Page 2 of Playing to Win

The sink was empty, so he snatched two clean serving bowls from the chrome dish drainer, then turned on the hot water.

High-pitched laughter greeted his ears as Andrew entered the kitchen. “No,youare too much!” he shouted to someone in the foyer.

The refrigerator opened, and Colin heard the clink of beer bottles. Hands trembling, he focused on scrubbing nonexistent food off the bowl.

Please don’t look over. Please don’t notice me.

“Oh. Hello there.”

Fuck.

Andrew drifted into Colin’s peripheral vision, setting the beer bottles on the worktop. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said in his oil-smooth voice, devoid of a Scottish accent despite his family being one of the oldest in Scotland.

“Why don’t you believe it?” Colin asked, rinsing the bowl so thoroughly, one would think the dish soap was toxic.

“It’s just an expression.”

Colin slammed the bowl onto the dish drainer, then turned to face him. “But do you believe it,Adam?”

As their eyes locked, Colin felt the same head-to-toe, hot-cold rush that had gripped him the night they’d met six months ago, when Andrew had used a fake name and disguise. The next time Colin had seen that face was weeks later, in a TMZ post about Lord Andrew Sunderland’s grand coming-out announcement.

Now that silver-blue gaze scrutinized Colin, evaluating, measuring…remembering?

“Of course we’ve met,” Andrew said softly. “In a sense.” He swept one hand through his strategically tousled golden-brown hair and extended the other toward Colin. “My real name is Andrew Sunderland. Friends call me Drew.”

“Then I’ll call you Andrew.”

The toff’s polite smile widened into a radiant grin. “I’m glad we meet again. You were hard to forget.” He swept a glance down over Colin. “Especially with those tattoos.”

Colin turned away to dry his hands on a tea towel, and to hide the effect Andrew was having on him—again. “Why are you here?”

“John invited me. We’re mates at University of Glasgow. So, forgive me, your name again?” he asked, stepping forward to halve the distance between them.

Colin wanted to back away, but that would look ridiculous. Andrew matched his own six-foot-one height, but he looked pure slim in that tan blazer. Not intimidating in the least. Just really fucking gorgeous.

“This party,” Colin said, “is for people who helped John move into Fergus’s flat today. Lovely of you to show up after all the work’s done.”

“I wanted to help, but unfortunately I’d an event to attend.”

“The annual meeting of the Useless Friends Society?”

Andrew shook his head sadly. “No, I canceled my membership after our last gala, when everyone ‘forgot’ to pay the serving staff.” He posed with finger quotes up, as if awaiting applause.

“Colin MacDuff.” He bit down on the words. “Is my name.”It’s in your phone’s contacts, or at least it was.

Andrew snapped his fingers. “Yes! Colin. You were on the tip of my tongue. Your name, I mean,” he added with a flirtatious flick of his brown lashes.

I was on more than the tip, Colin thought, his mouth watering at the memory of a darkened warehouse corner. Of techno music pumping, warm hands roaming. Of a hotel-room key slipped into his pocket, a fragile promise breathed into his ear:See you soon.

“I didn’t catch your surname, however,” Andrew continued. “I would’ve remembered that. The MacDuffs were once Earls of Fife, until the fourteenth century, when the male line failed and the title passed to a Stewart, I believe.”

Colin felt his eyes glaze over. Not from boredom at the history lesson—in fact, he was relieved Andrew didn’t quoteMacbethto him, like most people did when they learned his surname. His focus was blurred instead by the scent of Andrew’s cologne and the memory of how it had lingered on Colin’s shirt collar.

“Have you ever visited MacDuff Castle?” Andrew asked, running his fingers down, then up, the pearlesque buttons on his white dress shirt in what seemed a nervous gesture.

“Doubt they’d let me in,” Colin said.

“Oh, anyone can go. It’s in ruins. Completely fallen to pieces.”

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