add a significant source of income to the annual budget. I've got a friend's place up in the Berkshires for a month. " Still holding Thomas' hand, Marcus reached inside his coat with a free hand and drew out an airline ticket. "The date's transferable. I'll be there for the next thirty days, working out of the house and visiting some of my gallery contacts and artists in that area. Come spend the week in the house, bring your sketchbook. I promise you beautiful scenery, wonderful eccentric communities and quiet spots of nature. " His eyes gleamed. "A wide variety of things to resurrect your muse. "
"You'll be there. "
Marcus nodded. "I'll be there. "
