Page 8 of Leather and Longing
A loud snort from behind them had both Paul and Taylor twisting around to look. David stood there, arms folded across his chest. “Taylor making sense? That’ll be the day.” He winked at Paul.
Taylor clambered to his feet and lunged toward his husband, arm raised as if to strike him. David laughed and caught him around the wrist. “You’re not too old to get your ass paddled, you know.”
The word conjured up an instant image in Paul’s mind of the black leather paddle hidden beneath clothes in one of his drawers.
He had yet to find someone willing to use it on him.
Taylor’s snort was as loud as David’s, pulling Paul right back into the light. “I’d like to see you try.” But the next minute David’s arms surrounded him, and Taylor leaned into him with a sigh of contentment. David pressed his lips to Taylor’s unruly hair and kissed him.
Paul rose to his feet. “Okay, if you two are going to get all smoochy on me, I’m out of here.” He’d had his weekly dose of saccharine the previous night with Mark and Sam.
“Before you go,” Taylor said, David’s arms still encircling him, “let me send you a few links to stuff you might wanna read.”
“Huh?” Paul had lost the thread of their conversation completely.
Taylor gave a patient smile. “It’s just a few sites on how people deal with loss of vision. It might help you understand your new employer a little better. It will certainly give you some insight into what he’s going through, ’cause I don’t think it’s stuff he’d want to share with anyone.”
“That’s a really good idea. I’d actually planned on doing that but thank you.” Paul returned Taylor’s smile, thinking not for the first time that he was so lucky.
I have some great friends.
David released Taylor and turned to Paul. “Listen, our dinner reservation isn’t for another hour. Why don’t you use our shower instead of the beach one? I hate using that thing. The water’s always freezing. And Taylor’s already had his.”
“Aw, thanks.” He stared at them intently. “As long as I don’t have to listen to you two again while I’m in the bathroom.” The last time he’d showered after surfing with Taylor, the sounds coming from their bedroom had made it very clear what was taking place behind the closed door. When they’d emerged, both slightly out of breath with pink cheeks, Paul hadn’t known where to look.
“You’re just jealous ’cause you’re not getting any,” Taylor said with a grin, before sprinting up the boat ramp toward West View, out of the reach of Paul’s hands. David shook his head and followed his husband, chuckling to himself.
Paul trudged up the ramp after them, carrying his surfboard.Doeseveryoneknow about my non-existent sex life?
The next time he saw Mark, he was going to kill the little shit.
When Paul reached the blue front door of Taylor and David’s home, he paused at the threshold.
Maybe the only way to shut them up is to get laid.
Then he thought about it.Sam’s right. It’smydecision,mychoice. Andmytiming.
Paul smiled to himself.Besides, it takes two, right?No point even thinking about it when so far there wasn’t anyone in his life who appealed to him. Not in the wayhewanted, anyway.
Certainly not a black-haired man with dark glasses, long legs and toned arms.
Paul ignored the shiver that trickled down his spine.Not going there.
Chapter Four
Paul stoppedhis little Ford Fiesta at the top of Love Lane. The engine still running, he got out and opened the gate to Cliffside, then got back in. The gate closed once again behind him, he drove carefully down the winding driveway to the house nestled halfway up the hillside. He locked the car and gazed at the gardens that surrounded the house. Someone had obviously taken a lot of care to lay out the flowerbeds and plant shrubs and trees at one time, but there was an air of neglect about the place.
He picked up the plastic shopping bag he’d brought along with his backpack and fumbled in his jeans pocket for the keys. Inside the house was cool and quiet. He stood in the hallway and listened for any sign of Adam. The door to the room where he’d met him was closed, but Paul trusted his senses.
Adam was in there.
Paul had spent Sunday researching his new employer and reading through the documents to which Taylor had directed him. Adam wrote books about political history, which wasn’t surprising considering his background. According to his bio, after gaining a degree in political history, he’d joined the Marines and had been deployed to Afghanistan when in his mid-twenties. When he’d gotten out, he’d had several jobs includingdoing private security work and crewing yachts across the Atlantic, delivering them to their new owners. His books were incredibly popular and highly regarded, and had gained him a significant following.
The photo on Google had shown Adam to have blue eyes, his hair much shorter and neater, and a creamy complexion. There was no sign of the thick beard Paul had seen. There were several photos of him: appearing casual at a book signing in London; dressed in a smart suit, in what seemed to be an interview; and the ones that struck Paul the most—on board sailing boats in all kinds of weather, smiling.
Something else he’s lost—that smile and the opportunity to skipper a boat. Paul’s heart had gone out to him. The man had lost so much more than his sight.
By the time Sunday evening had come, Paul was feeling wrung out. It was clear from what he’d read that reactions to becoming blind tended to be similar to bereavement. The range of emotions people went through were all part of a process, and like any dramatic change in circumstances, there was a period of adjustment to go through. Paul couldn’t help but wonder, based on Adam’s behaviour the previous Friday, just how far along the process he’d come.
