Page 31 of The Company We Keep

Carrow drew a deep breath, maybe considering whether or not he believed the explanation. The situation was too ridiculous for Dust to even feel frightened. He was exhausted — and suddenly fighting against the temptation to enjoy their proximity. Carrow’s skin was warm and he could feel the man’s breath on his scalp.

Finally, Carrow let the blade droop away from his throat, reached into the dark somewhere on their right, and flicked on the lights. He stepped away from Dust and then in front of him.

Dust’s breath caught in his throat. Carrow had been sleeping — was dressed only in boxer briefs that, he’d wager, probably cost what Dust used to make in a month at AIIB. The reality of Carrow’s body was even better than the picture that Dust’s imagination had painted for him: his skin pale andsmooth, chest wide and deep, muscles gone perfectly half-soft with age in a way that somehow suited him.

Dust righted himself. This wasn’t the moment to be ogling his target — especially not with the wicked, curved blade he was wielding.

“Jesus. Do you always sleep with a knife?” Dust asked, rubbing the front of his throat. Carrow ducked and leaned so close to his face that he almost held his breath again. For a moment, he thought the man was going to kiss him.

“Doyoualways stumble around strangers’ penthouses half naked?” Carrow growled.

“Do you always answer questions with questions?”

They were at an impasse, both out of smartass retorts and standing too close to resume any imitation of being casual.

A hundred smoothlines flashed through Carrow’s mind.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here at my bedroom door?”

“Now that you’re here, why don’t you stay awhile?”

“I think we both know that you’re not here by accident.”

A hundred protests followed them.

You just had a knife to his throat,you moron.

Christ, Carrow, you’ve barely known the kid for 24 hours.

Is this the type of precedent you want to set for someone who might be moving in here in a week?

But God was it tempting to try and convince Dust not to go quite yet. His body was beautiful and fascinating. He couldn’t help his eyes from straying to the deep V of Dust’s hips — and then lower, where the drying swim trunks clung to his thighs, his groin.

Dust caught him staring. How many times was Carrow going to allow that to happen?

Carrow cleared his throat to break the tension and Dust raised an expectant eyebrow.

“Your room is the next door,” Carrow said. “I trust you’ll be able to find it without another mistake?”

Dust’s face fell. What did hethinkCarrow was about to say?

“Thanks. I got it.”

Carrow shut the door as soon as Dust was back in the hall, knowing that otherwise it would be too difficult to fight the impulse to watch him walk away.

Mornings apparently startedslow with The Company — and after the night before, that was just fine with Dust. He didn’t hear anyone stirring outside of his cracked door until after 10. It was the smell of coffee that finally roused him.

When he emerged from his room, Carrow was the one making coffee. He was already dressed for the day in a nice suit, collar of his shirt hanging open. Dust froze at the entrance of the hallway, wondering if he should just leave the man alone after the night before.

“Come take a seat,” Carrow said. He hadn’t even looked over at Dust but he obviously had heard him walk up. “The coffee will be ready in a minute.”

Dust did as he was told, sitting down at the bar in the kitchen and watching Carrow’s back. He was preparing pour-over coffee in a pot that looked something like an hourglass with the top of one end removed — grounds in the top chamber and coffee dribbling slowly into the bottom. He poured steaming water slowly over the grounds.

It was vaguely hypnotic to watch the man work. His movements were steady and practiced and it looked as if he could’ve done the actions in his sleep.

Dust let his vigilance slip for a moment and he found himself thinking about the body under that suit. It was dangerous — the fact that he was now armed with so much information about what Carrow was like with his clothes off. He knew the memory would paint any fantasy, but he hadn’t thought about the fact that it would be so distracting to simply exist in the same space as Carrow.

It was impossiblenotto think about, though. He could imagine the thick muscles in Carrow’s back moving under the expensive broadcloth shirt. As Carrow shifted his weight, Dust considered his hips — the power there, how they might feel under Dust’s hands, how they might feel over Dust’s own hips…

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