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He was about to go knock on the bathroom door when Dash opened it. Any complaints about how long he took to change died when Thorne saw him. He was fucking stunning. “You…I…wow.”
Dash grinned. “Thanks. Your tailor must practice some dark brand of magic. This fits like it was made for me.”
“Now, aren’t you glad I didn’t rent you some uncomfortable sack?”
“I…thank you. Sorry it took so long, I had to look up a video on how to tie a bowtie.”
Thorne couldn’t help but laugh. “You did an excellent job.”
“Thank you.”
Thorne glanced at the clock on his bedside table. “Damn. I was hoping there would be time to get you out of it again.”
“Not until the party is over. Go put yours on, and I’ll pour you a drink. How about that?”
Thorne looked at Dash longingly, taking in his beauty a few seconds longer. “Okay.” There would be time later to peel him out of the tux, slowly, carefully, revealing every inch of him.
THE ROOM GLOWED softly from the strings of lights circling the ceiling and snaking around the potted trees positioned along the wall between groups of paintings. There was a low murmur of talking, clinking glass, and a whirl of exceptionally well-dressed people. Dash was dizzied by it all, but the art was beautiful. He hadn’t been sure what to expect—modern nonsense that was nothing but a splash of color on the canvas, desolate, depressing images that made a point too esoteric for him to grasp. Instead, the room was filled with a series of amazingly lifelike landscapes that captured the sun’s rays in a way that Dash wouldn’t have thought possible outside of a photograph. He was seriously impressed.
Thorne had wandered off to schmooze a lucrative client, and Dash was taking the opportunity to circle the room and enjoy the art. He was studying Sea at Sunrise when someone stepped up beside him, much too close to be polite.
When he saw who it was, nausea closed his throat, and a sick sweat broke out on his neck. This man was a former client. One he’d turned down for a second appointment because he’d been too rough, rushing things that didn’t need to be rushed and making sure to tell Dash how little he was worth. In all the time he’d spent worrying that Thorne’s colleagues would realize he was more than Thorne’s friend, or that he’d have nothing to say when one of them asked him how he’d met Thorne, he’d never considered the likelihood of running into one of his own clients. He should have known better. These were exactly the kind of men who patronized Sheila’s service.
“How did you end up here?” The man’s tone made it clear that someone as lowly as Dash had no business in an art museum.
“I like art.”
The asshole snorted. “At the price of these tickets you must have liked it enough to give a blowjob or two.”
Anger rushed through Dash, and he clenched his fists. He would not make a scene.
“I suppose you’re here with someone. Who’s the lucky man who bid high enough for you?”
“I hope you have a lovely evening. I’m going to look at some of the other paintings.” Dash turned to go.
The man seized his arm. “How much to do me in the bathroom while your client waits?”
“I would never treat a client with such disrespect.”
“Ha! You fuck people for money. What do you care how many? Maybe I could convince him that we should tag-team you.”
“I don’t know how to make this any more clear,” Dash said. “I am not interested in being with you, personally or professionally.”
“What is your fucking problem? You think I—” The man paused, looking over Dash’s shoulder. Then he smiled. “Oh, is this the one? I didn’t even know he was gay.”
“Let go of him.” Thorne’s voice had an edge to it that made even Dash wary.
“Are you going to make me?”
“I’m going to have you thrown out on your ass, barred from the museum, and possibly charged with assault if you don’t walk away right now.”
The man stepped back, but he gestured toward Dash. “You know what he is, don’t you?”
“Yes, he’s my friend, and he asked you to leave him alone.”
“He’s a fucking whore.”
Thorne punched him, fist connecting with his jaw, causing a sickening crack. The man fell back, hitting the polished wood floor hard enough to bounce. Before he could get back on his feet, two security guards arrived.
“How did you know to call them?” Dash asked.
Thorne scowled. “I know what that man is. I didn’t know if it would escalate like this, but I wasn’t taking any chances.”
Thorne winced as he flexed and shook his hand.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded. “I’m fine. I’ll get some ice in a minute.”
“Sir, can you explain what happened here?” one of the security guards asked.
