Page 3 of The Tourist

He nodded, buthe kept a half foot or so of space between us, as if he was wary ofme for some reason. “Sure. You don’t need to tell me that. But youdon’t—”

I frowned.“You’re telling me again?”

His mouthclosed abruptly and he flushed. It looked bloody good on hishandsome face.

“I’mteasing,” I said, more softly. But I had to know, of course. “Whatdon’t I?”

“You don’toften do it like that. Take control. And the talking, you know?Dirty talk.”

Dammit, Ishould have taken it a little easier. I grimaced, hoping he’d seeit as a rueful look. “You didn’t like it?”

He laughed.“Hell, yeah! I’m just used to you being more… restrained. Discreet.Whatever you’d call it.” He was still flushed and his large eyesgazed at me. He looked happily well-fucked but slightly wary, too.“Hey. No problem, right? It was hot. Different.”

I wasbeginning to think I was wrong about the sex between us alwaysbeing good. “Just playing.”

He started;his eyes widened further. But he recovered quickly, though hissmile was more brave than happy this time. “A game, yes. Iunderstand. Like I said, it was hot.”

“You’re sure?” I shook my head and felt the water drops on mylashes. I had hair cropped to above my ears and it felt thick. Iliked the way it lay close to my head, though I didn’t think it putme centre stage in the looks department. Not likehim. “Well, maybe we canwork some more on all that.”

His eyessparkled and he suddenly looked younger. Much happier, not that I’drealised he looked troubled before. “Don’t tempt me, not just now.We should both get dressed, right?”

“Right.” What time was it? What was I getting dressedfor? We both stepped outof the shower. The familiar way I snagged towels for us both wasthe final confirmation that this was my place. As I twisted onearound my waist, I saw him watching me closely.

That’s whenthings first shifted. When I first felt the emotional conflictinside me. The affection in the other guy’s expression was clear,but I found myself wondering, what was it affection for? For me? Orjust for my fucking? The uncertainty worried me, and it felt like along-established concern. The adrenaline high had abandoned mesurprisingly quickly. Instead, something lay heavily in my gut,like I’d eaten bad seafood or drunk too much the night before,though I knew instinctively I hadn’t done either ofthose.

I didn’t sayanything to my lover. I backed out of the bathroom, looking alongthe corridor. One of the doors was wide open and I walked into thebedroom. There were familiar clothes on the chair against the wall,and I gathered them up.

“Are youcoming with me back into town?” He passed by, his hand brushing myhip. He was still half-smiling. “I know my shift doesn’t startuntil twelve, but Matty said he could use me for the morning stockdelivery. Pete needs to learn his way around that. He and I cansort it out while Matty opens the bar as usual.” When I continuedto stare at him, he added, “You’re due at the site by ten,right?”

“Right. Yeah, that’d be good.” I pulled out the top drawer ofthe chest and found clean underwear. Luckyguess. I put the other clothes on—fadedjeans, spattered with paint and plaster, an undershirt and a heavyflannel shirt. I could see a pair of boots flung carelessly at thefoot of the bed. Big feet, on a scale with myhands.

He went to thefar side of the bed and picked up another pile of clothes, far moreneatly placed than mine. He opened a drawer in the unit beside thebed and pulled out a pair of clean boxers. I knew then that hedidn’t live here with me—everything about this place cried “I’m amessy singleton”—but if he kept spare clothes here, it looked likehe stayed over a lot. The pleasure warmed me inside, like a flickerof flame from a smouldering log. He tugged the boxers and a pair ofjeans up his legs, then rolled a bright T-shirt over his head. Itwas a very stimulating sight, watching the muscles of his bellytighten up as he moved. He now sported the logo Matty’s Meet,Chelsea Creek, clinging attractively to his torso.God, he was gorgeous.

“Dan,” hestarted, but we were both distracted by a shrill buzzing noise. Hefrowned and reached for a mobile phone that lay on the top of theunit. Pressing the receive button, he answered, “Ricky Holloway.”He listened intently for a moment. “It’s not really a good timenow.” His gaze flickered to me then away. “No, really… Yes, Iunderstand. No, I’m not being… yes, I’ll call you later.” Hedisconnected and dropped the phone on the bed.

I didn’t knowwhat was going on, but suddenly I felt myself disconnect, just likethe phone itself. The thrill and happiness of the time in theshower abruptly shifted to misery and anger. Ugly feelings. I looked at Ricky,smiling back at me rather nervously, his cute body, his strikinglygood looks, his youth and charisma…

Dear God infucking heaven, I wanted him. And not just sexually; I realised Icared a lot forhim. In fact, the emotions would swamp me if I let them take ahold. But at the same time, I wondered what the fuck he was doingwith me? I wasn’tsexy like him; he was a real looker. A precious gem of the malekind. A true catch.

And nothinglike me.

I sat downheavily on the edge of the mattress. The dip from Ricky’s side wasalready smoothed out, his half of the covers pulled over neatly,like he’d never been there at all. An ache caught in the back of mythroat, as tight and painful as a fish hook.

What thebloody hell was up with my host?

Ricky camearound the bed to stand in front of me. He slipped a hand around myneck and leant down. “You look so good, Dan.”

“I’m sure.”My voice sounded tight. Seemed I’d remembered a whole bunch ofother things, and none of them bolstering my self-esteem. “Dan thebuilder. Plain old labourer, see my fucking work clothes. Feel myrough hands.”

He frowned atme and pulled back from the almost-kiss. “That’s rubbish. What doesit matter what you do? I’m only a bartender, right?”

I stared athim, still feeling the warm pressure of his fingers on my skin.“Right.” Some kind of hot, some kind of not-my-classbartender. Fuck.

“Dan, I’m…”He shook his head and frowned. “Things are odd this morning. Idon’t understand.” He looked like he was struggling to find theright words, but I didn’t feel like offering to help with that. Heran his hand down my cheek, smooth skin against my harsh shadow.“You’re great, I’ve always thought that. I liked you the minute youcame into the bar.”

“Fixing thebloody kitchen wall. Putting up some ceiling tiles.”

He shrugged.“Whatever. Didn’t matter why you were there.” He smirked. “Hey, Icould see you were good with your hands.”