Page 40 of Leather and Longing
Taylor stared at him, all the humour slipping from his face. “Okay, start talking.”
After another long drink of water, Paul studied the bottle in his hands. “We fucked last night. Well, Adam fucked me, is nearer the truth. And when he was done, he got up and went to bed like I wasn’t even there.” Another sigh. “And then stupid me had to go and say something this morning that made it ten times worse.”
“Shit.” Taylor leaned against him. “I’m not gonna make you feel worse by asking if it was at least good sex.”
Paul laughed at this typical Taylor remark. “Well, that’s good, ’cause it’s not as if I’d have told you anyway.” He felt Taylor’s soft chuckle through his arm.
“Do I take it the atmosphere is a bit strained up at Cliffside?”
He emptied the bottle and leaned back to drop it in the bin beside the wall. “To be honest? I’ve kept out of his way today. Once I get started on typing up his books, maybe his mood will improve.” Paul wasn’t going to hold his breath though.
“Look, don’t sit out here on your own,” Taylor said after a moment’s silence. “Come into the house and help me embarrass Sam some more.” He grinned. “It’ll be fun. Besides, I think you could use some company right now. There’s just me, David and those two. Whaddaya say?”
Paul considered the suggestion. Maybe Taylor had a point. Being on his own was only going to make him dwell on what was going on inside his head, and right then, that was the last thing he wanted.
He nodded. “You’re on. Except… No teasing Sam, okay?”
Taylor smiled. “Okay.” There was that wicked gleam in his eyes again. “Besides, it’s much more fun trying to get a rise out of David.” Laughing, he swivelled around and rose to his feet.
Paul followed him along the promenade and up the boat ramp.Poor David.After a moment’s reflection he changed his mind.Never mind poor David. He knew what he was letting himself in for when he married Taylor.
Paul had no sympathy.
Chapter Seventeen
“Any sign of it yet?”Adam found it difficult to keep the exasperation from his voice.
How long does it take to find one specific box?
“Not yet.” Paul sounded pissed off. “D’you know how many of these boxes I’ve opened this morning? With the way my luck’s going, it’ll turn out to be in the last one.” He ground out a heavy sigh.
Adam gripped the doorjamb, fighting the urge to yell that if it was too much trouble, he’d find someone else to do the bloody job. He took a deep breath.
Losing his temper wouldn’t get it done any faster.
“Well, what have you found so far?”
“A whole lotta books. I’m trying to move them all to one side. I’m assuming at some stage you’ll want them to go onto shelves?”
Adam clenched his jaw.
What’s the fucking point? I can’t read them anymore.
“I mean, there are going to be books I’ll need for reference, right?”
Adam couldn’t argue with Paul’s logic. He had a point, after all.
“Yes,” he said grudgingly. He listened to the sound of tearing tape, Paul moving around in the dining room, heavy objects being slid across the floor. Adam decided that hovering in the doorway achieved nothing, and turned to leave Paul to it, but the sudden silence halted him. “Paul?”
No answer. All he could hear was Paul’s breathing, no longer regular but erratic.
“Paul, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” His breathing belied his reply, uneven, the word strained.
Adam racked his brains, trying to think what on earth Paul could have found that would have rendered him into silence.
“I’ve found the box with your laptop and digital recorders, by the way.”
