Room for Rent

Nicole Stewart

Contents

Excerpt

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

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Excerpt

Mason stared at the typewriter until he was seeing double. He had heard Caleb O’Hara slip down the stairs and out the back door. Mason assumed he was headed out to give his first watercolor class.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He could not stop thinking about Caleb. He was trying valiantly not to let his imagination run wild, but a quiet voice from deep within him whispered, Why not?

No one could see inside his head therefore he could indulge. It was just a thought after all, and thoughts without words or actions have no consequence. A fantasy began to take shape. Caleb’s lips on his. Mason gripped the edge of the writing desk. He closed his eyes and slowly exhaled as his heartbeat accelerated.

He opened his mind again, and pictures flooded him like a river that could not be dammed. Caleb’s lips on his, the slant of his mouth, his tongue probing boldly, his hands pulling Mason closer…

“Stop it,” Mason muttered aloud. He swept his hair out of his face and tapped out another line to the story that he was losing interest in. The keys made a pleasant racket that almost distracted him, but he knew that he was writing to take his mind off the dangerous track it was meandering down. His plot and characters did not hold him, allowing his thoughts to venture beyond the first kiss…

* * *

Caleb pushed him to the bed and lay on top of him. When he kissed Mason again, there was more urgency.

“Do you want me to stop?” Caleb asked. Mason clutched the back of his neck tightly and half-rose, chasing his lips in answer. Caleb groaned and ran his hands down Mason’s chest to his pants and unbuckled his belt. Mason put up no resistance.

His eyes widened as the artist nuzzled his neck. The pleasure was aggressive and Mason’s head fell back as Caleb licked down his stomach. His abs clenched as Caleb deftly unfastened his pants and eased them down his hips. His soft mouth brushed Mason’s erection through his boxers. There was so much he did not know about what happened between two men but his imagination was happy to fill in the blanks. He closed his eyes and went with the flow.

“Don’t stop,” he groaned.

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Chapter 1

Caleb O’Hara was wound tight. Every word of the conversation twanged and grated. He noted his reflection in the window, chest exposed under a vest with no shirt and sporting a very pretentious scarf. He chose to focus past that and on the magnificent city skyline instead.

“So, what are you saying, Gregoire?”

“I’m saying you’re no longer the prodigy who took the world by storm.” The walls of the office were lined with prints by artists that Gregoire DeSimone represented.

“You know my execution is flawless.”

“Precisely why your work isn’t selling. You’re trying too hard.” He took a sip of Perrier and shrugged.

Caleb rolled his eyes and rubbed his mouth, laughing at the irony. There were crescents of paint under his cuticles. He had been up all night working but had not found the magic. “You brought me here to renegotiate my contract?”

Gregoire looked away. “Caleb, you’ve been good to me.”

“Yes, I have been. I was your first and greatest success, I made you!”

“And, you will unmake me, if I let you!” Gregoire flared. “You have to produce something to reignite your career. Or, yes, I am going to have to cancel your contract.” He moved a paperweight from one side of the desk to the other before steepling his fingers and looking up to see Caleb’s retreating back. He called after him, but the artist kept walking.

He exited the tallest all-glass structure in Manhattan, skinny jeans hugging his legs as his quill ostrich boots pounded the pavement. He disappeared among the crowd of pedestrians. When Caleb arrived at his penthouse, the strings within him still twanged and sizzled and popped as he grabbed his mail and took the elevator up.

He glared at the frivolously expensive things in his apartment. Chopin nocturnes, triggered by the door opening, played faintly from a state of the art stereo system. Caleb increased the volume and filled a tumbler with Grand Marnier, the ice cracking and settling. He gulped down the liquor then fixed another glass and paced. He had come to New York at nineteen and thrived, against the odds. Now, at twenty-eight, his career was on the verge of collapse. He stared at a letter from the bank—he had maxed out his cards, but he knew that already. All that was left was his savings, and he was not going to touch those.

“How am I to survive with no money?” he implored the empty room. Caleb had experienced hungry nights before. That hunger had compelled him to break through every obstacle, but he had finally met a challenge he could not overcome: Himself. The ridiculousness of the situation suddenly assailed him. Caleb snatched off his scarf and struggled out of his vest with an angry grunt.

He yanked the nearest picture from the wall and threw it across the room. The shattered glass tore through the archival paper. He grabbed another and another, throwing and smashing his art until the walls were bare. He downed another drink. His chest heaved as he viciously kicked his easel and watched tubes of paint go flying. Then, he used a knife to slash through the piece he had been working on. He laughed loudly throughout the tantrum.

“Useless!” he shouted.

“Are you done?”

Caleb turned to see the naked supermodel at his bedroom door. “Joliette…”

She raised a brow. “Actually, it’s Jade.” She strutted toward him, and her slender fingers trailed down his bare torso to the fly of his pants. Caleb collected her hands.

“Jade,” he exhaled tiredly. “I forgot you were here. Now isn’t a good time. I think you should leave.”

She tossed her hair over her pale shoulder and tilted her head, smiling. “Are you sure? ‘Cause it seems like you’ve had a rough day. Let me fix that for you.” She dropped seductively to her knees and slid the flat of her hand teasingly over his crotch while she watched him with parted lips and wide eyes. “Is that making it better?” she asked.

Caleb gritted his teeth, unable to stop his body from hardening. “Jane, I’m not in the mood.”

“Shh...” Her tongue darted out to lick the zipper of his pants, and she unzipped him with her teeth.

Caleb slumped on the sofa and stared blankly at the damage around him. He could not remember her name to tell her again to stop. It would be a waste of breath anyway. This was the city of sex. A woman like her could not understand that she was not what he wanted.

He drank the last of his liquor and shakily set aside the tumbler as she stuffed his burgeoning erection into her mouth and moaned hungrily. He felt nothing. Her head bobbed faster, and she sucked and slurped him frenziedly. Caleb winced when the sharp edge of her teeth grazed his skin. “That’s enough.” She kept going. Sighing, he drew her away by a fistful of hair. “I said that’s enough.”

She released him with a quiet pop and pouted childishly, lipstick smeared. “You liked it last night,” she teased as she imprisoned his cock between her ample breasts. Caleb smirked and roughly tossed her over the back of a chair as he rose to his feet and positioned himself behind her. She giggled coyly at being rough-handled. “There’s the temperamental artist I know and love,” she gasped.

“I never want to see you again after this.”

Caleb put on a condom and rammed into her with a grunt, feeling her body lock around him in a tight embrace. She cried out his name. Accurately, he noted. He should have been embarrassed that he did not know hers, but he was not. His punishing thrusts brought her juices dripping around his rigid manhood. Her heady sighs of rapture drowned out the Chopin and aggravated him. It made him fuck her harder and faster, eager to be done.

“Oh, God, yes!” she cried out.

Her nails dug into the back of the chair as he grabbed one of her shoulders and violently hammered out his frustrations. He clenched his jaw, feeling the buildup. She wantonly countered his thrusts, and he felt her tightening and preparing to climax. The extra constriction sent him over the edge. “Uhn!” He growled as she squealed with anticipation. She was almost there herself, but he pulled out of her soaking wet pussy and tugged off the condom.

She stared at him incredulously. “What are you doing? I didn’t—”

“You said you were trying to fix my day, not yours,” he muttered as he headed to his room.

“You’ll regret this, Caleb O’Hara!” she screamed. He threw her clothes at her and slammed the bedroom door shut behind him. She knew her way out.

* * *

The dining room felt cramped with more than just immediate family at the table. Mason Sinclair was lost in a daydream about white sandy beaches and aquamarine water as conversation flowed around him. His lips tightened in a frown as his older brother Robert regaled them with stories of life in corporate America.

Mason stared blankly at Robert’s girlfriend Belinda until his mother patted her lips with a white napkin and cleared her throat. “Mason, adeul, pay attention to your date,” she murmured in Korean. Mason spared a glance for the beautiful girl his parents had paired him with for the night.

“Your brother is quite accomplished,” Riesling replied wryly. “I’d love to hear more about you, though.” She pushed a lock of blond hair behind her ear and smiled.

Mason agreed, “Yes, I look up to him. Robert motivated me to keep writing after my first story was—”

“Mason is in finance, Riesling,” Mr. Sinclair spoke over him. Mason met his father’s stern blue eyes and clamped his lips shut, turning his attention to the patterned wallpaper. “He plans to follow in his brother’s footsteps. Robert blazed a trail from internship to administration in a matter of years the same way I did. I Went from selling vacuum cleaners in New Hampshire to running operations at the company headquarters in Seoul by the time I was in my early thirties. Likewise, Mason will make his mark on Wall Street. Isn’t that right, son?”

“Yes, of course.” Fiji, he thought. He would rather be in Fiji.

Riesling slid her hand over his beneath the table. “What were you saying?” she asked softly.

Mason locked eyes with her. She squeezed his hand, and he blinked and ducked his head. “I was saying I write in my spare time, but I’m in finance. I recently finished my master’s through an accelerated program at Yale.”

Robert tapped his water glass for attention. “Well, now that I have everyone here in one place, I want to make an announcement. I’ve spent the last eight years securing my future, and five of those years were with this gorgeous woman by my side. Belinda and I have decided it’s time for us to become official. We’re getting married.” Belinda held up her hand, showing off an impressive diamond to match her dazzling smile.

“I knew you had something up your sleeve when you called us together!” Mr. Sinclair exclaimed. “Take note of this, Mason. You stick to the path you’re on, and you’ll be marrying a looker like your brother, here.” He stared pointedly at Riesling, who clapped enthusiastically.

“Yes, of course,” Mason mumbled. “Congratulations.” He had only to stay on the path they set for him. It would take him places. The problem was, they were not the places he wanted to go.

* * *

After dinner, Mason sat on the porch swing in the dark. Riesling slipped out of the house, and he wished that she would go back inside. “They don’t let you make very many of your own decisions, do they?” she asked as she sat next to him.

The swing rocked slowly back and forth, and he stared at the Room for Rent sign in the front window. “It’s not that,” he murmured. “They sunk a lot of money into my education. They simply want to make sure they get a good return on their investment.”

“Tell me about it. My parents are the same way.” Riesling grabbed his hand and absently toyed with his fingers as he squinted at the starry night sky. “My degree is in mass communications, but I wanted to be a dancer. I’d love to read some of what you write. It’s good to have a hobby you know.”

It is not a damned hobby. “I suppose your parents made you come here tonight.”

“Your dad is my dad’s supervisor.” She shrugged in confirmation. “He thought it might be good if you and I got to know each other. Good for him, of course.”

“Mutually served up for slaughter,” Mason quipped.

“Hey! I’d like to think hanging out with me isn’t that bad. I’m glad you’re not as butt ugly as I expected you to be,” She feigned relief and Mason erupted with laughter at her candidness. She cast a mischievous sideways glance at him. “Nothing personal. Usually when parents set up blind dates, it’s because you have a face only a mother could love. You’re kinda sexy but the pastel suit has to go.”

“My mom’s idea.” He chuckled self-consciously as she pulled at the lapel of his jacket.

“So, your mom dresses you?”

Mason grinned. “Like you’d be sitting here in a Stepford wife dress if your parents hadn’t had a say in your wardrobe,” he teased back, tugging at the knee length skirt. “Hard to believe you don’t have a boyfriend already.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at him. “Maybe I didn’t want one before now. What about you? What’s your excuse?” She nudged him playfully.

“I’m not relationship material.”

“Cool. Neither am I,” she said, crossing her arms and giving him a once over. “That’s something else we have in common. You might be a keeper.”

“I’d only break your heart.”

“Even better,” she giggled. “Tell me you’ll be my future ‘one that got away,’ and the deal is sealed.”

He shook his head, chuckling softly. “You’re exactly the kind of girl my parents would love to see me with. You should keep coming around.”

“Dating a guy like you would make my dad proud,” she countered, smiling. She leaned closer, and Mason hitched in a breath as her lips touched his. Her tongue darted into his mouth, and the swing came to a halt as she cupped the back of his head and deepened the kiss. When she broke away, she looked at him for a long time and sighed. “Not a single spark.”

Mason smiled apologetically. “Maybe the spark is overrated.” She shook her head adamantly.

“The spark is the most important part. If you don’t hear bells ringing in the hills when you’re with someone you find interesting, then you might as well shake hands and part ways.” She wrinkled her nose and shrugged.

Mason muttered, “Maybe some people don’t have a spark, period?”

She laughingly punched him in the shoulder and hopped up from the swing. “Come on. Let’s go back in. These autumn nights get chilly. Plus, we have to put on a show for your parents. Gotta make ‘em think pairing us up was the perfect idea.”

“They’d love that.” He grabbed her wrist before she could flee. “So, why do you think you don’t have a spark with me?”

Riesling paused and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead. “Who says it has anything to do with me?”

* * *

Caleb stared with antipathy at the New England house and looked at the printout in his hand. This was the place. He sighed as he left his car and approached the wraparound porch. Glancing at the Room for Rent sign in the window, he raised a fist to knock. He was certainly a long way from New York City.

The Atlantic Ocean roared far beneath a craggy bluff behind the house and brought with it cold, damp air. Caleb shivered and knocked again. The door was opened by a smiling middle-aged Asian woman.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here about the room. I’m Caleb O’Hara. We spoke by phone.”

She looked him up and down, and her smile wavered. “Ah, yes! Pleasure to finally meet you in person. Come in, come in!” Mrs. Sinclair patted her auburn hair and beckoned him into the house, handing him a pair of slippers. It took him a second to realize he was supposed to take off his boots.

“Right this way, please.” Mrs. Sinclair led him to her living room, looking over her shoulder at him several times. Caleb wondered if he should have foregone the jeans and flannel jacket. Was it too serial killer? He had simply wanted to avoid the hipster look. She gestured for him to have a seat on the floral-patterned couch.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’m a few minutes early for the interview,” he said.

“Not at all! Let me get my husband.”

She left quickly, and Caleb took in his surroundings with a jaundiced eye. He had several other properties to choose from, but this unassuming house by the seashore would allow him to focus on his art. Nothing about the place screamed distraction. He looked at the archway as a young man passing in the hall stopped and stared. Caleb lifted a hand to wave and smiled tightly. “I’m here about the room,” he repeated.

“Hi…”

“I’m Caleb O’Hara.”

“Mason.”

Caleb nodded and looked him over since he stood there saying nothing else. A shock of raven hair slanted over Mason’s almond-shaped eyes. Those eyes gave him an exotic quality. Put simply, he was one of the most beautiful men Caleb had ever seen. Fine bone structure, thin, but athletic in build, and dressed fashionably in a screen print shirt and jeans; there was nothing not to like.

“Are you—are you here for the room, too?” Caleb asked nervously.

Mason edged his way into the living room and leaned against the piano. “No, I have the misfortune to live here.”

Caleb lifted a brow. “Ah! Got it. Have many people come in for an interview, then?”

“I’m sorry for the wait, Mr. O’Hara. My husband is ready to see you now.” When Mrs. Sinclair breezed into the room, Mason slipped away as quietly as he had entered. Caleb tried not to stare after him as he rose to shake hands with the patriarch of the household.

Mr. Sinclair followed his line of sight. “I’m Desmond Sinclair. I see you’ve met my wife, Yoo Jin, and our son, Mason.”

“A pleasure to meet each of you, sir. Shall we discuss the room?” Caleb took his seat and forced his attention to the two people with the power to put a potentially agreeable roof over his head. “I’ve recently moved here from New York and am in need of more stable living arrangements now that I’ve decided to stay.”

“What do you do?” Mr. Sinclair probed. Mrs. Sinclair offered up a platter of sugar cookies, and Caleb declined.

“I’m an—” Caleb hesitated as he took in several things at once. Desmond Sinclair radiated business acumen in his tailored suit and no-nonsense demeanor. Caleb did not think he or his wife would be impressed by a starving artist. “I’m a schoolteacher,” he lied.

Mr. Sinclair nodded approval. “What do you teach?”

“Art history,” Caleb continued the charade with the first thought to pop in mind. “But the rate you are asking for the room is reasonable, and I assure you, I can afford it.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about the cost. I just wonder why you’d choose here. You probably consider this quiet town a bit of a cultural desert compared to New York,” Mr. Sinclair joked.

Caleb gave a half-smile. “A little peace and quiet is exactly what I’m after.”

The doorbell rang, and Mrs. Sinclair gracefully excused herself. Caleb glanced toward the hallway after her, and noticed that Mason was no longer there. Mr. Sinclair continued, “The attic apartment has been renovated to include a small kitchenette and bathroom. It’s a studio. I hope the lack of space won’t be a problem.”

“Not at all.”

“Did you bring a copy of your background check and references, as requested?”

“Of course, sir,” Caleb murmured, tugging the paperwork from an inner pocket of his flannel jacket. Mr. Sinclair looked it over while he questioned him further. Caleb answered with half an ear to the conversation. His attention was drawn to the picture window looking out into the backyard where Mason and a lovely young woman in white strolled companionably.

Mrs. Sinclair rejoined them as her husband outlined the house rules. “You are welcome to have visitors, but please remember that this is a Catholic household,” Mr. Sinclair stated. “Who was it, dear?”

“Mason’s girlfriend,” Mrs. Sinclair whispered.

“Ah, I forgot Riesling was coming today. Where was I? Oh, the basement laundry room is communal, Mr. O’Hara. You are free to use it. There is one inconvenience, I’m afraid. You’ll have to access your apartment from the backdoor. You are welcome to treat the back veranda as your own personal space, but we ask that you refrain from exploring the rest of our home. We enjoy our privacy as much as, I’m sure, you enjoy yours.”

“You’ve come to a decision already?” Mrs. Sinclair asked in surprise.

Mr. Sinclair smiled broadly. “I think he will be suitable. Let’s face it, dear; we have not had many offers. We agreed we wanted to settle on a tenant before winter. If it’s agreeable to you, Mr. O’Hara, welcome to your new place!”

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair.” Caleb took his gaze away from Mason now showing Riesling how to hit a croquet ball in the backyard. “I’m prepared to move in at once. After that, you’ll forget I’m even here.” He hoped he could pretend the family did not exist in the house beneath his attic room. He could certainly do without the beautiful young male distraction.

Chapter 2

Mason saw the advertisement in the newspaper for watercolor classes. He scoffed and glanced at the ceiling. The man who pretended to be a schoolteacher made almost no noise. Caleb O’Hara had placed the ad. Mason had heard him on the phone on the back veranda soon after moving in. Why would Caleb lie to his parents about what he did for a living?

Mason sighed and shook his head as he placed his fingers to the typewriter and continued his story. As he puzzled over plot twists and character arcs, he wondered some more about the man in the attic. He had not mentioned the lie to anyone, not even Riesling. She was fast becoming his best friend and confidante, along with her agreed role of fake girlfriend.

There was a tap at the door, and Mason looked up with a smile. “Yes?”

“I’m going shopping. Do you want to get out of the house?”

“Thanks, Mother, but I have a project I want to finish.”

Yoo Jin sighed and leaned deeper into his bedroom. “Did you send your resume to Mr. Peters, as your father requested?”

“Yes, of course,” he murmured, eyes trained on the typewriter.

“Mason, you must be more responsible than this. You sit in your room, typing away, wasting your life. How many more months before you choose a corporation? This dream is foolish. You must not waste any more time on this.”

He stared at the sentence he would have to strike through because of errors, and his full lips turned down at the corners. He suppressed a sigh and managed to look at his mother with more humility than he felt. “I will send more resumes.”

Yoo Jin smiled triumphantly as she crossed the room to run a hand through his shaggy black hair.

“An-nyeonghi kyeseyo, I’ll see you when I get back. Send more resumes. Make your father proud.”

“Yes,” he whispered as he watched his mother leave and felt the tension in his shoulders and neck ease away with her exit. Mason tugged the typing paper from his typewriter and carefully brushed white-out over the errors before realigning it on the roll. He had lost his train of thought. He could not get back into the writing.

Mason glanced at the ceiling again. What was the stranger in the attic doing? His parents had warned him to stay away from Caleb O’Hara. The man needed his space, they said. The money he was paying in rent was going directly toward paying off Mason’s university debt. Mason supposed he should be grateful and let the man be.

As he crept up the back stairs, he considered what excuse he would give his parents if his father arrived home from work early or his mother returned from shopping before expected. He would say he was going up to ask Caleb if it was his laundry in the dryer. His slippers moved soundlessly over the hardwood as he strolled to the attic door.

Mason stood there indecisively, telling himself it was not intrusive to knock. From the other side of the door, he heard classical music playing and tilted his head to listen closer. He tapped quietly and got no response. Mason tried the doorknob, although a voice within him screamed he was crossing a line.

“Maybe he didn’t hear me over the music,” he murmured as he entered the attic apartment.

Mason looked around the studio in surprise at the transformation three weeks of having a tenant had rendered. Caleb had set up the living space with chic white furniture. An abstract patterned rug gave a pop of color. Mason nodded appreciatively as he let the door slip shut behind him. An easel with an unfinished painting caught his eye, and he gravitated toward it. It was of the ocean at dawn.

“He said he teaches art history…Is he an artist?”

Hints of creativity piqued his curiosity—from painting materials neatly organized on a shelf to books of art on the teak coffee table. He peered at a sculpture of a very anatomically correct female sprawled on the mantel of the fireplace. He was so intrigued that he did not notice the sound of rushing water coming from the bathroom. He glanced from the sculpture to the unmade bed and saw Caleb’s trail of clothes.

Mason bit his lip and ambled to the kitchenette where a bottle of liquor stood next to a cut-glass tumbler. He picked it up and sniffed, nodding. He thought about his father’s assumption that Caleb O’Hara was coarse because of how he dressed and carried himself. He was clearly a man of status. Everything in the studio apartment seemed transplanted from the upper echelons of society. So, why was the artist here?

Suddenly, the door beside the kitchenette opened, and the sound of rushing water grew louder. Mason’s mouth dropped open as he locked eyes with Caleb. Both of them yelped in shock, and Caleb snatched a towel from the rack behind him to wrap around his naked waist. Mason turned his back.

“What are you doing in here?” Caleb asked, annoyed.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You scared the living shit out of me.” Caleb blew out a breath and brushed past him.

“I didn’t mean to. I was coming to ask if…” The things in the laundry room are yours. The words died in Mason’s throat as he stared at the water dripping down Caleb’s muscular torso, his dark hair clinging to his forehead above thick brows and deep-set eyes. His gaze dropped to Caleb’s lower body, and he squeezed his eyes shut with embarrassment. “I was coming to ask if you wanted to have a drink with me,” Mason blurted.

When Mason opened his eyes, Caleb had a pair of jogging pants in hand and sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on. A strategically placed towel stayed in place throughout the process. “Well, you could have at least knocked.”

“I did,” said Mason.

“Do your folks know you’re up here?”

“They’re not home.”

Caleb met his gaze as he rose to his feet and ambled closer, barefoot and still dripping. He seemed to realize Mason was breaking the rules, but he did not seem to mind. Caleb used the towel to pat his chest dry while studying him, sizing him up. He finally nodded. “White or brown?” he asked as he moved to the kitchenette.

* * *

Caleb tossed the towel on back of a barstool and reached in the cabinet for a bottle of gin to go with the cognac on the kitchen counter. He turned to Mason. “Pick your poison.”

“Cognac is fine.”

Caleb chuckled. “Excellent choice. Are you even old enough to drink?”

“Twenty-one and counting.” Mason smiled.

Caleb’s heart skipped a beat at how the expression transformed his face. “You should smile more often.” Mason bit his bottom lip and ducked his head as Caleb rinsed two glasses and fixed their drinks. Caleb settled on the chaise lounge and handed a glass to Mason. “So, why are you really here?” Caleb asked softly.

Mason met his gaze. “Why are you?”

Caleb lifted his brows and grinned. “I’m the one asking the questions. You’re the intruder who broke into my apartment don’t forget.”

“The door was unlocked. I didn’t break in, but I shouldn’t have entered without your permission. My curiosity got the best of me. It’s kind of surreal living in a house with a person you never see.” Mason took a careful sip of his drink, his face smoothing again.

Caleb wondered why it flattered him that the young man wanted to see him. “I’m not here to be seen.” He wondered how to get more of Mason’s rare smiles and shook his head at himself. He had to put boundaries in place. “Please don’t come up here again without my permission. You distract me from my work.”

“How can I distract you from your work if you’re a schoolteacher, and how can you teach art history if you never leave the house?”

Caleb chuckled ruefully as he set aside his glass and paced the length of the room. “Touché. You’ve figured me out. I’m not an art history teacher. I’m an artist. I listed a profession that I thought your parents might find suitable to secure the apartment. Can you keep it secret?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Mason promised. “But I already knew you didn’t teach art history. I heard you on the phone with the newspaper last week. I saw your advertisement for watercolor classes.”

“It’s a crying shame. My name used to be in the paper for much more illustrious reasons,” Caleb muttered bitterly. “Well, they say those that can’t do, teach, right?”

“Is this your work?” Mason gestured at the canvas. “If it is, it’s amazing. You captured the sunrise perfectly.”

Caleb looked at him. With his thick black hair and soulful eyes, his oval face and expressive mouth, Caleb wondered if Mason would be his next subject. He made himself stop pacing and sat on the sofa beside him. Mason’s eyes flitted over him.

“What do you do?” Caleb asked, changing course.

Mason made a sound halfway between humor and annoyance, but that disarming smile came again. “Jja-jeung na! I hate that question,” he chuckled.

Caleb grinned and crossed his arms. “Cha-what? What does that mean? You don’t want to answer?”

Mason smiled and shook his head. “It’s a phrase for annoyance, like ‘ugh!’ I get sick of that question. What do you do? Nothing. I do nothing. I want to travel the world and write, but I’m told it’s an irresponsible dream.” He shrugged and eyed Caleb.

“It is an irresponsible dream. Take it from a starving artist,” Caleb joked.

Mason growled playfully and fake-punched him in the ribs. Caleb grabbed his fists and stopped him, chuckling softly. Mason sobered but kept a half-smile. “My degree is in finance. I’ll be choosing a corporation to work for soon. My father and brother are well-connected. I’m fortunate to have many options.”

“Must be nice. I bet your girlfriend is happy about that. The window behind my bed overlooks the backyard. I see you taking walks with her every evening.”

“So, you spy on me?” Mason swatted his chest.

Caleb caught his hand and grinned. “All very romantic.” Caleb rolled his eyes comically.

“Riesling isn’t my girlfriend.”

“Do your parents know that? ‘Cause that isn’t what your mom said.”

“Since we’re trading secrets, she’s just a friend, but I’d rather my parents believe their matchmaking is working so that they stop trying.” Mason leaned his head on the back of the sofa with a sigh. “They want me to follow in the footsteps of my older brother who is getting married next year.”

“What do you write?”

Mason smiled and the sun broke through the clouds again. “Would you like to read some of it?” he asked. Caleb nodded, hardly listening. He was too busy staring. “Give me a moment to bring you the manuscript I’m working on now. I’ll be back.”

Mason excused himself, and Caleb stepped onto the landing to watch him run down to the ground floor. They heard the front door open at the same time. Mason stilled at the foot of the stairs and looked back up at him. Caleb remained for a second then stepped back into his apartment as he heard Mrs. Sinclair launch into a tirade in Korean.

Caleb assumed it had something to do with Mason being caught coming down from the attic. Caleb slowly closed the door to the studio apartment. It might not be in his best interest to draw the young man or even to get familiar with him. Apparently, he was off limits to Mason.

Caleb went back to his art, thinking it was for the best. He was not there to strike up friendships. He wanted to tell Mason to do as his parents said. Get a real job. Live a boring, disappointing life, rather than one of brief excitement followed by long years of bleak anticlimax.

He had gone to the parties, met the girls, blown the money. He had traveled the world, like Mason wanted to do, and he had seen everything keep moving while he stood in one place. Now he was twenty-eight to Mason’s twenty-one, and he felt ancient and jaded. What was outside the front door did not hold the same allure. With age came experience, and with experience came a loss of the inner child and childlike curiosity.

So, why then did the twenty-one-year-old feel like a breath of fresh air to Caleb?

* * *

Mason slid his hands down Riesling’s arms to help her hold the croquet mallet properly, but his eyes were on the attic window. She turned her face, and her soft laughter fanned over his cheek until she followed his line of sight. Riesling bit her bottom lip and took a swing at the ball. “What’s he like?” she asked.

“He’s an artist.”

“Ay!” She punched the sky when she made the shot. “You helped me improve my swing!”

“Congratulations.”

Riesling clasped her hands together and batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly. “Oh, Mason, you always know exactly what to say. If I sneeze, there you are with the perfect ‘God bless you,’” she said with a grin. “I just better not expect you to carry on a full conversation with me. You’ve got that whole brooding silence thing down to a tee.”

He smiled fleetingly, eyes darting back to the house. He thought he saw the curtain shift and wondered if Caleb was watching their “very romantic” interlude as she grabbed his hand and dragged him to the cliff edge. “Be careful,” he said out of habit. She bubbled with laughter.

“Don’t you sometimes want to take the leap?”

“It would be foolish. It’s too dangerous,” he replied. She tilted her head and her long flaxen hair spilled over her shoulder. Not a single spark? Mason blew out a breath and looked at the rocks below. He sometimes wished he could like Riesling more. She really was the perfect girl for him.

“That’s your problem, Mason Sinclair,” said Riesling. “You play everything too safe, and I suspect that is why you haven’t chosen a company yet. You would rather the known misery of your parents’ tyranny than taking risks and getting out there, doing it on your own.”

He lowered his eyes and his lips tightened. She had struck a nerve. Riesling squeezed his hand and laid her head on his shoulder. Beneath them, the ocean slammed into the cliff face, swirling away in eddies. The sky and the sea were both the same shade of gray, making the join invisible. Mason shrugged his pea-coat tighter around him as the wind whipped at his feathery black hair.

“Let’s go back. The storms come up quickly,” he murmured.

Riesling followed him to the veranda that was supposed to be Caleb’s. Mason knew his parents would not mind him intruding on Caleb’s space, as long as Riesling was with him. She sat on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What’s troubling you?” she asked. “You always look so sad. Sometimes it’s unbearable to look at your sad face. Smile for me, go on.”

He found a smile as he gazed up at her. He watched the way she tossed her hair and looked away from him with lips parted and fluttering lashes. “Now you look sad,” he teased.

“Tell me about your friend upstairs.”

Mason shifted uncomfortably. “There’s nothing to tell. I’m not allowed to bother him. He’s a busy man. I’m sure my parents don’t want me to get to know him because they think he’d be a bad influence. My father says Mr. O’Hara can’t be very successful if he’s a schoolteacher and has to rent such a cheap room. But he’s not a schoolteacher, and you should see what he’s done to the attic. It’s like something out of a magazine.”

She lifted a brow. “How do you know?”

He contemplated not telling her, but he always ended up telling Riesling everything. “I went up to see him last week. We talked for a while. He’s trying to teach watercolor classes at the library. He placed ads in the newspaper.”

“Hmm…Maybe I’ll sign up to see what’s so exciting about him.”

Mason grinned, not understanding. “What?”

She cupped his face in an intimate gesture, and he noticed his mother standing in the hallway, watching them through the backdoor window. It was all for show. Mason nodded gratefully. “Every evening for the past month, when I have come over here,” said Riesling, “you have given me half your attention. The other half is on that window.” She tipped her chin up to indicate the attic. Mason frowned in surprise.

“That’s not the case.”

“Isn’t it?” She looked him in the eyes. His gaze skated to the ceiling of the veranda. Up there, Caleb was painting beautiful seascapes, listening to classical music and moving around his stylish apartment. Mason looked at Riesling.

“I’m just curious about the places he’s been. That’s all. Places I’ll never go.”

She hopped up from his lap and smoothed her skirt. “Well, then, see if he’ll take you.”

He grinned. “Stop teasing me. Do you want to take another stroll before you go?” She shook her head. He held out his hand anyway, and she reluctantly let him lead her down the porch steps to the grassy backyard that overlooked the Atlantic. “Don’t tell me you’re offended. I can have more than one best friend.” He flashed her a smile, and she softened.

“Of course you can, but I don’t want you to get in trouble with your parents.”

“You’re the one who said I play it too safely.”

She smiled wistfully. “Does he make you want to do dangerous things?”

Mason looked skyward and laughed aloud. “What are you asking me, silly girl?” He pulled her into a hug and buried her face against his chest, and she clung to him tightly.

“Does he?” Her voice was muffled by his jacket, but she tossed her head back and gazed at him with a smile. Mason touched the tip of his nose to hers.

“Please don’t ask me foolish questions. Mr. O’Hara is our tenant. Yes, I would like to be friends with him because he’s from New York. I can use his experiences in my stories; other than that, don’t read too much into it. Don’t you sometimes wonder what goes on outside this small town?”

She wove her fingers through his hair and sifted a strand out of his eyes. “I wonder about what goes on in the world of your head.”

“Nothing,” he whispered. “Nothing goes on in this world inside my head. It’s such a lonely, boring place, best friend. Don’t begrudge me a fantasy to keep me company.”

“I don’t,” she murmured, bussing his lips lightly. “Daydream about your far-off places. Plot your escape. I’ll always be here when you come back to reality...if you can catch me!” Back to her playful self, she flitted away from him. Mason called her name and chased after her, and she laughed as she hopped in her car and locked the doors.

Smiling, Mason waved goodbye, but as soon as her car disappeared around the corner, his attention returned to the attic. He wondered what experiences Caleb could add to his collection of dreams.

Chapter 3

Mason stared at the typewriter until he was seeing double. He had heard Caleb O’Hara slip down the stairs and out the back door. Mason assumed he was headed out to give his first watercolor class.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He could not stop thinking about Caleb. He was trying valiantly not to let his imagination run wild, but a quiet voice from deep within him whispered, Why not?

No one could see inside his head therefore he could indulge. It was just a thought after all, and thoughts without words or actions have no consequence. A fantasy began to take shape. Caleb’s lips on his. Mason gripped the edge of the writing desk. He closed his eyes and slowly exhaled as his heartbeat accelerated.

He opened his mind again, and pictures flooded him like a river that could not be dammed. Caleb’s lips on his, the slant of his mouth, his tongue probing boldly, his hands pulling Mason closer…

“Stop it,” Mason muttered aloud. He swept his hair out of his face and tapped out another line to the story that he was losing interest in. The keys made a pleasant racket that almost distracted him, but he knew that he was writing to take his mind off the dangerous track it was meandering down. His plot and characters did not hold him, allowing his thoughts to venture beyond the first kiss…

* * *

Caleb pushed him to the bed and lay on top of him. When he kissed Mason again, there was more urgency.

“Do you want me to stop?” Caleb asked. Mason clutched the back of his neck tightly and half-rose, chasing his lips in answer. Caleb groaned and ran his hands down Mason’s chest to his pants and unbuckled his belt. Mason put up no resistance.

His eyes widened as the artist nuzzled his neck. The pleasure was aggressive and Mason’s head fell back as Caleb licked down his stomach. His abs clenched as Caleb deftly unfastened his pants and eased them down his hips. His soft mouth brushed Mason’s erection through his boxers. There was so much he did not know about what happened between two men but his imagination was happy to fill in the blanks. He closed his eyes and went with the flow.

“Don’t stop,” he groaned.

Caleb eased his swollen cock from his boxers and wrapped his mouth around him with a guttural moan. Mason felt the vibrations reverberate throughout his entire body. His toes curled from the shock. Caleb slowly pulled him deeper into his mouth. As more and more his shaft disappeared, the pleasure intensified. Mason gasped and clenched a fistful of Caleb’s hair.

His hips rose off the bed as he thrust into Caleb’s questing mouth. (Mason wondered if there was a chance it would feel this good in real life.) His mind supplied details that made his breath hitch. The silky glide of Caleb’s tongue. The squeeze of his hand. The fluid tug of his mouth up and down. Mason shuddered as Caleb came back up.

“More?” he asked.

Mason was terrified to say yes. But this was a daydream, just a thought. Where would his vivid imagination take him? He nodded hesitantly, and Caleb gently turned him over onto his stomach. Fluttery kisses rained over the smooth cheeks of Mason’s ass. He flinched in surprise and alarm. When Caleb slipped his tongue into the crease—Mason had no idea what that would feel like, but he imagined it would be bliss—he cried out.

Then, he felt the artist rising to his knees behind him. Mason glanced over his shoulder. Could he take more?

Caleb exposed his rigid manhood. It was thick and long and swollen with arousal. He cupped himself and masturbated for a second while Mason watched. “Just do it,” Mason urged.

Caleb pushed into his body inch by inch, slowly. Mason tensed. He expected pain. He did not know if it would be unbearable or the kind of quick torture of a needle-stick. Even in his dreams, he pictured it being intense. In and out, an intense build-up. Desire threaded through Mason’s veins as his pelvis rocked forward and back to take him in.

He heard Caleb whimper with delight. He felt his blunt nails dig into the muscular flesh of his hips as he held him in place and fucked him slow and hard. Mason bit his bottom lip, sweat beading along his brow. He clenched his fist.

The desk. He clenched the desk. Mason opened his eyes. He was holding on so tightly to the woodgrain desk that his knuckles had gone white, and his fingers were stiff. He let it go, surprised at how quickly he had almost lost control. His cock was hard as steel. The blood rushed in his ears, and his balls tightened, yearning for release.

But he could not think beyond that. He refused to think beyond that. He glanced at the clock as an idea began to form. He wanted to see Caleb O’Hara. There was no way he would tell him he had been daydreaming about him off and on all evening. No way he would voice the thrill the thought of kissing him brought.

He could go to the watercolor class and watch him in a safe, public library. His parents had told him to stay away from the attic. He would follow the rules and keep this little rebellion to himself, the way he always had. There was something about the artist that made him want to resist more than normal, if only in his dreams.

* * *

Caleb peered over his easel at what constituted the class. The two students present nodded and smiled, and he dropped his head before they witnessed his scowl. He had to believe the class would grow over time as awareness increased. He needed the money therefore he had to make a success of the endeavor. Failure was not an option. He sighed and dipped his brush in a cup of water, drying it on a napkin. “We’re almost done here, guys.”

“Would you like to see it, Mr. O’Hara?”

“Yeah, sure,” Caleb said, feigning interest. He stepped around his table to peer at the work of his oldest student Mr. Dantzler, and his mood lifted as he squinted at the execution of the impressionist-style mountainside. “This is very good, Mr. Dantzler! Are you sure you’ve never painted before?”

“Only walls and ceilings,” the old man laughed. “Just goes to show you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

“Keep up the good work.” Caleb clapped him on the shoulder. He moved to put up his art supplies and tried not to notice Mason sitting a few tables away. “Uh, please feel free to complete your paintings at leisure and take them with you when you’re done. This is it for me for tonight. Thank you for joining, and I’ll see you back next Wednesday when we’ll work on light and painting trees.”

Caleb snapped the clasps of his toolbox and hefted the plastic container, making a split-second decision to confront Mason. He marched to his table and dropped into a chair, sending travel magazines sliding to the floor. The two men reached for the books at the same time, and their hands touched.

“Sorry,” Mason whispered, pulling away.

As Caleb sat up and put the magazines back on the table, they studied each other. Caleb cleared his throat and affected annoyance. “What are you doing here?”

Mason shrugged and shook his hair out of his eyes. “I wanted to see what your watercolor class was about.”

Caleb spread his arms. “Watercolors.”

Mason tightened his lips. “Do you own the library now?” he challenged. “I took the bus here to get destination ideas for the story I’m writing, and I stumbled on your class. I decided to stay to see it.”

Caleb reigned in his irritation. “Well, you never brought me the manuscript,” he mumbled.

“You told me not to come to your room without permission.”

“You can come up anytime.” The words rolled off his lips. Caleb did not intend them, but he did not take them back. Mason looked hopeful. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it and looked away. “What?” Caleb asked.

“I was wondering if you could tell me about the places you’ve been, if you have the time. I don’t want to hold you up. I just…I’ve always wanted to go to New York.”

Caleb pulled one of the travel magazines closer and tapped a picture of red rooftops. “New York is nothing compared to say, a sunset on the Baltic Sea.” Mason sat forward with interest.

“Do you always paint the ocean?”

“No,” Caleb murmured, eyes on Mason’s lips. “I prefer to do portraits.”

Mason’s brow furrowed. “Then, why have you been painting the Atlantic?”

I don’t have a muse, Caleb thought. “For practice. Come. It’s getting late. I’ll drive you home.” The young man fell in step beside him, and they exited the quiet library. Icy raindrops hit the pavement around them as they hurried to the car. Caleb noticed Mason wearing only a light cardigan and shrugged out of his flannel, sliding it over Mason’s shoulders. Mason smiled.

“It may be best for me to wait for the bus. My parents...”

Caleb scoffed. “I’m sure they won’t mind. You don’t need to wait out here in the cold.”

“Thank you, but it’s okay. They’ll find it…” He looked away sheepishly. “They’ll find it odd if I take a ride with you. Thank you, again. Drive safely.” Mason handed him his flannel apologetically. Caleb grabbed the jacket and studied him. He did not have the heart to leave him at the dreary bus stop where the overhead light flickered uncertainly and litter skipped along the sidewalk, lifted by a breeze.

Caleb sighed. “Well, come sit in the car with me until the bus gets here. I’ll turn on the heater so we don’t freeze to death.” He unlocked his vehicle and opened the passenger door for him, but Mason hesitated. Caleb noticed they were away from streetlights. “I won’t hurt you,” he chuckled. Mason flashed a soul-stirring smile, and Caleb warmed despite the freezing rain.

“I’m not worried about you hurting me,” Mason said.

“Then, what are you worried about?”

Mason climbed into the passenger seat as Caleb went around to the driver’s side and hopped in the Jeep. He put the key in the ignition and powered on the heater full blast. Waiting for the air to warm, he cast glances at Mason who sat stiffly beside him. Mason picked up an art book from the floor beneath his feet and flipped a few pages.

“Erotic photography.” Caleb hid a smile. “Sometimes I use the images for inspiration.”

“I’m sure,” Mason grinned.

“Shut up.” Caleb elbowed him, and Mason laughed softly. Caleb noticed he did not put the book down. He slowly turned the page to a woman posed seductively with her legs parted and a waterfall of milk raining down her torso. “Anyone looking at those pictures would be inspired.”

“She reminds me of a girl I used to mess around with,” Mason commented.

“Bullshit,” Caleb chuckled.

“You think I can’t pull a girl like her?” Mason smirked and flipped him off.

Caleb crowed with laughter at being given the bird. He was captivated by the lighthearted banal chitchat as Mason increasingly let down his guard. “You’re surprising me tonight. I thought I had you figured out.”

“What could you possibly have figured out about me in the mere fifteen minutes that we spoke before?” Mason looked him in the eyes, smiling.

“That you’re sheltered and innocent.”

“No,” Mason replied. “However, that impression does usually work to my advantage with women.” He chuckled, wagging his finger to punctuate the statement.

“I see. So, you and Riesling are friends with benefits.”

“No, no. She’s different. We’re just friends. I can talk to her about almost anything. We come from the same world. She understands what it’s like to have parents who rule every aspect of your life.”

“I don’t,” Caleb snorted.

Mason went quiet, turning the pages, and there was a sense of quiet rebellion to the act. Caleb was glad that the rain pounded the roof of the car as the racket served to insulate them from the rest of the world. He discreetly shifted his erection as he looked at the book with him.

Caleb stirred with a restless energy that he could not put a name to. He kept stealing glances at his companion, and suddenly Caleb realized what the younger man seemed not to know. The restlessness was attraction. He was attracted to him. Caleb had never once even thought about sleeping with a man…until now.

Mason flashed a half-smile. “I see what you mean about this book. I’m feeling very inspired.”

Caleb chuckled and rested his head on the back of the seat. “Feel free to get creative,” he murmured.

* * *

Mason nervously tugged at the collar of his shirt. It was warm in the Jeep, and the scent of Caleb’s cologne was having a heady effect. He closed his eyes and eased his hips forward to take off some of the pressure. His body was responding to the erotic images, so he kept the book over his lap. His erection strained against the soft fabric of his clothes, and Caleb was watching his every move.

Mason averted his gaze. “What kind of women do you like?” he asked to break the tension.

Caleb shrugged. “I’ve had all kinds. All it takes is a ‘Let me draw you,’ and the panties come off.” He chuckled. Mason smiled.

“If I had a chance, I’d travel and write and make love to different women in every country,” he boasted.

“In my experience, one set of tits is about the same as the next,” Caleb said with a laugh. “You want to know what I’d do? I’d find a muse who could make me think about them on and off the page, someone I could paint from memory. Half the time, I forget their names. But, then again, I’ve always been on my own. The thought of a serious relationship doesn’t really appeal.”

Mason canted his head. “You don’t have family?”

“I was in the foster system and eventually ended up in a group home. One day I left, and I never looked back.” Caleb dropped a hand on his knee. “No, don’t look at me like that. Don’t pity me. I’ve done well for myself.”

Mason collected Caleb’s hand and lifted it, forearm to forearm. “Then, we’ll be brothers,” he murmured. “I will call you hyung for older brother.” Mason smiled at Caleb’s tanned, hairy fingers against his pale, slender ones. Caleb tried out the foreign word and butchered it. Mason snickered and shook his head. “It’s okay. Since I am younger than you, you would call me something different.”

Grinning, Caleb stared at him, and Mason bit his lower lip. “How do you say… ‘I would like to spend more time with you’?” Caleb asked quietly.

Mason hesitated, lost in the dense green forests of his eyes. He licked his lips and spoke the words in musical, fluid Korean, and Caleb’s stare intensified. Suddenly, Caleb pulled his hand free and turned down the heater. He shifted in the driver’s seat and tugged his pants, and Mason wondered if his fidgeting was because he realized how flirtatious the statement was that he had asked him to translate.

Mason nervously looked out the window at the rain letting up. “I should probably get to the bus station while it’s clear.” Caleb laid a hand to his elbow to stop him before he opened the passenger door.

“I can’t possibly say it the way you did, but I really would like to spend more time with you. Please don’t run off.”

Mason dropped his eyes as the words sank in. Caleb wanted to spend more time with him. Unfortunately, that was not possible. Mason was already sneaking around to see him. “My parents would prefer I leave you to your space.”

“Your parents aren’t here.” Caleb’s grip tightened.

The temptation to stay in the warm, comfortable vehicle in the company of the man who made him laugh and allowed him to say whatever came to mind was almost too strong to resist. However, Mason forced himself to open the door. As he moved, the erotica book slid to the floor, exposing his obvious erection. He quickly climbed out of the car and put a hand in front of himself, clasping his wrist with the other.

“Try to understand,” he said. “They have control over my future. Without my father at the helm, I’d fly off on a daydream about being a writer and end up destitute. I have no head for logic and reason.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh and wondered if Caleb had seen the evidence of his arousal. Mason was thankful for the cold rain cooling his flame.

Caleb got out of the Jeep, and strolled around to the sidewalk. He put his hands on Mason’s shoulders, fingertips brushing the back of his neck. “I want to help. Bring me your manuscript, and I’ll tell you what I think about it.” Mason groaned inwardly as Caleb clasped him by the back of his neck and put their foreheads together. “I don’t want to upset your parents, but I don’t think it’s fair that they control you either.”

Mason worried the wrong move would expose him. Caleb’s proximity made it impossible to ignore the butterflies taking flight inside of him. “I’ll find a way to bring it to you,” Mason murmured, looking away.

“That’s the spirit! Rebel a little.” Caleb jerked him into a hug. Mason’s eyes flew wide, and he quickly pushed away, and Caleb stuck his hands in his pockets with an apologetic smile. “Just don’t get into any trouble. See you, brother.”

Mason nodded. “Ye. See you later, hyung.”

He hurried to the bus stop as Caleb got back into his Jeep. Caleb did not leave until the bus arrived and Mason was safely on board. Mason watched through the window as Caleb pulled away from the library and took off for home. By his calculation, Caleb would arrive well before he did, raising no suspicions with his parents. Mason breathed a sigh of relief and settled into the seat.

His heart still raced from the unexpected hug. Caleb’s words reverberated: Rebel a little. Mason decided he would go to next week’s watercolor class. He closed his eyes and drew details from a picture of Venice that Caleb had pointed out when they were in the library. As the bus bounced and jostled along its route, Mason fantasized about going to a place like that. He pictured the sunset on the Baltic Sea, and he made a fist, remembering Caleb’s hand in his.

Chapter 4

Caleb settled the last page on top of the stack and laced his fingers together as he stared at Mason’s manuscript. He had indulged him. He had read the book with no expectations of greatness, and with a plan to tell Mason to keep writing as a hobby.

“He’s good, Gregoire,” Caleb spoke into his phone.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working on your art?”

“He’s charmingly idealistic—he typed the entire thing on a typewriter, for God’s sake—but his talent is undeniable. He tells me he has multiple stories he has been shopping around, but I know his work is being tossed into slush piles and forgotten. You know the right connections, Gregoire. Help me out.”

“I’m trying to read between the lines here. Are you telling me you’ve found a muse?”

“There’s no hidden meaning,” Caleb laughed. “The kid is talented and deserves a break. This has nothing to do with me.”

“Alright, send me a sample of his writing,” Gregoire sighed.

“Thank you, Gregoire. I’ll make this up to you.”

“You had better. You’re running out of time, by the way. I recently picked up a new artist, and he’s already giving you a run for your money. Look up Vido Charles when you get the chance.”

“Like I need the distraction,” Caleb mumbled.

“Sounds like you’re already distracted. Get back to work.”

Caleb ended the call and lost the heady excitement reading the manuscript had given him. He peered across the room at the unfinished seascape on the easel by his bed. Gregoire had a point. What his agent did not know was part of the distraction was simply keeping money coming. The Wednesday night watercolor classes would have to pick up soon, or Caleb would have to dip into his savings account. He had other things he needed to do with that money. He had to get out of this mess some other way.

Sighing, Caleb grabbed his toolbox of art supplies and snatched a blank canvas from a stack against the wall. He shoved his smaller easel and canvas in his portfolio case and hurried downstairs. He ran into Mr. Sinclair on his way out the backdoor. “Ah! Just the person I wanted to see,” he stopped him, smiling.

Mr. Sinclair pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his severe nose and found a smile. “Mr. O’Hara, what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to talk to you about your son’s writing. Have you read his work? He’s singular in his ability, and I have a friend in New York who can—”

Mr. Sinclair held up a hand in protest. “I apologize for my son’s intrusive behavior. I’ve discouraged him from bothering you, as I understand you live a private life. Please, if he comes to you again, let me know.”

“No, but it’s not a problem. I wanted to talk to you about his writing—”

“My son is an impressionable young man, Mr. O’Hara. He doesn’t need you or anyone else filling his head with more stardust. I trust you’ll respect my wishes and please, stay away from him from now on.”

Caleb stood with his mouth open as Mr. Sinclair continued on his way. He exited out the backdoor, bristling at being spoken to like a subordinate.

He knew the importance of keeping a level head, and he understood why the Sinclairs wanted their son to focus on a more profitable career. Caleb, however, was equally certain that Mason had a clear shot at success if he pursued his writing. He knew talent when he saw it.

He followed the trail to his favorite painting spot. The path meandered through a copse of trees and led to a grassy knoll above the ocean. Setting up his easel, Caleb turned his attention to the rolling waves kissing the shore. The wind ruffled his hair and the brittle stalks of brown-green grass, but it was warm for an autumn day. Caleb worked for hours as his thoughts tumbled one over another, always circling back to Mason Sinclair.

He wondered why he cared so much. “I want him to live up to his potential,” he muttered to himself. Caleb had taken a chance on his art when he was a young man, parentless and untethered. He would never have known what he could do had he not been forced to take care of himself.

Mason had lived a more privileged life, but if his parents continued to hold him back, he would never learn to soar. He seemed to realize it, too. Mason’s unhappiness was palpable and that was why Caleb cared. The kid had called him brother, taking on Caleb’s problems as his own. It had been a touching moment.

It seemed only right for Caleb to call Gregoire and give Mason a reason to smile the next time he spoke with him. The problem was though, he could not do that. He was not permitted to talk to Mason Sinclair. Caleb sighed and stared at the ocean.

Mr. Sinclair’s order to stay away from his son only made Caleb want to be around him all the more. Besides, this should not have been an issue, as they were two consenting adults after all. Caleb threw down his paintbrush and stretched. “You’re getting into dangerous territory,” he told himself. He wondered if Mason realized the sparks flying between them were much more than brotherly love. He was troubled by this.

What did it mean that he was attracted to a beautiful man with thick black hair and a smile that could ignite Jupiter? It made him feel out of touch with his own reality. The real Caleb O’Hara was no quiet schoolteacher painting tranquil scenes by the ocean and going to bed alone every night. His reality was loud, raw, and filled with available women.

Caleb collected his things and trekked back to the house, inwardly lamenting some of the things he had had to give up now that he was broke. This was not New York. Mason Sinclair was not one of the interchangeable play things to be bedded and discarded as the mood struck. Caleb intended to stop by his room to tell him that his writing was worth pursuing, but after that he would leave well enough alone.

* * *

Mason lay on his bed, crooked an arm behind his head and smiled. An angst-ridden singer wailed about his umpteenth overdose through his headphones. He groaned and laughed at himself. Had that really been him in the car with Caleb, boldly alluding to women he had been with, staring at the pages of an erotic publication? He could hardly believe it.

Mason had briefly imagined himself the sexy writer girls dreamed about instead of the dull financial analyst. With Caleb, he could be spontaneous and daring. Better still, the sophisticated artist wanted to hang out with him again. Never mind that it was against the rules, Mason decided to find a way to see him.

Riesling’s question echoed in his head. Did Caleb make him want to do dangerous things? Mason’s smile faded. “There’s nothing dangerous about it,” he whispered. Riesling wouldn’t understand the need for freedom of expression. With her, it was all about decorum, wearing the right mask on the right stage. He did not have to put on an act with Caleb.

The door of his bedroom swung open, and Mason sat up and tugged the earbuds from his ears. His father stood in the doorway with arms crossed and an expression full of outrage. Mason turned off the music on his phone and looked at him with trepidation, waiting for the hammer to drop. The only time Desmond Sinclair came to his bedroom was to lecture him.

“I sent off the resume to Mr. Peters,” Mason replied preemptively.

Mr. Sinclair closed the door behind him, and he took a seat at Mason’s writing desk. His hands clasped before him, as if he needed heavenly strength to keep himself from detonating. Mason saw the tell-tale twitch of the muscle at the corner of his father’s eye. What had he done now? There was no way his parents could have found out about…

“Have you been spending time with Mr. O’Hara?”

Mason met his father’s gaze and lied through his teeth. “No.”

“Why is he telling me about your writing? Have you been harassing him to send your work to someone in New York?” Mr. Sinclair’s decibel level rose with each word.

“Of course not,” Mason scoffed.

“I’ve done everything in my power to provide you and your brother with a good life, including going nearly bankrupt to make sure you attended the best schools. At first this little hobby of yours was charming.” Mr. Sinclair gestured dismissively at his typewriter. “But in comes this counterculture bohemian who dresses like a bum and doesn’t seem to know what an honest days’ work looks like, and it dawns on me: that’s your future if I let you continue on your current track.”

“Dad, I finished my courses and gained a Masters on a fast-track. I am sending off resumes. I have done everything you asked me to do.” Mason swallowed thickly as the rancor rose within him. His glossy eyes flew to his father’s hard face. “What more do you want me to do?”

“I want you to grow up!” Mr. Sinclair swept the typewriter from the desk, sending it to the floor with a deafening crash.

“Argh!” Mason’s heart froze, and his eyes widened in horror.

His father stared at the typewriter with the same mix of shock and alarm on his face. However, the look quickly passed, and he continued to target the device as the root of all his problems. He ruthlessly kicked it aside, and Mason felt the blow to the bottom of his soul. A single tear spilled, but he dropped his head to hide his pain.

“Now,” Mr. Sinclair smoothed his hair, adjusted his glasses and exhaled calmly. “If my sacrifice for your future means anything to you, you’ll use your head. It could take decades to make a name for yourself as a writer. In a year’s time, you could be rising in ranks at a prosperous firm as an analyst. You’re old enough to understand which is the better choice, surely.

“And if I catch you going up to the attic, so help me, I will put him out of this house. I’ve worked too hard on building you up to let one person ruin you.”

The door closed and Mason slid to the floor beside his battered typewriter. A ribbon spool spun away, and the roller hung haphazardly, broken on one side. Type-bars were crooked from the force of the fall. It could be repaired, but it would take money. Mason cradled it in his arms as a sense of anguish overwhelmed him.

When he looked up, Caleb was standing in the hallway with a black portfolio case over his shoulder and a toolbox in his hand. “What happened?” he asked quietly.

Mason sniffed and rose to his feet, putting the broken typewriter back on the desk where it belonged. He crossed the room to close the door, but he paused on the threshold and looked Caleb in the eyes. “You thought you were helping, but I explained this to you. Please don’t help me anymore.” Mason slammed the door shut on Caleb.

Mason would not see Caleb again. He would adhere to his parents’ wishes. Anything less led to heartache. He could not bring himself to look at the broken typewriter again. He heard a soft thud against his door, and he glanced over his shoulder. He waited for Caleb’s footsteps to recede down the hall before he opened the door again. Caleb had left behind a painting of the ocean.

Mason took it into his bedroom and stared at the mesmerizing use of color. Strokes of cerulean, aquamarine, hints of scarlet and umber dominated. He sighed, wishing Caleb had also painted a boat for him to sail away on.

* * *

Caleb’s thick eyebrows clashed as he marched through the vintage thrift shop. Mason’s devastation chased him from aisle to aisle. He passed racks of mothball scented clothes and furniture from bygone eras. With dogged persistence, he hunted for a replacement typewriter. How could that tyrant Sinclair destroy something his son held so dear?

Caleb struggled not to judge, given how little he knew of what had occurred before he came into the house, but the thought of Mason’s father intentionally breaking the typewriter pierced him to the core. His eyes widened when he spotted a pale green Remington sitting on a secondhand desk, and surrounded by dusty books. He made a beeline for it.

He clutched the warranty and receipt in one hand as he pushed open the shop door. He wished he had Mason’s number to call him and arrange for him to get it without his parents finding out. On second thoughts, Caleb did not care if it pissed off the Sinclairs when they saw it. They deserved to be shaken up.

The Jeep roared to life, and he made his way back to the cozy two-story house. His previous good mood deserted him when he spotted Riesling’s car in the driveway. Caleb parked in his usual spot under a tall tree in the backyard. He squinted at the cliff’s edge where Mason stood in the twilight with the waifish blonde who always wore ultra-feminine dresses and red lipstick. Caleb rolled his eyes and climbed out of the Jeep.

It did not help that Mr. Sinclair was the first person he encountered. The man was standing in the hallway with a newspaper in hand, and Caleb glared in his direction. He could not casually stroll past him to put the box by Mason’s bedroom door. This had to be addressed now. “Mr. Sinclair,” he cleared his throat. “May I have a word with you, please?”

Desmond Sinclair nibbled on an arm of his glasses and looked him up and down. “Yes?”

“Sir, I know you might find me completely out of line but I must say this. When I told you that Mason needed an agent for his brilliant writing, I had no idea you would use that as an excuse to destroy something you know was very precious to him.”

“You’re completely right,” Mr. Sinclair said. “You are completely out of bounds. Do you have children, Mr. O’Hara?”

“No, sir, I don’t, but—”

“In that case, come back and talk to me when you have a bit more experience with parenting,” said Mr. Sinclair, turning away.

“I will not be dismissed by you!”

Mrs. Sinclair stepped out of the kitchen in alarm at raised voices. Caleb had not intended to shout but the words had roared out of his throat with a life of their own. If the damage was done, then so be it. He was not backing down without at least being heard. Mr. Sinclair turned back slowly with wide-eyed anger.

“What I can’t figure out, Mr. O’Hara, is how this is any of your business.”

Caleb persisted, “Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, I lied to you. I’m not a schoolteacher. I’m a well-known visual artist. Look me up. I lied because I needed the privacy and isolation to be able to work on my art without the press finding out my location, but I’m willing to give up all of that to make you understand I know what I’m talking about. Kick me out after this if you must but I would not have said anything if I did not believe Mason is truly gifted and should be given a chance to decide his own destiny.”

Mr. Sinclair narrowed his eyes. “That’s all well and good. I know you think I’m a controlling bastard who micromanages my kid’s life, and that’s the truth. I am and I do. I do because I know what’s best for my son. Not you with your yuppie New York City sensibilities and not Mason himself, with his immature refusal to get his head out of the clouds.”

“Sir, have you ever considered that he can’t grow up because you won’t let him?” Caleb challenged.

Mr. Sinclair looked past him, and Caleb glanced over his shoulder as Mason entered through the backdoor with Riesling in tow. Her girlish laughter suddenly went silent. “What’s going on?” Mason asked nervously. His eyes pleaded for current tensions to cease.

Caleb’s shoulders slumped, the fight gone out of him. He did not want to make the situation worse. “Nothing,” he muttered. “I was letting your mother and father know that I’m not a schoolteacher. Mr. Sinclair, thank you for letting me say what I had to say. If you’d like me to leave, I understand.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Mr. Sinclair replied gruffly. “Thank you for speaking your mind. I’ll, uh…I’ll take what you said into consideration.” The older gentleman locked eyes with him, and Caleb nodded gratefully.

“By the way, I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of getting your package for you.” Caleb shoved the box from the thrift store into Mr. Sinclair’s hands.

If the man was serious about taking what he had said into consideration, then he would right the wrong himself. Caleb darted up the stairs to the attic and closed off from the rest of the world—from the nonplussed girl, the boy with the haunting face and the old man conducting an orchestra that was not his to lead. He blew out a breath as he leaned against the door and tallied up the days he had been in the house. A little over a month. He had not completed anything other than a few preliminary sketches of the same face, all from memory.

Chapter 5

From the grassy knoll where Caleb painted the Atlantic Ocean at dawn, the house could not be seen. The landscape was shrouded in fog. Caleb painted the dense haze and dark rocks studding the shoreline, emphasizing tonal differences. He considered adding the distant figure walking on the beach.

Caleb realized that he was looking at Mason. The ocean danced at his ankles, and the wind ruffled his hair. Caleb felt the familiar uptick in his heart rate, and he knew what that meant. Like the waves that pounded the cliff face, his desire was sudden and fierce and completely unstoppable.

His lips tightened in a frown as he let his hands fly over the canvas, uncertain of how long he had before Mason noticed him. Caleb rendered Mason’s likeness and captured the thoughtful face that plagued his dreams. With a sigh, he set aside his brush. “What am I going to do about you?” he wondered aloud.

Maybe it was a trick of the breeze that made Mason hear him and turn away from the sea. Caleb shyly lifted a hand in a wave. He thought he saw a smile. His mouth went dry as Mason took to the path that would lead to him.

“What are you doing here?” Mason asked softly as he sat on the picnic blanket beside him. His morning smile was drowsy and pleasant. Caleb looked away.

“I had to get something accomplished.”

“I thought I was helping you to do that by staying away.”

“It’s not you,” Caleb said.

Mason nodded, accepting his words at face value. His eyes scanned over the painting Caleb had nearly completed, and he nodded again. “It looks perfect.”

“I know. That’s the problem. There’s no rawness. There’s no spark.”

Mason looked at him sharply. Caleb shrugged. Mason asked, “Do you hear bells in the hills when you paint?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Caleb snorted with laughter.

Mason grinned and shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s something someone said to me once. It was you who got the typewriter for me, wasn’t it, Caleb-hyungnim?”

“I couldn’t stand to think of you not writing. I’ve kept your manuscript in case your father throws another of his fits.”

Mason laid a hand over Caleb’s, and their eyes met. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Mason continued to study him, but Caleb turned his attention to collecting his art supplies. “You’re welcome. Now I have to get back to my apartment. The sun is up. The breeze is clearing the fog away. I’ve lost the light.” It was time to retreat before he did something he would regret.

Mason stilled him with a touch to his shoulder and pulled him into a hug. Caleb held his breath. The side of Mason’s face met his. Caleb slowly wrapped his arms around his waist and drew him closer, inhaling his cologne—masculine and arousing. Caleb braced himself for the shock of a male chest pressed intimately to his. The embrace was surprisingly light and non-confining. Yet, everywhere they touched, Caleb was on fire.

“You’re not supposed to be here. What will your parents think?” He closed his eyes and clenched a fistful of Mason’s shirt to pull him away, but Mason’s half-smile held him hostage.

“They’re at mass. I feigned a headache.”

“Why?”

Mason lifted his brows and ducked his head slightly. “To see you.”

“Why?” Caleb pressed. He clasped Mason’s chin and lifted his head. “Why do you want to see me, Mason? Do you know?” Mason grabbed his hand and moved it from his face but kept eye contact.

“Why do you make me feel like I’m doing something wrong?” he asked.

Caleb looked down and exhaled slowly. “You should stay away from me. You don’t have enough life experience to deal with what you’re getting into with me.”

There was a pause. “Is it a paradox that you have all the experience that I want?”

“You don’t know what you want,” Caleb scoffed. “You don’t even know how to ask for it.” He snatched a blade of grass from the root and toyed with it to give his hands something to do. It was insanity to desire him. He threw aside the grass in frustration.

When he stole a glance, Mason was still watching him. “What do you want?” Mason asked.

Caleb boldly laid a hand on Mason’s upper thigh. He let his fingers walk to the clasp of Mason’s pants—knowing he risked rejection—but when the button released with a soft accompanying click, Mason did nothing. Caleb unzipped Mason’s pants before he lost his nerve.

His heart raced as he licked his lips uncertainly. He had never done this with another man. Yet, Caleb could not deny the thrill it gave him to feel Mason’s cock beneath his palm. He fumbled the zipper free, and Mason fell back on his elbows to watch what he would do next.

Caleb let his paint-stained fingers find Mason’s growing erection and brought it from the confines of his clothes. He noted the faster rise and fall of Mason’s chest. He slid his hand down the thick shaft and got a firmer grip, and Mason flinched with pleasure. Caleb locked eyes with him, waiting for the “No” he was sure would come. But Mason canted his pelvis forward with a sultry moan, and Caleb hardened at the reaction.

He let his touch say the things his mouth refused to say out loud. He wanted him. Plain and simple. Caleb masturbated Mason slowly and precisely while he stared into his eyes, feeling that the wrongness of it was right. Mason’s breathing quickened, but it was what was happening below the waist that excited Caleb.

He felt the ripple of Mason’s cock expanding as his hand moved faster. He wondered what would happen if he squeezed. Varying his pace and grip, he played Mason’s body like an instrument, making him thrum with anticipation. Every feeling and every sound took Caleb closer to the edge. His own erection strained against his pants, but this was not about him.

It was about making Mason realize that playing with fire was dangerous. Or, so he told himself. Maybe it was about doing what he had been daydreaming since seeing the beautiful young man in the hallway in the first place. Caleb rose on his knees, unable to resist the temptation any longer. When their lips connected, it was everything Caleb had imagined and more. He went weak with wonder.

Mason’s questing tongue pushed past his lips and dove deeply. His mouth yielded to Caleb’s passion. They breathed each other’s scents and climbed higher with arousal. What was this? Caleb did not know. He was a worldly man with years of experience at seducing women, but being turned on by a man was a shock he was not prepared for. Mason grabbed his shoulder as if seeking reassurance that what they were doing was real.

Caleb groaned into his mouth. It was real, and it was unstoppable. He pressed Mason to the blanket and kissed him fiercely while his hand continued the magic. Mason’s hips bucked. Caleb pushed his pelvis forward, grinded against him in an erotic frottage. He tried to stop himself, but he could not. The desire licked through him like flames. They writhed together as Mason fought the climax.

“Don’t hold back,” Caleb whispered.

Mason clutched the picnic blanket in both fists and tensed. He closed his eyes and emitted a strangled moan. His head fell back. Caleb licked and bit Mason’s bottom lip. With a sob, Mason laid a shaky hand on top of his and wordlessly urged him to go faster. He took his hand away when Caleb obeyed.

Mason thrust in and out of Caleb’s grip, spasms of ecstasy coursing through his steely manhood. Swearing softly, Caleb wrapped both hands around him. “Come for me,” he gasped. There was no turning back now. He bent his head and dripped a thin stream of spit over Mason’s throbbing cock. Mason cried out. Caleb knew exactly how to take him over the edge.

Mason ran his fingers through Caleb’s hair and gripped a fistful, which drove Caleb mad with lust. Mason feverishly moaned something in Korean that sent shivers through him. He had no idea what the writer was saying, but it sounded like honey and strawberries. In that moment, Caleb did not care if he was under the influence of too many nights without sex. He desperately wanted to take things further. His body ached to be touched the same way.

And he told himself that was it. He wanted to be touched because his libido was raging due to a long stretch of inactivity. That had to be it. Nothing else made sense.

Suddenly, Mason sighed rapturously and erupted, quickly turning so that the stream soaked the picnic blanket and not his clothes. Caleb bit his lip to silence his growl of amazement. He watched the pearly liquid fire from Mason’s cock and spill over his hand as Mason’s quiet sounds of passion filled the morning.

Caleb stretched atop him to feel the tremors that wracked his body, feel him letting go. Caleb rocked his hips forward and back, and he rubbed his painful erection against Mason’s side. But he had to stop. Anything more would lead to the clothes coming off, and he had already done enough. He was the older, more experienced one. He had to pump the brakes.

Caleb eased away and stared at his fingers which were covered in the silky evidence of Mason’s completion. Finally, Mason stared at him with a confused look at what had just transpired. Did this make them gay? Caleb had not intended what had happened. But now that it was done, he did not know what to call it. Attraction. Chemistry. A mistake. He sighed and stared at the sky, lost.

“If this isn’t what you want,” Caleb murmured, “stay away from me. Stay away so I can stop seeing your face every time I close my eyes. Otherwise, I can’t stop.” Mason shook his hair out of his hooded eyes and stared at him in sated silence, and Caleb realized that even if he stayed away, he would never forget that face.

* * *

Mason sat at the piano in the living room, his fingers tapping out the notes that mimicked the bells he heard in his head. Riesling watched from the floral-patterned sofa as he transitioned to a few simple chords of a ballad. A soft smile touched her red lips. “Something’s changed about you over the past few days,” she said.

He looked up and sang the Korean words to the song. He grinned as her eyes widened with surprised pleasure. “Nothing’s changed,” he murmured, looking back at the keys. His face devoid of emotion. He could not let his feelings show. He was branded by the touch of Caleb’s hands, and he should have been disturbed. Instead, he was breathless with wonder.

He sighed and closed the piano lid. “Nothing’s changed. What do you want to do today?”

“I want to know who has you singing love songs,” she laughed. “Is my position as your faux girlfriend in jeopardy? Who is she and how long before we have to stage a fake break-up?”

Mason moved to the sofa beside her. “Would that make you sad, Ries?”

“I just want you to be happy. I knew this day was coming.”

“I’m not breaking up with you.” He smiled.

“Are you asking me if it would make me sad not to see you every day when you move on?”

“I’m saying you don’t have to worry about that. There’s no new girlfriend.”

“There’s someone new,” she insisted softly. Mason rubbed his hands together and studied his fingers to avoid looking at her. “Why don’t you admit you like him?” She ruffled Mason’s hair playfully when he stared at her in shock.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he whispered with a short laugh. She tucked her arm through his and peered into his eyes knowingly. “Riesling, don’t make ugly assumptions.”

“What’s ugly about it?”

“That’s beside the fact. Anyway, I’m not in love,” he muttered.

Riesling sat up straighter when Mr. Sinclair strode into the living room, wearing his usual scowl. “Mason, I got an email from Mr. Peters. What’s this about you sending him your resume but asking him to hold onto it for a year? Oh, Riesling. Please excuse us for a moment.” She nodded and slipped quietly from the room.

Mason slowly rose to his feet. He was annoyed as had expressly asked Mr. Peters to keep the information to himself. He straightened his shoulders and squared his jaw. “I asked him to hold onto it because I would like to have a gap year. As I explained to Mr. Peters, I think it would strengthen my resume to add travel abroad to the list of qualifications that make me a suitable candidate for the position.”

Mr. Sinclair shook the email printout. “Are you out of your mind?”

Mason dropped his head. “It would make my resume more competitive. If I maintain a travel blog, I can show potential employers I have a head for business and the creativity required to critically problem-solve. That’s exactly what all the corporations are looking for. Ask Robert.”

“So, on top of the expenditures of university and grad school, you want me to take on the frivolous expense of you skipping continents?” Mr. Sinclair laughed without humor and crossed his arms. “Tell me I haven’t raised an idiot for a son. We both know that’s not realistic. We’re currently renting out a room in our attic to help with the costs you’ve already incurred! Robert has already assumed responsibility for his school costs. You need to stick to the game plan.”

“Why can’t you understand? I don’t want to lock myself into a cubicle for the rest of eternity without seeing what else is out there first!”

“I’ll tell you what else is out there.” Mr. Sinclair shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out a receipt, pushing it into Mason’s chest. The paper fluttered to the floor. “The cost of toilet paper, toothpaste, deodorant, ad nauseam. While you loiter around the house, and taking long romantic walks with your girlfriend, your mother and I do everything to take care of you. Don’t even get me started on your clothing allowance!”

“Then, I’ll give up the expensive clothes. I only wear what you and mother tell me I should to look presentable for your important friends. Do you think these clothes matter to me more than my future? Father, I’m not trying to disrespect you or disregard the sacrifices you’ve made for me. I know better than anyone else how hard you’ve worked your entire life. I hardly saw you while I was growing up. But, this is my life, and I don’t want to live it the way you lived yours!”

“My God, what has gotten into you? I’ve never known you to be so obstinate.” Mr. Sinclair softened and clasped him by the shoulders. “You think I’m being heartless, and I’m not. Don’t you know I want you to have everything that you desire? But, do the numbers, son. Show me where I’m supposed to pull thousands more dollars for plane tickets, hotel accommodations, the cost of attractions, eating, etc. You say you wanted to show Mr. Peters you could think critically. Well, now would be a good time to start.”

Mason agreed. He needed to use his powers of critical thinking to figure out where to pull the money. “What if I get a job and cover the expenses of travel myself?” he asked.

Mr. Sinclair threw up his hands. “Fine. If you can pull it off, be my guest. You let that rascal upstairs put this nonsense into your head. I know it. Mr. O’Hara can afford to be a dreamer. I looked him up. He has a net worth of near millions while he’s slumming it in our attic. Did he tell you that?

* * *

Caleb set up the painting for photographing. Gregoire was in his ear. “Did you check out the artist I told you about, Vido Charles?”

“I’ve been focusing on my own work, thank you very much. How is your search for an agent for Mason going?” Caleb dragged the studio lights closer to illuminate the picture which was framed against a black drop cloth.

“Give me another week on that. I’m concerned, Caleb. You’ve been there for a month and a half, and the best thing you sent me was a manuscript. I’m in the business of representing artists, not writers. Now, you say you’ve been focusing on your work, but you have nothing to show for it. I’m at my wit’s end with you to be honest.”

“Calm your tits. I’m working.” Caleb juggled the cellphone to his other ear as he took a test shot. The flash briefly washed the room in brilliant white light. “I’m taking photographs to send to you as we speak. You said you wanted something great, not something thrown together.” Caleb adjusted his position slightly and took another shot. “And I think you’ll be happy with the rawness of this one.”

“So, who is he?” Gregoire asked curiously.

Caleb smiled. “He’s nobody, Greg.”

“Oh, he’s somebody. You knew exactly who I was talking about without needing clarification. Is he your new muse? That’s a refreshing change. Buyers might love that, coming from you, the consummate playboy.”

Caleb sighed. “He’s nobody. By the way, thanks for the birthday gift. I think I’ll treat myself to the strip club tonight with the money you sent me, if they even have one in this backwater that is.”

“I thought a little cash might make your day since you won’t touch your savings. You’re out there living like a poor starving artist, aren’t you? I don’t know why you insisted on disappearing. It’s all a bit pretentious isn’t it?”

Caleb laughed. “Walking around New York City without a shirt was pretentious. I like to think of my seclusion as romantic. I’m a modern-day Monet, up at dawn, painting the Atlantic sunrise.”

“Whispering sweet nothings to your new male lover.”

“Don’t,” Caleb bristled. “What I’m doing over here has nothing to do with what I do over there.”

“Then, you admit it? You have a thing for your writer? Oh, this is going to be good! I can’t wait to see the paintings.”

“Keep your sordid homoerotic fantasies and speculations to yourself. He’s barely legal, he’s too inexperienced, and I’m too old for a sexual revolution.”

“Listen to me, you stubborn fool. If he can get you to paint with the zest you used to have, hold onto him, for your own sake.”

A knock interrupted the conversation, and Caleb looked at the door nervously. “I have to go, Gregoire. I’ll be in touch, promise.”

He threw open the door and saw Mason standing there with a very troubled expression. Caleb put up his guard as he did not want to instigate another round of intimacy. He really had believed that Mason would stay away as instructed.

“I’m sorry to interrupt…do you have time to talk?”

Caleb gestured for him to come into his apartment and slowly closed the door. “Your parents…?”

“They’re at dinner with my older brother and his fiancé.” Mason sat on the sofa and rested his elbows on his knees, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I have a dilemma.”

“What is it?” Caleb took a seat across from him.

“I need to figure out a way to fund a gap year. My father believes I’m incapable of coming up with the money, but I’m determined to make it happen.”

Caleb quirked a brow, wondering how he was supposed to help. “Maybe you could contract out to small businesses for a while?”

Mason’s eyes met his. “That would keep me from having to commit to a corporation. Good thinking.”

“You look drained,” Caleb said with concern. He hesitated but his earlier resolve was failing fast and he finally reached out and ran a hand through the other man’s hair. “Do you think you could sneak away? It’s my birthday and I’m going out tonight. You could use a taste of the nightlife, too. It’s the cure for the blues.” He grinned.

Mason smiled shyly. “Um, I could tell my parents I’m going to the library?”

Caleb sat back, relaxing. “We can hang out for a few hours to take your mind off things. Meet a couple girls, have a couple drinks. After that, you might be able to come up with a better solution to your problems. What do you say?”

Mason chuckled and nodded. “Let me call them and tell them I’m going out. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

As Mason left the room, Caleb resolved yet again to keep his hands, and every other part of his anatomy, to himself. He was taking Mason out because he hated to go out alone and because the kid needed a break.

“C’est la vie,” Caleb muttered as he searched his closet for something to wear.

He had meant what he told Gregoire. Mason was too young for a relationship and for the heartbreak of a casual affair. Caleb decided he would take him to the strip club to remind Mason that he liked pretty blonde girls. He hoped that would be enough to retarget the other man’s desire away from himself.

Chapter 6

Mason’s patent leather shoes whispered over the concrete floor of the Men’s Show Club. He smoothed his thick hair and tugged the blazer of his shale gray suit, unaware that he had garnered the attention of nearly every woman in the building the second he had entered. Beside him, Caleb cut an equally impressive figure in a white suit and red sneakers. They both looked like money.

Caleb O’Hara was completely at home in the environment, but Mason Sinclair wasn’t. He had never been to a strip club. He had told his parents he was going out with a few friends. Mason knew his father had questions about his uncharacteristic behavior. He had not forced the issue, and Mason had not volunteered further information.

The dark, smoky room pulsed with heavy bass, and eight dancers were on the stage. The selection was broad—from bubbly blondes to smoldering red heads. Servers dressed in alluring costumes were walking the floor. Bouncers dotted the establishment, clothed islands in a sea of near-naked flesh. The weekend crowd was boisterous, shouting suggestions for the dancers to get dirtier.

Caleb ushered Mason to a spot near the action, and Mason’s eyes followed a svelte woman swirling down a pole. “Happy birthday, hyungnim,” he murmured. “Let’s have a drink to long life. My treat.” In the back of his mind, he pondered why Caleb would bring him to a place like this. Was it a test? He found the women attractive. Test passed. His gaze skated to the man who sat next to him.

Caleb called over a server and ordered cognac. “How’s this for a night on the town?”

“Fantastic,” Mason lied. It was too loud and much too crowded. He sighed and leaned in the scoop-back chair, restlessly tapping his fingers on the stage that doubled as a tabletop. Caleb swatted Mason’s chest.

“Take your pick. I’m buying you a dance tonight.”

“No.” Mason colored and looked down with a smile. “How about you get one for yourself, okay? It’s your birthday.” The woman crawled seductively to the edge of the stage and whipped her long hair back as she stared at Mason with a look that said she would gladly eat him alive.

Caleb chuckled softly. “You look liked you’d rather be anywhere but here. Let’s go to the back. It’s probably quieter, at least.” Caleb casually strolled to a curtained door where a bouncer stood guard. He peered over his shoulder at Mason, and Mason grabbed their drinks and slowly followed. “Two private dances. Your best,” Caleb said quietly.

He flashed a large amount of cash, and the bouncer nodded discreetly, pulling back the curtain. Mason studied the purple-lit corridor with interest. The walls, floor and ceiling were all painted black. The cacophony of the main floor penetrated minimally once the curtain swooshed closed behind them, and the frantic energy of the crowd was absent. He turned to Caleb who put his hands on his shoulders and smiled triumphantly. “Loosen up. You’re going to enjoy this. I promise.”

“Caleb…” Before Mason could voice further protest, two giggling girls came entered behind them. He raised a brow. The club had, indeed, supplied its best. The women were pin-up perfect. He got an eyeful of cosmetically enhanced breasts poured into tiny shirts, hourglass figures flaring to narrow hips, and perfectly formed tight asses. Both wore school girl outfits. Mason swallowed with difficulty.

“Are you the two for the private dances?”

Caleb produced yet more cash and the girls beckoned for them to follow.

“Right this way, boys.” The blond one of the two ushered them into the lushly appointed private room.

Mason pushed aside his reticence and looked around. It was not as bad as he had expected. There were two burgundy chairs and a bistro table. Mirrors lined the opposite wall, and a gilded chandelier dripped just enough light to add enchantment. The brunette strolled to a hidden stereo system to cue up music.

“It’s my birthday, ladies. Make it special,” Caleb replied with a wolfish grin. He threw himself into a chair and waved Mason to the other. Mason took a seat, staring at the half-dressed women. What had he gotten himself into? “Particularly…” Caleb grabbed the wrist of the blonde and smiled up at her as he directed her to Mason’s lap. “Make it special for him.”

Mason tried to relax. The blood was already rushing to a region below the belt, and the sultry music that poured from the speakers increased his tension. He gripped the seat of the chair and let out a slow breath as the blonde slid intimately against his body. He glanced over at Caleb where the sexy brunette was slowly lowering herself with a rolling motion of her pelvis.

Mason bit his bottom lip. The girl in his lap glided smoothly back and forth. It is just a dance, he told himself. His erection was hard to hide with the blonde all over him. She smelled like cherries, and she looked unbelievable. But she was not the reason for his physical reaction. It was the look on Caleb’s face. It took Mason right back to the grassy knoll where Caleb had gotten him off in the most erotic, taboo way possible. He still struggled to insert that little cameo into his everyday reality.

Caleb watched him while the blonde seductively simulated sex. Mason sucked in a breath as she bounced up and down on his cock with her damp, hot snatch stroking his swollen manhood. “Somebody’s happy this birthday,” she giggled.

Caleb groaned and let his head drop to the back of the chair, staring at the brunette. The two women shared a look and backed away at the same time. Mason hastily took a sip of his cognac. “What’s going on?” he murmured. “Why did they stop?”

Caleb grinned and toasted glasses with him. “You’ve really never done this before, have you? It’s time for the clothes to come off.”

* * *

There was a naked woman in Caleb’s lap doing her best to dry-hump him to climax. His head swam from the nearly empty bottle of champagne chilling on the bistro table. The getting to know each other phase was over, he guessed. The last thirty minutes of the hour-long private dance promised to be even more intimate than the first thirty.

The brunette slid to her knees on the floor between his legs and took his erection between her breasts, masturbating him with the globes. He sweated and loosened the collar of his shirt as his hips strained forward involuntarily. “Mmph!” he moaned, chuckling. He was hard enough to chop wood.

After a similar night at this kind of club in New York, he could have his pick of women to take home. A glance at Mason reminded Caleb that he wasn’t in New York and that there was nobody waiting at the attic apartment to take the edge off.

Caleb licked his lips and forced himself to pay attention to the woman smiling and jiggling her breasts around his stiff cock. “You like that?” she asked. His hard-on said more than words could. The irony was that his erection had little to do with her.

He let his arm drop to the space between the two chairs where Mason’s arm already dangled. Their fingers brushed, and Caleb closed his eyes as the sparks of arousal hit home. He knew he should pull away. It was an accidental touch, a completely meaningless touch. So, why did it make his heart race? He held Mason’s hand. The darkened room provided cover, and Caleb allowed himself to believe the indiscretion would not be seen.

His pelvis rocked forward and back to the faster tempo of his private dancer; yet, his fingers danced over Mason’s teasingly in a separate erotic interplay. He was more aware of Mason than the woman. She whipped her hair and rolled her hips while Caleb marveled at the softness of Mason’s palm, trying not to remember what they had done on the grassy knoll. Trying harder not to fantasize about Mason returning the favor.

“Is she being good to you?” Caleb’s foot touched Mason’s.

Mason squeezed his hand and laced his fingers through the other man’s. “Caleb-hyungnim,” he sighed with arousal. Caleb enjoyed what the sensual exhale did to his being. His body hummed. From beneath half-closed eyes, he watched the blonde straddle Mason’s lap and writhe against him. She made sensual little sounds of pleasure, feigning arousal well. Mason’s eyelids squeezed tighter. “Caleb!”

Don’t say my name like that, Caleb thought as he shook his head. His own dancer climbed into his lap, mimicking her companion. As she rocked against him, she draped her arm over his and took Mason’s hand. Smiling mischievously, she brought his fingers to Caleb’s mouth.

“Happy birthday, baby,” she cooed. Caleb locked eyes with her. She traced his quivering lips with Mason’s soft fingertips. Caleb’s tongue darted out for just a taste. Mason gasped as Caleb helplessly closed his lips around his middle finger and gently sucked. Just a taste would not do. He wanted every inch of him. Mason jerked with euphoria.

Caleb felt his cock spasm at Mason’s reaction. With a groan, he sucked harder, listening to the sound of Mason losing control. A burst of Korean words filled the room. “Yeah, sweetheart!” The blonde clutched Mason’s shoulders and danced with greater intensity. “Don’t stop!” she cooed. Mason’s face reddened. Caleb could picture exactly how stiff Mason was. He knew what had the blonde going crazy.

“Ah, God, Mason…” Caleb moaned and kissed between his fingers and licked his way to the tip of the digit, taking it back into his mouth. Caleb felt he would explode. He felt it coming. He growled as the brunette brought Mason’s hand down between their bodies, and his cock pressed intimately into Mason’s palm as she grinded.

Mason caressed him shyly, but he grew bolder as Caleb thrust against him. He stroked Caleb through the thin barrier of his slacks, gripping tighter, jerking faster. Caleb emitted a strangled moan as the lust swelled within him.

“Is this what you really want?” the brunette whispered. “Don’t be shy. We won’t tell.” She beckoned for the blonde, who shook her hair back with a sultry whimper and leaned closer. The two women gathered each other’s faces and kissed, but the two men hardly noticed. Mason squeezed the tip of Caleb’s cock. Caleb only half-heartedly tried to stop him.

Mason leaned closer, and Caleb clutched him by a fistful of his hair and dragged his mouth to his. His erratic breathing poured past Mason’s lips in a fiery kiss.

* * *

Mason forgot the girl in his lap. He throbbed in tandem to Caleb’s pulsating cock in his hand. He rubbed up and down as something took control of him—curiosity, arousal, insanity—he did not know what. All he knew was that he wanted Caleb naked. He wanted to feel his hard heat quaking in his fist. The look on Caleb’s face spurred him beyond rationality. It was as if they were the only two people in the world, and this emboldened Mason.

He cupped Caleb’s balls and fondled him as Caleb rose and fell from the chair. Mason wantonly kissed Caleb’s neck. He rubbed down his chest and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt to touch his chest with his free hand. His fingers played over Caleb’s nipples. Caleb groaned his name, and Mason went back to his lips to continue the passionate kiss.

Mason’s erection stood at attention in his pants, and he felt like he was wearing too many layers. Perspiration dripped from Caleb’s forehead, even though the room was not overly hot. It was the fire burning between them that made the shale gray suit seem too heavy. Mason cupped the back of Caleb’s neck and dove his tongue deeper into his mouth as Caleb pumped faster into his hand.

Mason shuddered with pent-up frustration. He felt the tension in the room tighten and something forbidden was about to happen. He feared it and wanted it at the same time.

The blonde turned around and stroked his erection with her ass but she could not steal his attention. He envisioned himself molding to Caleb in the same way, imagined Caleb letting him push inside and ravage him the way he so craved.

“Uhn! Yes,” he groaned.

Mason had never experienced anything close to the desire he felt for the artist. This dark room filled with music was a place where fantasies came true for other men. Why not for them? Caleb’s vocal moans and sobs of pleasure filled the room. Mason gave his wrist another flick and Caleb’s dick expanded still more beneath his trembling fingers.

“I told you,” Caleb groaned tersely. “I told you this would happen if you didn’t stay away. Ah, Mason!”

Caleb grabbed his wrist in a vise grip and uncontrollable tremors wracked his body. Mason felt the explosion of wetness through Caleb’s pants. Caleb moaned and pushed deeper into his hand, his cock spasming with shockwaves of ecstasy. Mason stared at him with wide eyes. He had not intended to take things that far.

His body begged for the same release. However, Caleb’s expression darkened with anger. How were they supposed to explain this?

* * *

Behind his eyes lights sparked and flashed. Caleb was jolted by the force of his orgasm and he realized that his body had been waiting a lifetime for Mason’s touch. His climax left him winded and lightheaded. He tensed, trying to stop the shudders that rendered him helpless, but he could not stop until he was spent.

Caleb sucked in a breath and forced the brunette dancer off him. “Hey!” she yelped. He threw money on the table as he quickly fled the room. “Caleb!” Mason called after him. “Hyungnim!” Caleb walked faster. He dashed past the staring bouncer and darted behind the curtain to see what was wrong. Caleb heard Mason’s footsteps pounding behind him in a light jog as he wove around tables, not even looking at the exotic dancers gyrating on the main stage.

He raced out to the bracing cold autumn night, hurriedly climbed into his Jeep and let his head fall to the steering wheel. What was wrong with him? He could not go on like this. Craving Mason made no sense whatsoever. If anything, he should hate him for what he represented, opportunities and untapped potential and youth, things that Caleb could not get back. He should hate him. He should not be in private rooms, climaxing from the very thought of having him in his arms.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Caleb shouted, slamming a hand on the steering wheel.

The passenger door opened, and the interior light came on. Mason stood there, staring at him. He looked embarrassed and confused, and Caleb sighed and shoved his fingers through his hair to try to get a grip on himself. “I’m sorry,” Caleb muttered. “I didn’t mean to leave you. I had to—” He clamped his lips shut. He could feel the wetness in his clothes, and he scowled. “Get in the Jeep. Let me take you home.”

Mason got into the car and slowly pulled the seatbelt across his lap. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Don’t,” Caleb cut him off and cranked the truck. He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Mason slumped miserably in the passenger seat, his elbow on the windowsill, his fingers at his temples.

“I wasn’t trying to upset you. I won’t bother you again,” Mason muttered.

“Do you know what happens to muses? The same thing that happens to prodigies,” Caleb sighed. “They get revered, and then they get forgotten. You make me want to be good to you.” He stared Mason in the eyes. “But, in the end, I’m the guy who will use you up, spit you out, and then not even remember your name.”

* * *

The sky was overcast, and the cold wind blowing off the Atlantic promised rain. The ocean matched his mood, dark. As Riesling kicked through a pile of leaves, Mason trudged across the backyard to join her. She was under the tall tree where Caleb ordinarily parked. He was not home. The artist had avoided him in the weeks since the impromptu birthday party at the strip club.

Mason had gone to his Wednesday night watercolor classes just to see him, noting the gradual growth in class size. Caleb pretended not to see him. Sighing, Mason shoved his hands in his pockets and focused on Riesling at play.

“My brooding, moody writer!” She giggled and let golden, orange and brown leaves flutter from her fingers. “Leave your inner world and come join me.”

Mason sighed. “Would you like to go on a date?”

“What?” She twirled around and around—faster and faster—with a flounce of white blond hair that caught the pale sunlight and made her look like a figure from a fairytale. Riesling squealed with laughter as she dizzily fell into his arms. Mason smiled and steadied her.

“A date,” he repeated, shrugging. His smile for Riesling slipped away as he recalled for the millionth time: I won’t even remember your name. He got lost in the memory of Caleb’s eyes, wondering if he remembered them right. It had been so long since those eyes had turned his way. Mason came back to reality and smiled again. “I want to take you somewhere special. You’ve been so devoted and you deserve it.”

Riesling pushed her hair out of her face and tilted her head, smiling curiously. “Alright. Let’s see where this goes.”

The garage doors rose for his father’s champagne Altima, and he started the car by remote as he led her around to the passenger side. Mason opened her door, trying not to remember Caleb doing the same for him. As Riesling climbed in, he leaned over her to fasten her seatbelt and caught the scent of her perfume. It was very different from the vetiver and mint of Caleb’s. He shoved that thought aside, as well.

Mason took her to an elegant bistro and wine bar. Riesling slipped her arm through his, chatting gaily about her thesis, as a greeter took them to a table. “So, I’m very excited about how it’s all coming together,” she gushed. “My parents are confident I’ll score an internship with the news channel. Can you picture me doing the news?”

Mason nodded. “You’ll be very successful. You’ll have so much fan mail that the Post Office will blacklist you. You have a bright future ahead of you.” Riesling’s musical laughter made him smile.

“You do, too,” she insisted. “It’s time you gave some thought toward which company you want to work for.”

“You sound just like my father,” he chuckled.

She grinned as she speared an appetizer, tucking the shrimp past her red lips and chewing thoughtfully before pointing at him with her fork. “I know how you feel about your dad, but what if our parents are right?”

“They paired us together,” Mason scoffed good-naturedly. “Remember our first kiss? I think your exact words were, ‘Not a single spark.” She looked away and grabbed her water glass.

“‘Maybe the spark is overrated,’” she quoted him.

“You said—”

“I mean, think about it.” She shrugged and smiled. “You get a cushy job with your father and brother’s connections. We buy a house in Portsmouth with a white picket fence. We have two beautiful babies and a Labrador retriever. We live happily ever after.”

“I’m picturing it. At the cushy job, I get so bored and unfulfilled that I become an alcoholic. You go through a string of affairs because I can’t satisfy you. Our children grow up in a dysfunctional household. The Labrador retriever never gets housebroken. All because you and I are too busy and important to bother with love, marriage and family. You said we might as well shake hands and part ways.”

“But we didn’t,” she murmured. Mason’s eyebrows clashed together as he studied her. She quickly turned away. When she turned back, her smile was back in place. “Anyway, how is your writing going?”

“I’ve taken a break from it. I’m looking for freelance work to fund a gap year. I have a potential client reviewing my credentials.”

She sighed and threw down her napkin. “So, you’ll be away for a year? I suppose Caleb will go with you.”

“No,” Mason said softly. “Riesling, I...are you upset?”

She shook her head and laughed. “Why would I be? I have a surprise for you. I have a secret crush, too.” She dug her phone out of her purse and scrolled until she found the picture she wanted to show him. Mason leaned over the table and peered at the buff frat boy in the photograph. He nodded and smiled, relaxing into his chair.

“He looks good for you.”

“Yeah, he plays football at the university. He’s from some nothing Midwest town. My parents would kill me if they found out.”

“For a second there, I thought—”

“No,” she said sharply. “I’m excited about the prospect of you taking a gap year. I think you’ll be able to get the wanderlust out of your system and come back ready to start your life as a mature adult. It’ll be good for you.”

The conversation moved on to safer topics as they finished their meal and had a final drink before heading home. Mason puzzled over Riesling’s brief flare of frustration but chalked it up to her concern he would not be around to provide a cover for her and her new boyfriend. As she hopped out of his Altima, he led her to her car, and he pulled her into a hug.

“Don’t worry about me, friend. I’ll be here for you like you’ve been here for me. Your secret is safe,” he murmured.

“Thank you, Mason.” She clutched him tightly and unexpectedly collected his face and kissed him. Her tongue flowed past his lips, and her fingers wove through his hair. Her body melded to his as she breathed into him with a lush moan. Mason gently unlocked her fingers from behind his neck and set her away, eyeing her warily.

She climbed into her car before he could say anything else. He waved in confusion as she sped away. When he turned to the house, he saw his mother on the front porch, and he understood. Riesling was pretending again. The same way he pretended. The same way Caleb pretended. He wondered how long before all their pretending caught up with them.

Chapter 7

The library buzzed with hushed conversations. It was crowded for a weeknight. He supposed midterms were coming up and the college set were busy preparing. He tried not to look past the bowed heads of his twelve students completing their paintings to the familiar face a table away from them.

Caleb had been at the window to witness Riesling’s heartfelt kiss goodbye. He had seen her eyes shining with love and realized that she was the one for him. So, why was Mason following him, rekindling memories and fantasies he was trying desperately to erase?

A simmering anger boiled beneath the surface. Mason’s constant presence made him want him desperately. Now Gregoire was telling him to keep Mason around, and Caleb’s body was screaming for him to reach out to him, while his mind pleaded for sanity.

After the watercolor class ended, Caleb grabbed his things to leave. He almost made it to the door before his conscience caught up with him. He was being unfair. He was the one who had caught the inexperienced twenty-one-year-old up in this complicated web of desire. Mason had not asked for it. Caleb had acted on his own passions and taken things way too far.

His shoulders slumped when warm fingers brushed his elbow. Caleb was not surprised. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said without looking back.

“Tell me where to go.”

“Nepal, Albania, El Salvador, Wales—anywhere but here!” Caleb said tersely. He glanced over his shoulder at Mason and dropped his hand from the door. Their fingers brushed. Caleb clutched Mason’s wrist tightly. “I wish you would just get out of my head,” he sighed.

“Get out of mine then. Let me go,” Mason said quietly.

Caleb exhaled and pulled him out of the door with him, knowing neither of them would walk away from the other. They walked together briskly in the cold, dark night. Mason did not ask where they were going; Caleb did not know. As they passed businesses and restaurants, their steps slowed to an aimless stroll, alternately washed in the light of streetlamps and doused in the shadows in between. Caleb let go of Mason’s wrist and held his hand. Mason didn’t resist.

“I’ve missed you,” Caleb admitted.

“I got a job. It’s freelance work.”

Caleb nodded, swallowing thickly. “I guess you’re giving up your writing, then. You’ll settle down just as your parents wish.” He would have to leave soon. It would kill him to watch the gradual progression of Mason’s relationship with Riesling. He would not be able to stomach the sight of Mason giving up his dreams to live the safe, boring life the Sinclairs desired of him.

Mason replied, “I’m saving money for a gap year abroad. I’ll write a travel blog.” Caleb’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of the timid smile that crossed Mason’s face. “Between my father’s goading and your helpful advice, I came up with a plan to achieve my dreams. Now, what will you do?”

Caleb stopped at a restaurant and gestured for him to enter. Mason lifted a brow in surprise. “Eat with me,” Caleb murmured. Mason studied his feet but nodded and walked into the restaurant where everyone would see them together. Caleb asked for a table in a corner. Mason shook his thick black hair out of his almond-shaped eyes and settled in a chair across from him.

“Have you created your masterpiece?” he asked.

Caleb lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Gregoire hated the Atlantic at Sunrise painting. I’m running out of options. I have no muse…unless you’ll sit for me.” Mason blushed and laughed, shaking his head.

“I know what happens to muses.”

Caleb reached across the table and pinched his cheek playfully. “I thought I knew, too but I can’t stop thinking about you. That sets you apart from other muses.” He grinned. Mason leaned into his palm, and the touch became a caress. Pedestrians passing the window stared at them and smiled. Caleb eased his hand away.

“Anyway, my agent found someone who wants to represent you,” he said gruffly. “A travel blog is a great way to build your author platform. So, congratulations. I wish you success in your future endeavors.”

Mason stared at his plate. “Am I a fool for you, Caleb?” It took him a moment to lift his eyes and meet Caleb’s gaze.

“Yes.” Caleb ordered a drink and nursed it as he stared out the window, thinking he was as much the fool. “When I was your age, I squandered my opportunities. I gained success faster than I knew what to do with it. I didn’t get serious about my art again until I was twenty-four, and by then my education betrayed me. I became too polished, too slick. I’m telling you this because you represent the future I threw away. Don’t be foolish for me.”

“Your future is ahead of you.”

“It’s behind me,” Caleb murmured.

“I’m right in front of you,” Mason replied.

Caleb looked up. “Spoken like a writer,” he smiled ruefully. “You tell me you’re leaving to travel the world. Then, you say we have a future together.”

Mason studied his expression. “You tell me to stay away; yet, you won’t let me go.”

“There you have it. We’re a contradiction. Christ, I’ve never even done anything like this.” Caleb weakly gestured at the table spread before them. “Is this a date?”

Mason did not answer. They ate dinner together, saying very little. Caleb sank deeper into his thoughts as they shared coffee when the meal was over. He walked with him back toward the library. “Your parents would kill us both,” Mason took his head wordlessly. “You know I’m right.”

“You’re right about everything.” Mason slipped down an alley, and Caleb had no choice but to follow.

“What are you doing? This isn’t safe.”

Mason dragged him close. “I know.”

* * *

Mason cupped the back of Caleb’s neck and kissed him, a fireworks show filling the darkness behind his closed eyes. They kissed like kissing was breathing. He pressed his silky tongue into the warm recess of Caleb’s mouth, and Caleb clutched his shirt and tried to pull him away but pressed him against the brick wall instead, following helplessly as his libido raged.

“Damn it, Mason!” Caleb growled.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” Mason challenged.

Caleb’s arms came around him in a crushing embrace. Mason sighed into his mouth. Sharp edges and hard planes, very unlike the soft curves of a woman. Everywhere they touched cut deep with passion especially where Caleb’s erection speared against his stomach. Mason reached down and grazed it, but Caleb grabbed his hand and pushed it to the wall behind him.

“Not this time,” Caleb spat heatedly, while cupping Mason’s crotch. “It’s my turn.”

Mason gasped as Caleb’s mouth glided from his lips to his neck, awakening his hungry lust. Every flick of Caleb’s tongue made him harder, and his touch made him strain in search of relief. It was a sensual onslaught. Caleb’s cologne filled Mason’s nostrils, and he was sure that it was making him high.

Mason looked down. It was a shock to see his thick shaft in Caleb’s masculine grip. His pants provided no obstacle as Caleb slowly stroked up and down, biting his bottom lip, forcing himself to keep it slow. The pleasure was rich. Mason’s head lolled back as his hips pushed forward of their own volition. He found himself thrusting into Caleb’s hand as desire swirled through him.

“Caleb!” Mason gritted his teeth. Caleb locked eyes with him and stroked faster. Mason felt the damp spread of pre-cum in his boxers. If this was payback, it was exhilarating.

Caleb kissed his lips again, clutching Mason’s face with both hands. Mason was glad Caleb had stopped stroking his cock but Caleb’s tongue in his mouth kept the heat turned up. They melded together, erections sandwiched between them.

The rub and grind of bodies only stoked the flames. There was no escaping the bliss. “Why do you turn me on so fucking much?” Caleb groaned against his lips. Mason could not respond. He throbbed painfully as Caleb pressed him to the wall and rocked against him. Mason could not take it any longer. He shoved Caleb’s hand back to his manhood.

His eyes widened with shock as he almost peaked. “Slow!” he gasped. Caleb lifted his shirt, kissing down his chest. His velvety tongue curled around a nipple. Mason sobbed with pleasure. Caleb sucked while his hand continued the masturbatory rhythm through his pants.

Mason had no idea what to do. He did not want it to end, but he had no idea how much further he should let it go. Exactly where was the point of no return? Mason squeezed his eyes shut and pleaded for Caleb to stop before he climaxed. His words came out in Korean.

Caleb fumbled with the clasp of his pants. Mason’s erection sprang free, and he was in freefall. He grabbed Caleb by the hair to pull him up just as Caleb’s trembling lips quickly closed around his pounding cock. Mason yelped. The silky kiss left his erection dripping wet as Caleb dropped to his knees and sucked harder and faster.

“Caleb! Yes!”

Mason slumped against the wall as Caleb’s hands and mouth worked him over with expert finesse. He pressed his palms to his eyes in awe, and his pelvis rocked. Higher and higher, he was falling up. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and clasped Caleb by the neck to hold him still as he thrust deeper into his mouth.

Mason went at it with abandonment. He shuddered, rushing in and out as spit dripped to the pavement and Caleb moaned around him. The erotic sight was mind-blowing. Watching his cock disappear and reemerge made Mason shudder with delight. Caleb tightened his lips and stared up at him with fierce devotion.

Mason lost control of himself. The alley filled with the sound of his stunned elation and the slippery glide of oral sex and Caleb’s greedy moans for more. Caleb gripped Mason’s ass and tilted his head to swirl his mouth around his thick, rigid shaft as spit dribbled to his balls. Caleb’s tongue chased the trail, and he took a testicle into his mouth.

“Ah!” Mason clutched himself to keep from coming, but his manhood jerked in his grasp. He squeezed the base and squared his jaw, eyes tightly shut, while Caleb laved and sucked his balls. “You’ll make me…I’m trying not to,” he whispered hoarsely. Caleb worshipfully licked his way back to the tip of his erection, and Mason exhaled a shaky moan. Caleb suddenly swallowed every inch of him. Mason cried out.

He felt his cock probing the back of Caleb’s throat. The beat of blood rushing into his engorged member made him lightheaded. Caleb’s tongue rippled along the sensitive tip of his erection as he pulled back, staring into Mason’s eyes. Mason quaked. But he refused to let go. Not yet. He wanted this to last forever, and every time he arrested his orgasm, the pleasure grew more intense.

He looked down at Caleb touching himself. His massive dick, dripping pre-cum, his hand sliding up and down fast, rubbing the natural lubricant around his pounding cock. Mason pulled Caleb’s head back by a fistful of his hair to kiss his taste off Caleb’s lips. Caleb pushed his damp finger between their lips so Mason could taste him, too.

It should have been a turn-off. Instead, it made Mason want to love him more. He sucked Caleb’s finger the way the artist was sucking his dick. Caleb groaned and masturbated faster. Mason put his manhood back to Caleb’s mouth, and Caleb’s lips parted greedily. His head bobbed harder and faster at Mason’s pelvis as his hand flew around his own erection.

Caleb lurched to his feet and shoved Mason to the wall, kissing him hard. His throbbing cock beat against Mason’s rippling abs. “Uhn! Mason,” Caleb growled. “Ah! Shit!” A gush of jizz exploded over his fist and rained over Mason’s quivering erection. Caleb clenched his jaw, but he could not stop it from happening. The pearls of ejaculate erupted in wave after wave of ecstasy, and he sobbed Mason’s name.

Mason swam in pleasure as Caleb masturbated him with his jizz. Faster and faster. Mason shuddered. The climax he was holding in check almost released, and he cried out, ready for it. But the loud sound echoed in the alleyway. When the echo faded, they heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching, and both men frantically looked to main street.

Caleb spun away. Mason swiftly turned his back. “They heard us!” he hissed. His high crashed, and the climax arrested. Mason tried to adjust his clothes, but his impairment was obvious. His heart pounded in his chest. What if they got caught? There could be legal ramifications. His parents would find out. Bad scenarios flew through his head, and he stared at the sky, praying with all his might that the people would pass without investigating the noise. The steps finally receded.

He gingerly cupped his erection and exhaled in relief.

“They’re gone,” Caleb whispered.

Mason’s body still thrummed. He was so hard that it hurt. He was still lightheaded, and now he was cold, when moments before he had been on fire. Caleb wrapped an arm around him from behind and kissed the side of his neck, bringing back the heat.

Mason shifted closer with a need that brooked no argument, not even from the saner part of his brain. He grimaced when he felt Caleb’s erection against his ass.

* * *

“I’m not done,” Caleb whispered.

“We can’t, we’ll get caught.”

Caleb’s shoulders slumped. He could not believe what he was hearing. They had been so close. At the last minute, Caleb had let go, expecting to take Mason to the same height of rapture, but they had been interrupted. “Are you catching the bus or will you let me drive you home this time?” he asked in a disappointed voice.

“I’ll catch the bus, but wait a moment. I have to, let’s just say, deflate.”

Mason gestured at himself, and Caleb met his gaze. Mason ducked his head, blushing. Caleb felt a spark of hope that there was maybe a chance.… “I can take care of that. Come to my apartment tonight,” he offered. Caleb slid his hand to Mason’s rigid cock, but Mason moved away and shook his head. So, the moment of bravado had truly passed. They were back to a reality where a moment of passion down a dark alley was a bad idea.

“When we go back, we have to leave this behind us,” Mason asserted.

Caleb looked down, and a wry half-smile touched his lips. “Of course. I guess this was just you rebelling a little, right? No sense expecting you to do what your nature dictates. That would be too revolutionary.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“You understand what’s at stake,” Mason sighed. “There’s no way to hide this. If we take things any further my parents will find out.”

“Look, I get it,” Caleb stopped him. “You don’t have to explain yourself. Trust me, it’ll be like this never happened. I’ll continue painting seascapes that will never sell and you’ll find something to like about your pretty little fake girlfriend. Fair enough.” He spread his arms in defeat.

“No, it won’t ever be fair, and I will never get enough of you, but this is it.”

Caleb stepped forward as his heart beat faster, knowing he needed more.

“This doesn’t have to be it. Be my muse, Mason. We can hide this. Your parents won’t suspect anything if we’re working together on my art.”

Mason smiled sadly and shook his head. “It cannot be.”

* * *

The next evening, Caleb powered up the volume and the dramatic Carl Orff cantata powered through his speakers. His tight, usually neat brushstrokes took on an untidy quality as he painted his view of the sea beyond the Sinclair backyard. His brows furrowed, and his hand flew ever faster, matching the drums and horns; yet, he heard nothing of the Carmina Burana. He heard Mason telling him the madness in the alley was fleeting, an aberration.

Something burned within Caleb to return to that night and take Mason so far beyond his comfort zone that he would be changed forever. He threw his brush across the room and watched red paint splatter the white sofa. With a savage curse, he kicked away the stool in front of the easel and stomped over to examine the damage.

“Turpentine,” he muttered. He grabbed a rag and the paint thinner to clean up his mess, wondering why real life was not as easy to fix. Caleb labored over the upholstery until all that was left was a tiny smudge. He needed a break.

He dropped into a club chair, turned on his tablet and pulled up the artist Gregoire had mentioned. Images of the artist’s work populated the screen. Caleb covered his lips and stared. The paintings could have been lifted straight from his old portfolio. The similarities were so strong that he saw some of his own works among the search results.

“What the hell?” he whispered.

Caleb jabbed a link to an interview and skimmed past the high praise heaped on the young artist. The similarities did not stop at style. Vido Charles was nineteen. Gregoire DeSimone had found him in a student show at LaGuardia High. Unlike Caleb, Vido had no intention of furthering his art education. He planned to keep things raw and unpolished.

Caleb pressed play on the video embedded in the article. “Can we guess who inspires you?” the interviewer laughed. Vido chuckled and shrugged.

“It’s no secret that I look up to Caleb O’Hara. He inspired most of my stuff. Um, Rupi Kapur and Genieve Figgis, influence me to a lesser extent but, Caleb O’Hara is definitely the main man.”

“What would you say differentiates you from him?”

“Well, for starters, I plan to have a longer career,” Vido joked. Caleb’s jaw tightened as he continued watching the clip. “I think what happened with my idol is that he lacked the confidence to pursue his own vision. When you look at something by Figgis, you get lost in her world. O’Hara used to have that effect, but his later stuff keeps you at arm’s length. I don’t know if that makes sense, but…”

Caleb muttered to the tablet, “It fucking well doesn’t, you jumped up little prick.”

“So, you don’t think there’s anything for you at any of the universities,” the interviewer pressed.

“No,” Vido replied without hesitation. “I don’t want to be professional. I want to be rough, unpolished. I want my art to grab you by the throat. People fail by trying to perfect something that does not need to be—in fact, should not be—perfect.”

Caleb stopped the video with shaking hands. He calmly set aside the tablet for fear he would smash it against a wall. He needed a muse. He needed to make a comeback. Vido Charles talking about him as if his has-been status was all but written in stone was just too much to bear. The urge to prove his critics wrong was now too strong to ignore.

He considered placing another ad, this time for a model. Caleb knew he was deluding himself. No one else would do. If Gregoire, Vido Charles and the rest wanted raw emotion, only one person could help Caleb deliver that.

Mason opened the door and Caleb immediately saw the discomfort etched on the other man’s features. “What are you doing here? I thought you were my mom or dad.”

“I need to talk to you,” he said in a rush.

Mason peered up and down the hall and pulled him into the room, locking the door behind him. “Make it quick. I’m in the middle of a complicated project for a client.”

Caleb lit up as he realized he had been presented with an opening. “How is the work coming along? Are you making the kind of money you want to make?”

Mason smiled and crossed his arms. “Things will pick up eventually. As long as I don’t keep getting interrupted.”

“What if I told you there’s a way for you to reach your target amount for a gap year abroad without having to slave away for next to nothing? What if, instead of working a year to save up for the trip, you work for half a year, and I cover the difference so you can get going sooner?”

Caleb knew that to do what he was suggesting would mean tapping into the savings he had sworn not to touch. For four years, he had slowly grown the account to buy back his childhood home in Idaho, the place where his earliest memories were locked away. Caleb had always believed that if he lived in the house again, he would remember more about his late mother. But having Mason was worth losing the house, besides, there was always the chance he would make enough to recoup the loss.

“I’m listening.”

Caleb spread his arms. “I want to pay you to sit for me.”

“What?” Mason chuckled.

“Not to be my muse,” Caleb said in a hurry. “To actually work with me. We’ll keep things professional. You have no idea how much I need you.” Caleb bit his lip and looked down. The words, though true, had not come out the right way. “Professionally I mean, I need you to help me professionally.”

Mason touched his lips with two fingers. “It looks like we need each other…”

Mason rubbed his thumb over Caleb’s soft bottom lip, remembering their time in the alley. The touch was not supposed to be erotic, but the vivid flashbacks took it there. Caleb whispered, “Don’t tease me.” Mason pressed his middle finger into his mouth. Caleb moaned and sucked him deeper.

Pleasure fluttered at Mason’s core as his eyes darted toward the locked bedroom door. What if his parents decided to pay a late-night visit? He had so much work to do….

Caleb sucked his finger into his mouth, and every reason they should stop went up in flames.

Mason hit the light switch. They came together in a kiss that screamed desire. Caleb’s arms slowly encircled him, as if giving him time to change his mind, but this time Mason did not want a reason to say no. He surrendered to the wonder of Caleb’s mouth.

“I thought you said we shouldn’t,” Caleb challenged, breathing heavily.

Mason took off his shirt and tossed it to the floor. His head fell back as Caleb gripped his throat and kissed him down his torso. His hot, wet tongue twirled around a nipple, and Mason hissed in a breath. He backed toward the bed with Caleb eagerly following. Caleb jerked down Mason’s pajamas pants.

Mason hit the mattress, thrusting his pelvis upward, seeking the forbidden fruit of Caleb’s hot mouth. His erection speared through the hole of his boxers. Caleb got rid of those, too. Mason sighed with rapture as Caleb’s tongue dipped into the well of his navel. He stroked Caleb’s hair back to watch as he fluttered kisses over his tense abs and nipped at his hips, making him flinch. Mason pushed him lower.

Caleb buried his face in the soft black curls of his pubic hair and inhaled deeply. When he lifted his head, his eyes were filled with lust. Mason guided his cock to Caleb’s mouth. “Yes!” he whimpered when it finally happened. Caleb swallowed him whole, picking up where they left off in the alley.

Sounds of ecstasy spilled from Mason’s lips. He worried they would be heard, and dragged a pillow over his face to mute his sobs as he writhed against him. He clutched a fistful of Caleb’s hair, ramming deeper. In and out, he rocked. Caleb exhaled around his shaft and pulled back, trailing spit. As he swallowed him again, Mason’s body threatened to explode.

He had done nothing to take the edge off after the trip down the alley the night before. He had only sat in his room, working, reminiscing, wanting. Now he felt like he would disintegrate from the delayed rapture. Caleb bobbed fluidly up and down as his fingers chased the path of his mouth. He eased a hand beneath Mason and fondled his asshole, shocking him further.

Mason squeezed his eyes shut and rode Caleb’s tongue faster. “Caleb!” he gasped into the pillow.

Groaning, Caleb wrapped his arms under Mason’s thighs and pulled him closer. Mason’s legs opened wider. Caleb sucked and kissed his way past his balls. The wet spear of his tongue dipped places where it did not belong. Mason shoved away the pillow to watch in awe. He could hardly believe he was letting it happen. He clutched a fistful of the sheets, hips rising off the mattress involuntarily as his body tensed.

Caleb probed in and out with his tongue, to Mason’s excitement and dismay, and the silky kisses left him saturated. His cock strained, quivering in the air. Caleb encircled his rigid shaft. With a deft flick of his wrist, he masturbated Mason and brought a pearl of jizz to the tip of his erection.

Mason jerked away from him and dragged Caleb to his lips, kissing him desperately. Their sounds of excitement blended. Mason climbed on top of him and clutched Caleb’s erection, burying his face in Caleb’s shoulder as he masturbated him. Caleb cupped the back of his neck and let out an erotic moan. Mason stroked him faster as he lowered his mouth, curious and anxious at the same time.

He closed his eyes and let his tongue glide over the smooth, blunt head of Caleb’s dick. Tasting the tangy, salty flavor of his skin, Mason sighed greedily and took him deeper into his mouth.

Caleb caressed Mason’s face and guided his mouth back and forth. Caleb’s scent filled his nostrils, and Mason sucked more aggressively, while using his hand to masturbate him at the same time.

Caleb bucked Mason off himself and eased him onto his stomach to continue his original onslaught. Mason’s hard-on throbbed against the bed as his body danced to the rhythm of Caleb’s tongue diving into the recess of his ass. Caleb nipped and kissed from cheek to cheek, diving his tongue into Mason’s body as he swished his mouth from side to side.

When he eased a finger into the tight hole, Mason swallowed a scream and bit down on the sheets. He had expected pain as opposed to the glorious sensation that shot through him. His hips pumped faster as he followed Caleb’s mouth and finger. It was bliss and Mason wanted so much more.

Lubricant spilled into his crease, and Caleb rubbed it in with his thumb. The slippery liquid spilled between Mason’s legs and soaked the bed. Mason knew that if he wanted things to stop, now was the time to make the call. He heard a condom wrapper being torn open and rose on his knees, leaning back against Caleb’s hard thighs and harder erection.

Caleb leaned over Mason’s back to breathlessly suck and kiss his neck. Mason allowed Caleb to use his fingers to stretch and massage his body to readiness. Mason tried to relax and accept events, but his heart raced and sweat beaded along his back and shoulders. When Caleb eased his cock to the entrance, Mason understood this was the point of no return, this rapture happening too quickly for him to find the will to say no.

Whispers of yes spilled from his lips as he gritted his teeth, and the pressure built. Suddenly, the pain seemed too much to bear; yet, the thrill made him surrender to Caleb’s desire. Caleb rocked back and forth against him, pushing deeper with every thrust. When he was half-way inside, when the torment reached its zenith, Mason hitched in a breath and sobbed.

Caleb quickly kissed his shoulder and wrapped his arms around him as he rocked deeper. His mouth fluttered over Mason’s feverish skin in sweet distraction. His hand slid beneath them to stroke Mason’s quivering cock. Then, the pain gradually receded to a mellow ache that floated Mason to a height so dizzying, that he feared the fall. But he was falling. The act of yielding so intimately was testament.

Mason closed his eyes and uttered a sultry moan as Caleb’s erection pumped in and out of his tight sheath. “My God, you’re amazing,” Caleb groaned vulnerably. Mason buried his face in the pillows, melting in his lover’s arms.

* * *

Caleb was plunging into the tightest, sweetest heaven. He gasped for air and drowning in desire. As Mason’s body yielded, the pleasure intensified. Caleb grunted and gripped his hips. He shook his hair out of his eyes to see the pale, slender back arching as Mason rocked against him. Caleb sucked in a breath in wonder. Why? Why was this better than anything he had ever experienced?

He screamed through clenched teeth as his cock disappeared to the hilt. Mason’s muscular ass gripped him tighter. When the writer glanced over his shoulder, and their eyes met, Caleb felt conflicted. He knew what this was—a fling—and what it meant—things were about to get complicated—but he wanted this to happen with every fiber of his being.

His blunt nails dug into Mason’s shoulder. He held him in place and stroked long and deep, hips rolling in waves that sent ecstasy slicing through them both. Caleb guided Mason back and forth in a ballet of arousal. They kept mostly silent as they both wanted to prolong the pleasure. If Mason’s parents heard them, there would be hell to pay.

Mason whispered his new lover’s name with a newfound urgency. The darkness behind Caleb’s closed eyes swirled with neon colors like smoke and fire. His ears rang and his body disconnected from his head. There was no sense trying to keep control. He was losing it.

Caleb reached around and gripped Mason’s shaft, and Mason involuntarily shuddered and tightened around him. Caleb emitted a primal growl, biting into Mason’s shoulder to muffle the sound. Mason turned his face, and their lips clashed.

“Caleb, oh Caleb,” he whispered.

“Why do you make me feel this way?” Caleb begged to know.

Mason had no answers to his question. He shook his head, and kissed him again as the tension between them escalated and the pace quickened. Caleb laid him on his side and continued the pounding thrusts that stole Mason’s breath away. The slick sound of bodies meeting faster and faster signaled the inevitable.

“Yes,” Caleb groaned. “Uh! Mason!”

Mason held onto Caleb’s outer thigh, thrusting harder into Caleb’s racing hand as he masturbated him.

“Caleb!” Mason screamed in a whisper.

Caleb dragged his warm lips over Mason’s neck and shoulder, emitting staccato moans that spoke of satisfaction beyond compare. Mason strained arduously against him, and Caleb squeezed him tighter.

“I can’t—Ah, God!” Mason sobbed.

“Now!” Caleb slammed into him with such force that his erection burst free. Caleb jerked and snatched off the condom with a sudden eruption of hot, silky pearls of ejaculate. His climax rained to Mason’s inner thigh as he said his name over and over. He rubbed his jizz shot over Mason’s cock, and Mason quaked.

* * *

Caleb rolled him onto his back and passionately lapped up the milky evidence of his own climax. His soaking wet mouth wrapped around the tip of Mason’s cock, and he sucked, and Mason felt his world turn inside out and his vision go blank. He clutched the back of Caleb’s neck and surged into his mouth as his body let go. “Ah!” he cried. Caleb breathlessly swallowed him and sucked, heightening the ecstasy.

Mason clenched his eyes shut and squared his jaw as tremors surged through him, and he rode Caleb’s tongue slow and hard. His jizz spilled from Caleb’s lips to dribble around his cock, and Caleb rubbed it around the sensitive tip. Mason cried out and clutched his wrist to stop him.

Caleb stretched over him and kissed him with their intermingled flavors still on his lips. Their rapid breathing slowed, and the sensual swirl of his tongue behind Mason’s teeth sent aftershocks of pleasure through him. He hugged Caleb closer and sighed his name.

Mason stared up at the ceiling as he processed the fact they had actually gone all the way. He realized, with a start, that the television could no longer be heard from his parents’ room, and he panicked. “You have to go,” he whispered urgently.

Caleb nodded understanding and quickly climbed from the bed. The artist dressed in the shadowy room. “Will you come to me?”

Mason nodded and stretched, achy but sated beyond belief. “Saturday night,” he promised.

Caleb peered out the door before discreetly slipping from Mason’s room and disappearing down the hall. Mason prepared to shower, hoping his parents had not heard them. They had to keep this a secret. Because now that Mason had tasted the glory of sex with Caleb, he wanted more.

Chapter 8

It was Saturday night and Mason’s parents had compelled him to come with them to dinner at a very upmarket restaurant. He was supposed to be sitting for Caleb, but he could not turn them down. He studied the gleaming silverware as his fingers twitched around his cellphone under the table, wishing he could call and tell him he would not be able to make it. Mason sighed and shoved the device into his pocket as Robert and Belinda entered the room.

“I was wondering when you two would get here,” Mrs. Sinclair said, smiling.

Robert explained, “Traffic is a mess. How’s it going, Mom and Dad? Mason?”

Mason nodded and looked away. The dinner date was to talk wedding planning, a subject which did not interest him in the least. He waved for a server, prepared for the boring night ahead. “Cognac, please,” Mason murmured.

Mr. Sinclair looked at him in surprise. “What did you order?” he asked after the waiter left.

Mason shrugged nervously. “I’m twenty-one, Dad.”

“Oh, leave him alone. He’s growing up,” Robert interjected with a laugh. “Things still going well between you and Riesling?”

“You should see them together,” his mother answered for him. “She comes over almost every day. They make a handsome couple, just like you and Belinda.”

“Just remember to take it slow, okay, Mr. Romance?” Robert cautioned with a grin. Mason smiled wryly. When his drink was served, the heady scent of the semi-sweet liquor made him think about Caleb. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Wow…you must really be smitten with her,” Robert murmured.

Mason locked eyes with his brother, belatedly realizing he was watching him the whole time. “Sorry about that, my mind was wandering,” Mason stated sheepishly.

Robert lifted a brow but did not probe. “So, Mom, we hired an event planner. I hope you don’t mind. I convinced Belinda it would be best if we took some of the load off you and her.”

“Oh, Robert! You know I was set on helping you plan!” Mrs. Sinclair pouted.

“I agree, Mrs. Sinclair,” Belinda insisted indulgently. “I told Robert that you and I will work closely on this, and the event planner just better go along with our ideas.” The women laughed.

Mason rolled his eyes in amusement. His father sat forward and raised a glass for a toast. “Well, fellas, the women have spoken. We’re simply here to lend moral support to their chicanery, eh?” Mr. Sinclair laughed. Robert and Mason clinked glasses with him. Mason relaxed as he let the alcohol loosen him.

Robert changed the subject. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Mason, I put in a good word for you down at the firm. Whenever you’re ready to shoot over a resume, let me know and I’ll have HR ready and waiting for you.”

“Ha! Didn’t he tell you he’s thinking about a gap year abroad? That’s all I keep hearing about,” Mr. Sinclair said teasingly.

“What? That’s fantastic!” Robert beamed. “What are you planning to do? Sign up for a volunteer organization?”

“Well, I want to hit several places, so I’ll have to fund it myself,” Mason replied. He was pleased with his brother’s interest in his plans.

Mr. Sinclair chuckled softly and gestured with his glass. “For someone who’s so good with numbers, he has deluded himself into thinking a few freelance accounting jobs will cover the costs.” Mason ducked his head self-consciously. “I’ve done my best to discourage him from the nonsense, although I must admit I’m impressed by his tenacity. He actually has a handful of clients.”

“Don’t discourage him,” Robert said. “You’ll find a way to cover the costs, Mason. If you need a loan, I can help you. Just think, Dad. Had you not traveled the world, you never would have met Mom.” Mrs. Sinclair met her husband’s gaze and smiled.

“That’s different. I went to Seoul on business.”

“It’s not so different,” Mrs. Sinclair spoke up.

Mason hid his shock at their support. It emboldened him. “Actually, I already picked up a better paying job…Mr. O’Hara asked to use me as a model for his art. He has offered to fund half the trip.”

Belinda clapped. “Bravo, Mason! You tell him we would love to see the painting when it’s complete.”

“I thought he was a schoolteacher,” Robert said absently.

“And I thought I told you not to go bothering him,” Mr. Sinclair said quietly as he set aside his wineglass. Tension thickened the conversation, and Mason studied the table.

“I’m twenty-one, Dad,” he reminded him. “I haven’t bothered him. We’re friends.” When he lifted his eyes, Mr. Sinclair’s glare hardened and Mrs. Sinclair looked troubled. Belinda looked confused. Robert put down his fork and studied each of them.

“Okay, it looks like I’m in the dark about our Mr. O’Hara. What’s going on?”

“He’s a millionaire artist. Whatever it is he’s cultivating with your brother, he probably shouldn’t be,” Mr. Sinclair said firmly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mason asked.

His father would not say more. Mason sighed and shook his head. Robert continued blithely, “If you’re worried he’ll use Mason for his own gain, just make sure to get everything in writing. Whatever dollar amount he promised, hold him to it.”

“What about Riesling?” asked Mr. Sinclair.

“Dad,” Mason groaned.

“What about Riesling?” his mother asked.

“Mom, nothing. Dad is overreacting. It’s a business arrangement.”

“Are you really that naïve? You really are as green as they come,” Mr. Sinclair snorted derisively. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you from the very first day!”

“Oh,” Robert intoned.

Mason clutched his head and looked down. His father continued to voice his displeasure as everyone else at the table became silent. Mrs. Sinclair slowly put down her napkin. The sound of forks clanging against plates and conversation buzzing at other tables droned in the background as Mr. Sinclair’s muted whisper-scream shot daggers of embarrassment through him. “Stop,” Mason whispered in anguish.

“You think I don’t see it? You think I don’t know why he bought you a new typewriter? You think I don’t notice that even when you take walks with your girlfriend, you look up at the window at him?”

“Dad, please! Stop!”

Mr. Sinclair jabbed his fork in Mason’s direction. “You stay away from him!”

“Desmond,” Mrs. Sinclair intervened. His father clamped his lips shut at the sight of her expression. Mason trembled and fought back tears. She laid a hand over his and tugged it away from his hair, smoothing the ruffled strands. Calmness slipped into the space where his heart was being broken by his father’s angry judgement. Mrs. Sinclair sighed. “Robert, please, tell us more about what’s going on at work,” she moved the conversation along for all their sakes.

* * *

Two weeks. Two weeks had passed since Mason had promised to pose for him. As another Saturday night came to an end, Caleb turned off the light and climbed into bed, knowing not to wait up. Mason had left him hanging to go out to dinner with his parents the first time. This time Caleb did not know what his excuse was, but he was puzzled by the apparent lack of interest.

Mason no longer looked up at his window when he took his faux romantic walks with Riesling. He had skipped Caleb’s watercolor classes. Maybe he changed his mind, Caleb thought. He could not imagine Mason passing up the opportunity to get paid to sit for him. Maybe the sex had scared Mason away.

“Or, he got what he wanted,” Caleb muttered bitterly.

He tossed and turned in bed, finally getting up and grabbing his tablet to watch a hypnosis video. Instead, he found himself searching pictures of Vido Charles’ work. Caleb reached for the sketchbook on the nightstand. It fell open on a picture of Mason he had drawn from memory. There was his zeal, staring from the page in Mason’s glistening eyes. Caleb had captured his melancholia in this one.

He roughly swiped a tear from his own face. “This is stupid,” he muttered. He was pining after the writer as if there was something between them. He laughed at himself. If the prospect of a large sum of money could not buy Mason’s attention, then what was the point of losing sleep over him? Caleb almost threw the tablet but remembered it was well after midnight, and there was a family sleeping beneath him.

He stared at the ceiling. Was this how girls felt when he did not call them back? Again, he laughed at himself. He sniffed and wondered if he could get adjusted to a life of obscurity, give up trying to rejuvenate his career. The very idea made him want to end it all and that thought terrified him.

He had no family, no friends, no connections, and no support system. Now he had no goals or dreams and no future. Everything was behind him. Caleb considered booking a flight back to New York and just fading away in the anonymity of the big city. A knock at the door interrupted his pity party. He tossed aside the tablet and threw back the covers, rushing across the room with his heart beating faster with every step.

Caleb opened the door for Mason. He kept a hand on the doorknob, blocking entry, but Mason pushed past him.

“What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I had to wait for my parents to go to sleep.”

“Just when I figured you weren’t interest—”

“Shut up.” Mason clutched his face and kissed him silent. Caleb’s eyes widened, and his eyebrows went up at the take-charge behavior from the shy twenty-one-year-old.

“What’s this?”

Mason pushed closer. Caleb stumbled against the door. He fumbled with the lock as Mason’s tongue swept deeper into his mouth, and that wildfire that only he could ignite blazed hotter. Caleb asserted his dominance and shoved Mason toward the bed. With a moan, they both fell, tearing at each other’s clothes.

The shirts came off. Caleb unknotted the drawstrings of Mason’s lounge pants and stretched over him with his hands to Mason’s wrists, pushing his arms above his head as he kissed him wildly. Mason chased his mouth with his tongue, whispering heatedly, “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. I thought you had had your fill.”

“I can never get enough of you. I didn’t want to stay away, but I had to be careful.”

“Mm…” Caleb nipped at his chest as Mason wove his fingers through his hair. “Careful of what?” Caleb asked. The scent of Mason’s skin sent him spiraling with dizzy anticipation. He slipped a hand into Mason’s boxers and rubbed the smooth, rigid cock that strained toward him. Mason laid a hand over his and stopped him. They stared intently at each other.

“They know there’s something between us,” Mason whispered.

“Who?” Caleb moaned. He stole another kiss, and their bare chests met. With raw hunger, he yanked off Mason’s pants and struggled out of his boxers to be skin to skin, barely hearing what Mason said. He bit back a shocked expletive when their bodies met. Mason arched his back and thrust against him.

“My parents,” he gasped.

Caleb pushed away. “What?”

Chest heaving, Mason studied him to gauge his reaction. The surprise was written plainly on Caleb’s face, and Mason reluctantly continued, “I told them it’s a business arrangement. That I’m working for you as a model.”

“Did they buy that?” Caleb wondered if this meant he needed to find somewhere else to live. He couldn’t imagine Mr. Sinclair being okay with a homosexual relationship going on right under the roof of his “Catholic household.” He sighed shakily and shoved a hand through his hair.

Mason looked down. “I think if we keep it what it’s supposed to be in case they check, we should be able to fool them. Please understand.” Caleb nodded quickly and moved toward him on his knees to cup his face. “I know you think I give in too easily with them, but I have to keep the peace. I’m sorry.”

“Hush,” Caleb murmured, bowing to kiss him again. He pressed his forehead to Mason’s and closed his eyes, turning his face to breathe in the moment. He had never wanted forevers from anybody, but this series of encounters was doing something to his soul. He did not think he could handle being told no, with paradise so close.

Caleb pressed Mason to the bed, luxuriating in the feel of his satiny skin as they kissed. They touched each other eagerly. Caleb closed his lips over Mason’s beating pulse and sucked the side of his neck as Mason stroked his cock. Mason exhaled heatedly past his ear. His tongue darted out to trace the shape of Caleb’s earlobe.

The sensual exploration became a wrestling match for supremacy. For just a second, it was hard to tell if they were warring or making love. Arms pushed and hands pulled and mouths clashed. Their bodies grinded and broke apart, like the heat was too much to bear. They rolled together in bed as the passion intensified.

But the tables turned when Mason got Caleb on his back. Caleb’s head hit the mattress with a quiet thud as his spine arched when Mason’s blunt nails raked down his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut. Mason trailed kisses to his burgeoning erection. Once his tongue swirled over Caleb’s cock, the battle was over. Caleb surrendered.

Mason’s mouth wreaked havoc with his senses. Caleb speared into the hot, wet orifice that was baptizing him in pleasure. Mason’s mouth rode up, around and down his hardness, his hand following the same track. The ecstasy began as a whisper and swelled to a loud hum. Caleb shuddered with a cry of joyous abandonment.

“Don’t let them hear us,” Mason whispered.

Caleb tensed and dragged him back to what he was doing. When a rain of sultry kisses fluttered to his balls, he bit his fist to muffle the scream that threatened to erupt. Caleb clutched the back of Mason’s head, pressing him to his body. Mason groaned and brought his mouth to the crown of Caleb’s dick.

“Stop!” he gasped.

Mason paused and looked up at him. Caleb yanked open the drawer of the nightstand and grabbed the small bottle of lube hidden within. Mason took the bottle from his hand and doused him with a generous dose. The slippery liquid spilled down Caleb’s balls onto the bed.

Writhing with need, Caleb gathered some on his fingers and beckoned for Mason to come closer. As Mason straddled him, Caleb eased a finger into his body, rubbing in and out until it coated his lover liberally. All the while, he watched Mason’s face—the lowered eyes, the parted lips, the sharp intake of air signaling pleasure. He wanted it just as badly. Caleb grabbed his hips and brought him down.

Inch by inch, his thick girth was swallowed whole. Mason melted with a quiet exhale and took all of him. Caleb groaned in bliss. “Yes,” he whispered. “Uh, yes.” He pushed deeper as Mason braced his hands against his chest with a soft moan.

He rocked forward, partially rising off Caleb’s cock. When he rocked back, he took him inside again. Back and forth. Harder and faster. Caleb gamely tried to suppress his cries, but it was so unbelievable that it was almost impossible to make no sound. Mason stroked his erection in a slick, tight sheath. Caleb rolled his hips and thrust in and out to meet him.

The veins stood out along Caleb’s neck and temples at the effort required to hold himself in check. As Mason gained momentum, the waves of ecstasy crashed one after another. He rode harder, and Caleb inhaled hoarsely, clawing at his thighs. “It’s even better,” he gasped. “Why is it even better this time?” Caleb felt like he was dying of pleasure. His fragile body would surely come apart upon climax.

“Look me in the eyes,” Mason urged. His powerful thighs bunched and the sex intensified.

Caleb did as he asked, and the level of intimacy rocketed. He felt like he was careening through space and time as he stared into Mason’s burning eyes. Was he falling? Caleb wanted to look away, but he was compelled keep watching, wondering if things were getting dangerously out of hand. This was supposed to be a fling. A fling, he reminded himself as the pleasure clouded his thoughts and made him forget again.

* * *

As Caleb gripped his hips and jack-hammered into him with delicious fury, Mason’s mouth dropped open in awe and his eyes rolled back. He swore through clenched teeth. The punishing thrusts ushered him closer to orgasm. How was that possible? Could he come from penetration alone? All of this was so new.

Mason’s painful erection stood to attention, untouched but begging to be touched. Caleb ramming into him made pre-cum spill from the tip, and Mason clutched himself with a muted groan.

Seeing him touch himself, Caleb found the lubricant and drizzled it over Mason’s throbbing cock. “Does it feel good?” Caleb asked softly. He made a tight fist and jerked him off while he pounded into him.

Mason was speechless. The jarring thrusts, the silky glide of Caleb’s hand made him gasp breathlessly. He threw his head back, all thoughts now driven from his mind. Harder and faster, they slammed together. The sounds of wet connection filled the bedroom. The musky scent of sex accompanied it, and it was primal and honest and Mason lost all inhibition.

“Yes,” he gasped. It felt better than good.

“Yeah?” Caleb growled as he threw Mason to the bed. “What about this?”

Mason’s legs spread eagerly, and he tugged Caleb back to the entrance. Caleb plunged into him. “Yes…Ah, God, yes!” Mason whimpered. Caleb plunged into him again and again. He pushed Mason’s knees back and rocked with manic determination. His sweat fell to Mason’s mouth, and he licked Caleb’s salty flavor. Caleb’s tongue darted out to flick Mason’s lips. Their tongues met, and they kissed hungrily. He slipped a hand to Mason’s cock to continue masturbating him. The combination of sex, masturbation and intimate kissing proved almost too much to bear.

“Caleb, I’m gonna—”

“Huh! You feel so fucking amazing,” Caleb sobbed, kissing him.

“Caleb,” Mason whined.

“Not yet, baby. Take it. Take every inch of this. Tell me you want it.”

“I fucking want it!”

Mason clawed at his shoulders and deepened the kiss. His spine arched. Caleb bit his shoulder to mute his fierce growl. They were animals, wild for each other. For someone who had lived his whole life conservatively, this was proving a thrill second to none. Mason’s hips danced higher, and his body shuddered, taking it. Caleb’s expert touch promised relief. Mason cried out as his cock shivered and sputtered threateningly.

Caleb kissed him hard to silence him, their teeth bumping. The press of lips softened, and Caleb whispered for him to be quiet. Mason want to shout from the rooftops. Bliss set every nerve ending afire. Pools of desire rippled out from his core and touched the shores of climax. The punishing thrusts rubbed whatever it was inside that made magic happen.

Mason thrashed his head from side to side. His cock exploded in a shower of jizz that forcefully erupted over Caleb’s fingers. Copious liquid rushed free with rippling spasms of orgasm. Mason sobbed with relief. His body shook with the ecstasy that gripped him and refused to let go. The silky wetness spilled over his balls to his ass, lubricating Caleb’s passage even more.

The rapture of Mason’s climax seemed to take Caleb by surprise. He hugged Mason closer and rocked with him. The guttural sounds he made as he shook with need filled Mason’s ears, and he knew he would remember this night forever. The night they finally let go and accepted the craving. He clutched the back of Caleb’s neck and held on for dear life as Caleb rode his body to completion.

* * *

Gradually, they rocked slower. Gradually, they found a way to stop. Caleb eased out of Mason’s embrace and fell onto the bed beside him. They were both sweaty and covered in the aroma of sex. He smiled drowsily at the thought. “Would you like to shower with me?” he whispered. Mason nodded weakly.

They moved like men learning how to walk. Drunk with pleasure. Caleb took his hand and led him to the bathroom, then Mason leaned against the wall and watched him from beneath hooded eyes while Caleb turned on the shower. He stepped beneath the warm spray of water.

Mason soaped a sponge and began to wash himself. His eyes shyly skittered away from Caleb’s, but Caleb stared at him unabashedly. He knew this simple business arrangement would be the death of him. Days and days alone together. If they kept the door open to avoid suspicion, the proximity without fulfillment would kill him. By now, Mason should have been out of his system. So why did he want him as badly now as he had when the twenty-one-year-old had barged into his apartment an hour ago?

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Mason whispered.

Caleb tensed, stared into his eyes, and said nothing.

Chapter 9

The door to the attic apartment remained open, but the sexual chemistry was threatening to win out. The only thing keeping Caleb in check was his personal resolution not to touch Mason. He had managed to stay true to that goal for two months now, even though Mason’s feelings about that were obvious. The Saturday afternoon sittings were usually tense with his displeasure at being kept at arm’s length.

Caleb smiled tightly as Mr. Sinclair strolled past for the eleventh time and peered into the room. “How’s everything coming along?” Mason’s father asked.

“It’s going well, thank you, Mr. Sinclair. Do you, uh, need Mason for something? I’m about to break off.”

Mason peered over the back of the sofa at his father with embarrassment. Mr. Sinclair shook his head and hurried along, and Mason reclined again. “So, is it qualifying as high art yet?”

“High art isn’t the goal. I’m after accurate art that expresses emotion,” Caleb murmured as he added a touch of color to the shadows of Mason’s cheek. He peered at the painting and at his subject. He did not often work from live models, other than to draw initial sketches. Keeping Mason on his sofa for hours had more to do with wanting to see his face.

“Okay,” Mason said quietly, meeting his gaze. “What emotions are you trying to express?”

Caleb studiously turned his attention to his palette. “Is Riesling coming over today?”

“Probably.”

“You know she’s in love with you, right?”

Mason rolled his eyes. “She has a boyfriend,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder. “So, how long will this expressive series be?”

“I don’t know yet. We’re only on painting number three. What—are you tired of sitting for me already? We’ve only been at it for two months,” Caleb teased. Two months had passed since their night together and the start of the Saturday evening sittings. Everything had changed between them. Caleb kept a professional distance. “I’ll send some stills to Gregoire and see what he thinks. He’s on pins and needles.”

“What if he doesn’t like your work?”

Caleb shrugged. He had considered that possibility all too frequently. He would move on with his life after he was done here, sooner rather than later. Autumn had drifted into hard winter. A glance through the attic window revealed snow covering the backyard. The longer Caleb stayed, the harder it would be to leave.

And he had to leave. Mason was in love with him.

Caleb sighed as he continued painting. “Have you ever met her boyfriend?”

“Who?”

“Riesling’s boyfriend.”

Mason shifted on the sofa. “She showed me a picture. Why does it matter?”

“Like I said, she’s in love with you. In another four months, you’ll have to do something about that. She’s not going to want you to leave…You could take her with you.”

Mason sat back and stared at the ceiling. “Or, I could take you with me.”

Caleb chuckled. “I’ll be gone before then.” Mason’s expression smoothed, and Caleb knew he owed him an explanation or apology or something to salve the wounds he was unintentionally inflicting. “This shit is so complicated,” he whispered.

Mason continued staring at the ceiling from his position sprawled on the sofa. Caleb worked on his almond-shaped eyes in the painting, pretending the hurt look he had captured had nothing to do with him.

“Did I ever tell you about why I went to Venice?” Caleb asked. Mason shook his head. Not even talk of travel could raise a smile. Caleb scowled at the canvas. “Well, when I was twenty-four I went to Venice to find out more about my family.

“I had a private investigator dig into the old family tree. We found out my father was from Boston. He died in a car accident, before I was born. My mother—Gianna di Stefano—was harder to track down. She was here on a visa, and there was never any official American death certificate for her. We figured she had returned to Italy at some point.

“Funny, but the only thing I remember about my mother is her hair. It was long, curly and dark brown like mine. When I see her in my mind’s eye, her back is always to me, and I can never see her face. Anyway, I went to Venice to try to find out more about her. Some small part of me imagined she was alive, and all I had to do was find her to be complete.”

“Did you find her?” Mason whispered.

Caleb smiled ruefully as he cleaned his brush. “No. But I did discover the Italian masters and a desire to paint the world more realistically. My critics say I lost my edge because I tried to perfect something that did not need to be perfected. They were wrong.

“The world is a very unfeeling place. It has to be, for a woman to abandon her child for no earthly reason. I could never get over the fact that in all my memories, her back is to me. Did she hate me?” Caleb sighed. “The point is, I learned that the only honest art is without the beauty or ugliness of interpretation. I started painting that way to overcome the sense of unfairness. Life is neither fair nor unfair. It simply happens to us.”

“I think if you explained that perspective, your critics would understand your work,” said Mason.

“Of course not. They’d take one look at my art and try to assign meaning to the meaningless. ‘Ah, yes! This painting lacks emotion, it is sterile and barren,’” Caleb chuckled. “At the risk of going off on a tangent, I don’t think meaning can be assigned to anything until well after the fact. Time allows for perspective.”

Mrs. Sinclair tapped on the open door and peered into the apartment with an apologetic smile. “Mason, you have a guest.”

“Thanks, Mom. Tell her I’ll be down shortly.”

Caleb set aside his brush, refusing to let Riesling’s arrival irritate him. He sighed and worked the kinks out of his neck with a wave goodbye to Mrs. Sinclair as she darted away.

Mason asked him, “What will be different about your artwork now if you still view the world the same?” Caleb tilted his head, unable to answer. Mason rose from the sofa and came around to examine the painting. “You’ve captured me very realistically…coldly, but realistically.”

“Coldly?” Caleb rejoined defensively.

Mason walked toward the door, hesitating before walking out. He looked over his shoulder. “You paint what you see, but you’re a blind man. Until you open your eyes and engage your emotions you will only ever be half an artist at best.”

“You are way overthinking this, besides what business of yours is it anyway?” Caleb muttered.

Mason quirked a brow and showed rare anger. “A subtle reminder of the place of the muse?”

“You’re not my muse! I’m paying you to sit for me. This is a business arrangement!”

“Right,” Mason growled. “A business arrangement. I think your critics pegged you correctly. You’ve lost something, and if you think you can paint without it, then your future really is behind you.”

Caleb marched across the room and slammed the door before Mason could leave. “What are you trying to say? Because we can rip up the stupid contract you had me to sign right now, if you want to. I’ll pay you for your two months of service, and you can go back to eking out a living as a fucking hack-for-hire!”

Mason grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and jerked him into a hard kiss. Caleb clutched Mason’s face and kissed him back, diving his tongue into his mouth and groaning at the weakness. His body instantly flared with fires he feared would never be tamed with this man. They had not touched in two months—two months of staring at Mason, painting him, wanting him more than anything in the world and having to hide that desire.

“Fuck you!” Caleb swore, tearing away from him.

Mason grabbed his wrists and pulled him close. “Now, paint without emotion.”

* * *

Mason heard Robert and Belinda in the living room with his parents. His thoughts were in turmoil from Caleb’s distancing act, and he did not want to socialize. Why had Riesling shown up without calling? Probably because she was practically part of the family now. Sighing, Mason tried to get by the living room without any of them noticing him. As he darted past the archway, Robert called out, “Your friend is in here, Mason.”

Mason paused in the hall to run a hand over his clothes and ensure the fiery kiss with Caleb had left no evidence. “What have I missed?”

Riesling reached for his hand. “You have to see the floral arrangements Belinda and your mother are considering.”

Mason settled next to her and glanced at the catalogue, unaware his brother was watching him closely as Riesling snuggled against him. “Nice,” Mason mumbled.

Riesling giggled. “That’s not the picture, silly. Here.” She handed him a three-ring binder open to a magazine clipping. “Belinda is so creative. She put this together. I’ll have to use her ideas when I get married.”

“Want to come up to my room, Ries?” he whispered. He noted his father’s subtle nod of encouragement. Riesling’s eyes lit up as Mason led her from the room, leaving behind the cheerful talk of weddings. Robert was obviously on cloud nine and Mason regretted he would likely never know that feeling.

“We never go up to your room. What’s this about?” Riesling asked breathlessly on the stairs. Her eyes sparkled with fun mischief, and Mason dug deep for a smile, determined not to drag her down with his bad mood.

“Wedding planning isn’t for me. It’s boring,” True as far as it went. “It’s too cold to go walking, but I wanted to get away from everyone.” He kept the door to his room open for propriety’s sake. Riesling plopped down on his bed, and he took the chair at his writing desk. One look at the typewriter stirred memories he preferred not to think about. Mason idly tapped a key.

“I heard the painting is going well,” Riesling drew his attention.

He nodded and looked her way. “What about you? What have you been up to?”

She shrugged. “Getting ready for winter break.”

“Will you spend some of the holiday season with your other boyfriend?”

She blushed and looked down at her rose-colored nails, shaking her head. “Do you and Caleb have any special plans for the most wonderful time of the year?”

“There is no me and Caleb. You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

“Mason,” she sighed.

“Tell me the truth, please.”

She threw up her arms. “I thought it would make it easier for you if you thought I had someone else on the side.”

“Riesling,” he groaned. “You didn’t have to do that!”

“Well, what was I supposed to do? Keep coming over here, seeing you pine after him while I—!” She closed her eyes and shook her head. Mason moved to the bed and took her hands. Her eyes were full of tears when she opened them, and he looked at the floor in disbelief.

“You care about me,” he whispered. Caleb was right. She was in love with him. Mason’s shoulders slumped at the implications. All these months of Riesling coming over to hang out while his attention was on someone else. Mason had to seem like the worst kind of monster for not picking up on the signs.

She laughed and dashed a tear. “Sometimes you can be so thick. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I get it. You can lie all you want, pretend all you want, but the truth is written all over your face. He makes you glow, Mason Sinclair. I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you look at him.”

Mason muttered with regret, “I’ve broken your heart for a man who could never love me back.”

“I don’t believe that’s true. I think he cares a great deal about you, or he wouldn’t stick around here. I mean, what’s in New Hampshire for a guy like him?”

“The ridiculousness of it is embarrassing. He created this beautiful notion in my head, and I got caught up in the beauty and forgot the most important part. What he creates isn’t real…it’s art.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m not so thick that I can’t see this must hurt you. I think we should stop seeing each other.”

She squeezed his hand supportively. “No, don’t let my stupid tears make you pull away from me. We have to ride this out and keep up the charade, for your sake. Your father is watching you harder than ever, and, from a purely selfish perspective, how else will I see you every other day?”

He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “We’re both fools.”

“At least we have that much in common,” she quipped.

Mason pulled her into a hug. “Maybe the spark is overrated.” He had to give up the fantasy of being with Caleb. No matter how he imagined his future—whether traveling and writing or working in a cubicle—the artist would never comfortably fit into his life. It was a silly crush, and it was time to do away with it. “Maybe we can give this a real shot, Riesling.”

She shook her head, as he knew she would. Mason fell back on the bed with a sigh as she snuggled in the crook of his arm. “The spark is the most important thing, in between nothing and fire. No spark equals no fire. It’s all pretty simple really.”

Her fingers drifted aimlessly back and forth on his chest. He grabbed her hand and sighed into her hair, hugging her tighter. “Don’t give up your day job and become a philosopher whatever you do.” They both laughed.

Mason heard footsteps in the hall and looked toward his open door. Caleb suddenly appeared. “You know what? You were right. I’m sor—” Caleb’s gaze rushed over them, and he frowned. Mason slowly sat up, and Riesling guiltily sprang from his arms. She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked from Caleb to Mason.

“I’ll let you two talk,” she whispered, climbing off of the bed.

“No, no…” Caleb waved dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I interrupted.” The artist exited as quickly as he had arrived.

Mason stared at the door and Riesling laid a hand on his shoulder. “Um, I’m not trying to pry, but I think you might be a little off the mark this time, Mason. Caleb just marched away from here in a jealous rage. Nobody ever gets jealous over someone they care nothing about. Trust me, I know.”

* * *

Caleb stopped short at the sight of Mr. Sinclair standing at his easel. The man nodded, obviously impressed by what he was looking at. “I see why you’re so famous.”

“Not anymore,” Caleb sighed in annoyance. He felt violated, but he had left the door open during the ill-timed trip to Mason’s room. Caleb had known Riesling was in the house, but he had not expected to find them so entangled. He rubbed his eyes to clear the image. “Can I help you with something, Mr. Sinclair?”

“I’m here with a proposition for you. Close the door.”

Caleb did as requested. Turning with arms crossed, he lifted a brow expectantly. Mr. Sinclair gestured at his apartment. “Excellent sound system. Is that Vivaldi playing?”

“Corelli.”

“Yes, well, it’s clear you’re a man who’s used to the finer things in life.”

“Quite the contrary. I know poverty well.”

“Then, you should understand better than most why it’s vital I get my son back on the right track. I want you to retract your offer to fund half his gap year. There is a promising job opening at my company, and I’d like to get Mason to consider submitting a resume. He won’t listen to me, but you can talk to him and make him understand the value of this opportunity.”

“What makes you think he’ll listen to me?” Caleb asked.

Mr. Sinclair stepped closer. There was something intimidating about his slow, deliberate stroll. “Because you’re the cool artist from New York City. Look, I may have overestimated his attraction to you but I know that he looks up to you. This entry-level position will start him at eighty-thousand a year with benefits and stability that hitchhiking from continent to continent can’t possibly compete with.”

Caleb studied his nails, noting that there was paint under them as usual. “Mr. Sinclair, I have a contract with your son. I’ve promised him a substantial amount of money.”

“We both know he won’t litigate. In fact, my offer includes paying you for the remaining four months you’ll lose with him as a model.” Mr. Sinclair pulled a checkbook from his back pocket. “How much?”

“Why are you making this so hard on him? Haven’t you ever had a dream, Mr. Sinclair?”

“I did. I dreamed of having my own store and selling nineteen twenties sheet music and antique instruments. Do you know where I’d be if I had gone through with that plan? I certainly wouldn’t be high up in of one of the world’s leading companies.

“Mr. O’Hara, All it would take is one successful story to convince him to keep pursuing writing as opposed to doing the sensible thing. He’ll be doing something he loves, something that challenges and stimulates him. He has the potential to make just as much, if not more, working with a good agent. Dare I say, he might even make it in half the time, if he’s given a decent advance or produces a best-seller.”

“Which happens how often, Mr. O’Hara? Let’s take a step back for a moment and gain some perspective. Why are you here?”

Caleb wondered where the new line of questioning was going. He put his hands on his hips and answered defiantly, “To complete a collection. Art is my career and my passion, and I love what I do. I want Mason to find the same excitement instead of clinging to a job that he will hate for the rest of his days. There’s no hidden agenda, Mr. Sinclair.”

Desmond Sinclair held up a finger. “That’s a partial answer. You must’ve forgotten you told me to look you up, and I am very thorough, Mr. O’Hara. I did my homework on your entire fast rise to fame. I read the critique of your last major work, and, to put it mildly, it was not favorable.”

Caleb laughed bitterly. “So, you’re going to use that? What a cheap shot. My success or failure has nothing to do with Mason’s!”

“Your swift ascent and equally rapid plummet were the result of a career built on the whims of an audience who clamors one week for blood and the next for milk!” Mr. Sinclair fired back. “Is that the future you would give my son? If you cared about him at all, you would recognize that his sensitive nature cannot withstand the harsh world of reviewers and critics.”

“Why not? He’s doing a bang-up job of it here at home.”

Mr. Sinclair narrowed his eyes. “The difference is that here at home the critics love him.” Caleb stared at the floor, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He pictured Mason dealing with cutthroat New York literati, who had their picks and favorites, and realized that Mr. Sinclair’s point was a fair one.

Caleb pushed past him and stared at the canvas from which Mason’s portrait stared back. Caleb had more than enough sketches to use in place of a live model to complete the collection. There was no reason to keep Mason chaste and on his sofa suffering. Mr. Sinclair made his way to the easel and stood beside him, hands clasped behind his back.

“Are you a man of integrity, Mr. O’Hara?” he asked quietly. “Are you a man with strong moral principles? I’d like to see my son happily married someday, living in a nice house, driving a nice car. Safe, even boring, but a sure bet beats a risky dream every time.”

Caleb closed his eyes and saw Mason in bed with Riesling, and a dagger pierced his heart. Without the complication of a homoerotic relationship, Mason might grow to care for her and yearn for the house and family sedan. Everything about the life Mr. Sinclair wanted for his son was uncomplicated, and if Caleb was a man of integrity, he would push Mason in that direction and stop breaking his heart, even if it broke his own.

“Give me a month, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter 10

Mason was listening to his favorite pop singer and the volume was loud, as his parents were out of the house. They had gone with Robert, Belinda and the wedding planner to scout venue locations for the reception, and he was happy to have the house mostly to himself. He refused to think about the man above him or Riesling’s assertion that Caleb had reacted jealously to them.

The ballad playing in the background—with its romantic undertones and sappy lyrics—had nothing to do with how he was feeling. At least that was what he told himself as he hummed the melody. The knock on the door startled him.

Caleb leaned against the doorjamb. “I have something for you.”

Mason closed and locked the door behind him. Caleb handed him a check. “What’s this?”

“Your payment from me. It’s the full amount. I don’t need you to pose for me anymore.”

Mason put the check on his writing desk with shaking hands. He kept his back to Caleb as he tried to steady himself. “Did I do something wrong? Is it Riesling?”

Caleb snorted softly. “No. I talked to Gregoire. He loved the first three images from the series, and he wants me to come to New York to finish the rest. By the way, he…uh…he hasn’t heard back from the agent who expressed interest in working with you.”

Mason glanced over his shoulder. “You’re leaving?”

“That’s not important. The important part is I think you need to reconsider your travel plans. If you don’t have an agent, you don’t have a leg up. Why don’t you talk to your father and see what job opportunities might be open to you at his company?”

“When are you leaving?”

“Mason,” Caleb sighed.

“When?” He stared at the typewriter. Caleb’s arms slowly came around him from behind. Mason tried not to be affected, but Caleb’s touch sent electricity sparking through him. He closed his eyes. “Just tell me when.”

“In another month,” Caleb whispered against the back of his neck. He held him like a fragile vase. “You’ll understand it better when you’re older. I don’t want to leave but sometimes we must sacrifice what we want to get what we need. It’s best for me to leave—best for both of us.”

“You don’t know what’s best for me.”

Teardrops fell between the keys of the typewriter, and Mason regretted the show of emotion. He smoothed his face. Caleb squeezed him tighter with one arm and used his free hand to wipe away the tears, but more fell in their place. “Mason, don’t,” he whispered.

Caleb’s lips brushed the side of his neck, and Mason flinched, then turned to face him. “I’m fine,” he sniffed, dashing his tears. “I knew you’d leave at some point. I’m fine. Thank you for the payment.”

Caleb studied him. “She seems right for you.” A tiny smile hovered and disappeared before it could form fully. He sighed and looked at the floor. “I’m not right for you.”

Mason tried to resist the urge to cup his face, but he needed to touch him one last time. He lifted Caleb’s chin and looked him in the eyes, trying to memorize every detail—his gaze, his cheeks, his gorgeous mouth. “Goodbye, Caleb,” he said with finality.

Caleb turned away to leave, but when he opened the door, Mason heard his parents’ downstairs and groaned. Caleb looked at him in askance. “They’re home. If they see me in your room, what will happen?”

Mason shook his head and ushered him into his walk-in closet. “Stay in here until I tell you to come out.”

“Mason!” his mother called out cheerfully.

Mason quickly shut the closet door and hurried to turn down the volume on his stereo. He opened the door to his bedroom and leaned out as his parents materialized at the head of the stairs. “Yes?”

“I was just trying to see if you were still up. We did not expect to be out so late,” she laughed. “You missed a treat. You should have come with us.”

“I was writing.”

She smiled as she smoothed a ripple of his cardigan. “Well, get some rest.”

Mr. Sinclair nodded at his son and peered over his shoulder into the bedroom. Nothing was out of place, Mason was sure. He glanced back to double-check. “What’s that?” his father asked. Mr. Sinclair entered the room and picked up the check, and Mason sighed.

“Mr. O’Hara paid me in full for my modeling services. He will be leaving within the month.”

“Oh! So soon?” Mr. Sinclair sounded sad.

Mason ducked his head. “And he told me his agent was not able to secure representation for me. So, you get your wish. I’m staying home, and Caleb is leaving.” He turned away from his parents. “If you know of any job fairs—”

“No, don’t worry about that,” his father interjected with obvious pleasure. “I’ll have a look at the company job board and let you know in the morning what position I can help you secure. Prepare a cover letter for your resume.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather find work on my own,” Mason whispered.

Mr. Sinclair looked confused. “But, Mason—”

“I can do it on my own!”

“Alright, fine. I’m available if you need me.” His father exited the room, flustered, and Mason’s shoulders slumped. He felt the calming touch of his mother’s hand on his back and turned to face her.

“Are you alright?” she asked quietly in Korean. Her dark eyes glowed with concern. Mason nodded.

“I’m not a child anymore, Mother. You don’t have to console me for every scraped elbow and skinned knee. I rely on you and father too much. I have to take care of myself or I’ll remain here, miserable and will end up resenting both of you, the very people I love.” He sniffed as fresh tears threatened.

She nodded. “Everything will work out as it should, and broken hearts, like skinned knees and scraped elbows, all heal.”

She slipped out of his bedroom. Mason waited for the sound of the TV powering on down the hall. He knew his parents would be asleep soon. When he was certain they were, he could let Caleb out and begin the work of taking care of himself. It was time to grow up and move on with his life.

* * *

Caleb listened to Mason talk to his parents. He squeezed his eyes shut with regret as he heard Mason ask his father about job opportunities. Caleb had not taken Mr. Sinclair’s bribe but had paid Mason with his own money.

He had done as the patriarch asked. He had misled Mason into believing staying was his only option, while praying he would balk at the idea. In the end, it had been far too easy to convince Mason to do what his father wanted him to do. Maybe it was what Mason wanted all along. It was easier, certainly. His parents would be right there to hold his hand every step of the way.

“He’s such a child,” Caleb whispered bitterly. His lie left an aftertaste he wanted to get rid of. Gregoire had made clear there was an agent waiting patiently for Mason to send more writing samples. That however, would put them in the same city, and Caleb could not bear the thought of running into Mason in New York where the line between what was allowed and what was not would be less easily defined. Also, an insecure part of him worried that Mason would be lured away by the bright lights and fast living, eventually finding someone more exhilarating, someone else who would take him to the clubs and keep things fun.

Caleb had achieved his dreams at such a young age that the rest of life seemed to stretch before him with nothing to do but get older and become irrelevant. Mason would grow bored with him the same way critics had gotten bored with his art. That was an eventuality he could not handle. Better to leave while the memories burned blue with passion than cooled to dead ash.

But what if he could offer Mason the life he truly wanted? Caleb allowed himself to daydream. In a perfect world, Mason would run away with him to some place better than New York. They would travel the world first, though. Caleb would make beautiful art to keep money coming in so they would not have to depend on Mason’s parents. There was nothing keeping them from doing that, except Mason’s family.

In a perfect world. Caleb sighed. It could be imperfect and they could still make it happen, but Mason would have to be willing to take the leap.

The closet door quietly opened and Mason stood over him. “They’re asleep,” Mason muttered. He quickly turned away but turned back. “Can I ask you something? Was it all in my head? Did I imagine you cared or did you trick me into believing it?”

Caleb slowly rose, rubbing his hands on his jeans. His heart swelled to painful proportions in his chest. Mason stepped into the closet and closed the door behind him. Caleb bowed his head. “I care.”

“Then, why have we spent the past two months apart? Why did you keep away from me?” Mason asked.

“Don’t you understand?” Caleb whispered fiercely. “All we ever got were stolen moments that never felt like enough. But if we would have tried for something more, we would have discovered the thrill was in the idea and not the substance. I don’t want to disillusion you but what we had was beautiful because it existed in a bubble. Can whatever this is last out in the real world?” A part of him screamed Yes.

Mason embraced him. “Am I insane to want you for just one more night?”

Caleb breathed in his scent as he blindly sought his mouth. “Yes, absolutely crazy,” he groaned as he kissed him to keep from saying the crazy things he wanted to say. He could not tell Mason he was drowning in emotion for him or that he feared he would never be the same after this. He was older and wiser and knew the difference between a fling and something more permanent. This had all the markings of the latter, if given the slightest chance.

But it was not sustainable done in the dark, behind closed doors, in the closet. Caleb almost asked Mason to make it something more. Judging by the conversation he had overheard with Mason and his parents, the writer was not quite ready to flee the nest yet. But one more night….

Mason’s warm lips tasted like tears. Caleb kissed away the salty residue, and Mason dragged his mouth feverishly down his neck to his chest, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. “We’ll get caught,” Caleb said breathlessly. Mason paid no heed. Caleb clutched the back of his head when his lips closed over a beaded nipple. Mason’s glorious tongue sent volts of electric pleasure shooting through him.

Wary thoughts flitted through his head as Caleb shrugged out of his shirt and unfastened his pants and as Mason dropped to his knees and wrestled his erection free. If they were caught, it would be disaster. If they were not caught, it would be bliss. If this was the last time they would be together, however, Caleb needed something for the cold nights that were sure to come when he left this place.

Mason wrapped his lips around Caleb’s stiff manhood with an eager hum that sent vibrations through him, and the decision was made. Caleb swore quietly and kicked away his jeans, his hips canting forward to dive deeper into Mason’s hungry mouth. He clenched a fistful of Mason’s hair and jerked his head back to stare down at him.

“One month,” Caleb whispered. A month of stolen moments. A month to convince him to run away with him to a future that, though imperfect could be theirs. Mason spread his hands on Caleb’s thighs and nodded. Caleb closed his eyes and fell deeper into submission. “We meet like this for the rest of the month, and then we’ll see what’s what.”

Caleb released his hair, and Mason’s expert tongue traced the ridge of his swollen cock. “For one month, I’ll be your muse,” he whispered, and swallowed him to the hilt. Mason’s silky tongue pressed to the base of his erection, and he thought he might come undone.

“Mason, I’ll never forget you,” Caleb moaned.

* * *

Mason reverently laved his cock and stroked him to the verge of climax. Caleb surged in and out of his mouth with a fluid roll of his hips, his erotic sighs of rapture filling the dark closet. Mason stood and covered his mouth with a kiss. “Quiet,” he whispered. Caleb wove his hands through his hair and pressed him to the wall, undressing him as his tongue speared in and out like his erection had only moments before.

Mason’s head swam with desire as he let Caleb push a hand into his pants and touch him intimately. The kiss raged hotter. His dick was hard as steel, and Caleb handled him roughly and passionately. Mason bit his lip and held back a groan when Caleb kneeled and flicked his tongue over his throbbing cock.

Caleb wrapped his fingers around him and baptized him with his mouth, and Mason shuddered. “Ah! Caleb!” he hissed. He dropped his head and clutched the closet rod tighter as Caleb masterfully sucked him off. The pleasure was everything Mason remembered from their first time, intensified by the knowledge that he had a month more to look forward to. He refused to think beyond that.

Mason gasped as Caleb reached up and squeezed his nipple while working him over with slow, maddening swirls of his mouth up, around and down his dripping wet erection. He gradually picked up the pace, and Mason’s toes curled against the hardwood floor. He felt his balls constrict with readiness.

He jerked out of Caleb’s mouth to stop the rush to completion, but the erotic sight of a thin web of spit and pre-cum clinging to Caleb’s lips was almost too much. With a tortured moan, Mason pulled Caleb to his feet and kissed him. Caleb eagerly stroked their erections together.

“Make it last,” Mason pleaded.

Caleb shook his head. “We have to make it quick, but I’ll make it memorable.” Caleb lifted a hand and caressed his face with wet fingers. Mason pressed his forehead to his, and they sighed in sync, smiling. Caleb picked him up, making Mason’s eyes widen. “Hold onto the bar,” he whispered. Mason did as he was told, and Caleb put him to the wall. Mason wrapped his legs around his hips.

With a quiet grunt, Caleb eased his way inside of him. Fine tremors coursed through Mason’s body, bracing for penetration, but Caleb’s sensual kiss sent his arousal sky-high, and Mason melted in his arms. There was the brief explosion of pain—like fireworks—that turned quickly to wonder. A sob of ecstasy tore from Mason’s lips as Caleb gently rocked in and out.

He grinded against Caleb’s thrusting pelvis. Their lips met—more fireworks—and Mason’s senses were blitzed by what was being done to him. The closet filled with the sound of lovemaking underscored by strangled moans and sobs of satisfaction. It became an intimate shelter to their secret connection. Caleb’s blunt nails dug into his skin as he clutched him tighter. Mason dropped an arm around his shoulders and held him closer.

Being chest to chest stoked fires. His throbbing erection was sandwiched between them. Every slippery glide down Caleb’s cock brought them together and brought exquisite need. Mason touched himself as Caleb’s lips blazed a trail to his neck. He threw his head back and stared blindly at the ceiling, seeing stars as Caleb sucked his racing pulse while he masturbated faster. With hushed grunts of exertion, Caleb took him higher. Mason uttered love words in Korean against his earlobe as he nipped back.

Caleb threw a hand forward to brace himself against the wall, bringing Mason down harder on his cock. “Fuck! Uhn, yes! Mason!” Caleb kissed him, completely out of control. His chest heaved as he looked down at where their bodies slammed together over and over. He took over masturbating Mason, and Mason clutched the closet rod and writhed against him.

Caleb’s hips bucked harder. They were two trains colliding, but instead of pain, each crash brought elation. Sweat beaded on their skin, and their breathing came louder and faster. Mason feared they would be heard, but he could not stop. He met Caleb’s every thrust and gave as good as he received as his cock pulsated in his lover’s hand.

His body tightened. Caleb whispered his name in warning. Mason held his breath, feeling it coming, knowing there was nothing he could do to hold himself back. He squeezed his eyes shut as his body tightened again, and Caleb growled with lust and hammered harder and faster.

The magic started somewhere deep within Mason, expanding like a newborn universe. His mouth dropped open in a silent outcry. All the blood rushed from his head, and he thought he would lose consciousness. His body tightened rhythmically as spasms rippled through his cock. He whined through clenched teeth as everything in him seemed to come out.

“Mason!” Caleb sobbed and dropped him to his feet. Their erections came together in a potent eruption that gushed over Caleb’s racing fist. “Oh, my God, Mason! Oh, my—Uhn!” They kissed to mute the sounds of each other’s shocking conclusion as jizz rained between them. Mason’s abs clenched and his knees went weak. He clutched Caleb to his chest, shamelessly exploding all over him, feeling his ejaculation spill down his stomach and not caring. He just wanted to be close.

Caleb quaked in his arms until the violent shudders stopped. He slowly pulled back and stared into Mason’s eyes uncertainly. Mason asked quietly, “What is it?”

“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t ever want to say goodbye.”

Chapter 11

Caleb was distracted by erotic memories. The library was no place for fantasizing about Mason’s mouth on his throbbing erection. The two months of resistance had left him particularly vulnerable to the previous night’s sex. Now he could not stop thinking about what had happened in Mason’s closet. Caleb’s watercolor students looked at him expectantly as he went blank for the third time in as many minutes while giving instructions. Caleb chuckled self-consciously. “And, obviously, I’m not all here tonight. Uh, where was I?”

“You were talking about tenebrism,” someone supplied helpfully.

“Ah! Of course. So the terms tenebrism and chiaroscuro are very closely related and often used interchangeably,” said Caleb, eyes darting to the empty chair across the room. Mason was still absent, and he missed him, but they had to keep up appearances. If Mr. Sinclair suspected anything, Caleb’s plan to convince Mason to leave with him would fall apart. “They both rely on dramatic tonal differences to produce three-dimensional appearance. Let’s try our hand at light and shadow effect with this still life.”

Caleb directed his students to begin painting and struggled in vain to focus his attention on his own canvas. The idea of taking a chance with Mason left him both anxious and excited. Caleb knew the Pandora’s box of pleasure that had been opened could not be closed. The sex had driven that point home. It was like nothing he had ever imagined—the primal eroticism, the passionate sensuality—but his stand-offish reaction to Mason telling him he was falling had almost put an end to things.

Caleb had almost bought a plane ticket back to New York. He was not the falling in love type. Yet, here he was, willing to walk away from everything for Mason. That spelled complications. Caleb nibbled the end of his paintbrush in contemplation.

He could sell the rights to some of his current paintings to keep money coming in. While they traveled the world, Caleb could create art that was trendy and easy to peddle. They would not go broke. There was still the matter of people finding out his sexual preferences had evolved, but he was less concerned about that than what the Sinclairs would think of their son for being with him. Caleb’s brow furrowed.

Of course, everything hinged upon how Gregoire reacted to the stills of his paintings of Mason. If the agent felt he had something worth pursuing, Caleb would cool it. He would persuade Mr. Sinclair to let him stick around to complete the series. After all, Mason was staying home to pursue a career in finance. They would spend the time together until the series received enough monetary success for Caleb to have something to offer Mason besides promises.

He sighed and put away his brush so he could check the progress of his students. Caleb made his way from table to table, peering at canvases. “How’s this for a still life, Mr. O’Hara?” Mr. Dantzler chuckled as Caleb leaned over his shoulder.

“Very good work, as usual, Mr. Dantzler. What exactly were you aiming for?”

“Well, I was going for painting the vase as it is, utilizing the technique you taught us. We’ll see what comes of it,” Mr. Dantzler replied. Caleb laughed.

“Sometimes technique is the least important part of painting.”

Caleb was about to move on, but Mr. Dantzler halted him. “Why do you paint, Mr. O’Hara? For me, it’s quite soothing. I imagine you do it for its restive quality as well?” The old man kept his eyes on his art, his arm waving fluidly as he added neat brush strokes that made the picture come to life.

Caleb smiled and murmured, “It used to relax me. Now, I do it for a living. I’m well known in art circles in New York.”

“Oh, are you? I should have known you were no quiet country cousin fiddling away with his watercolors. Why are you here, then?”

“I had to get away for a while.” Caleb crossed his arms, smiling indulgently. “The critics turned on me. They said I lost my edge. I came here to lick my wounds and try to come up with something to wow them. I’m resigned to the fact my career could be just about over.” He shrugged.

Mr. Dantzler peered at him curiously. “Giving up that easily?”

“Well, it depends. There’s something else calling me if the art doesn’t work out. I mean, if my ship has sailed, perhaps I’ve accomplished all there is for me to accomplish in this one lifetime.”

“I see. I assumed people continued with their passions because of fulfilment, not accolades,” Mr. Dantzler said lightly. Caleb chuckled.

“Wouldn’t you agree we set goals for both? To be fulfilled and to accomplish something objective?”

Mr. Dantzler shrugged. “When we do things we love, we find fulfilment. When the things we love are loved by others, we feel accomplished. We can feel neither of those things if we’re not doing something we love.”

“You have a point,” Caleb replied, smiling.

“I encourage you to keep doing what you love, Mr. O’Hara. Life is short. You might wake up one day and realize you’ve wanted to paint your whole life and never really tried. As long as you have breath in you, it’s never too late, but don’t let it take you a lifetime to figure that out.”

“I’ll take that into consideration. Thank you, Mr. Dantzler.”

Caleb moved on to look at the work of his other students. He puzzled over what had been discussed. What would he do if Gregoire told him the series of paintings was good enough to make a comeback? Mr. Dantzler was right to say Caleb had years ahead of him. He did not want to spend them regretting the things that could have been but weren’t.

Even as the thought fluttered to the surface, another followed. How much would he regret leaving Mason if he ultimately had to let him go?

* * *

The next morning, Caleb stared out the attic window, watching as Riesling looped her arm through Mason’s and skipped alongside him to her car. Mason was going apartment hunting, against his father’s wishes. Caleb went to his kitchenette to raise a toast to rebellion. He was proud of him. It would be good for Mason to get out on his own.

He had to tackle his own demons. Mr. Dantzler’s thoughts had stuck with Caleb through the night. He carried his drink to the chaise lounge and dug out his cellphone to place the call to Gregoire that he had been putting off. It was time to get some firm answers about where to go next. Gregoire answered cheerfully. “The prodigal artist calls.”

“I should say the absentee agent answers. You gave me positive feedback about the stills in your email, but you failed to write a word about the most important business: whether or not you’ll be renewing my contract. Talk to me. I’m planning to be out of here by the end of the month.”

“Caleb,” Gregoire said hesitantly. Caleb sat forward on guard at his tone of voice. “I did some soul searching, and as much as I want to throw you a bone, I have to look at the bottom line.”

“Of course,” Caleb replied stiffly.

“Vido Charles is receiving a lot of attention right now. He needs to ride this wave without opposing forces, and someone like you reentering the scene would disrupt his momentum. Your styles are so similar.”

“Whose fault is it you chose to represent my carbon copy?” Caleb sniped. “The season is already underway and Vido Charles has gained the upper hand. Fortunately, I’m established enough to not take much of a hit from less exposure. I just need to get my work out there.”

“It isn’t that simple, and you know it. The season is still fresh, but you’ve missed the boat for this year. I would prefer to reintroduce you at the start next year in September.”

“And what the hell am I supposed to do until then?”

“I’m glad you asked. I have a friend in the Bay Area who could use a substitute. Alyssa is taking the spring semester from Yi Yan Art Academy, and she needs a teacher to fill her spot. You mentioned to me you’ve been enjoying teaching your little watercolor classes at the library. Why not take a swing at the big leagues at one of the premier art schools? You won’t have to touch your savings.”

“I’ve already cut into it.”

“What? Why?”

“I paid Mason Sinclair to sit for me.”

“How much?”

“That’s not the point!” Caleb growled, agitated. “The point is I need this season to get my finances back where they should be and to get back on top. Find someone else to play substitute teacher. I’m not interested. Put my shit in a show!”

Greg sighed on the other end of the line. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but since you insist here goes: We need to talk about that situation with Jade Wellington. Because of her, you’re all but blacklisted in this city.”

“Man, come on! Really? How was I supposed to know she was the daughter of one of the most prominent collectors in the city? She told me she was a damn supermodel.”

“Yeah, well, to tell you the truth, I sent you off partly because I didn’t expect you to come up with something so quickly. I was hoping at least a lengthy hiatus would give things time to die down. Mr. Wellington was not happy to find his daughter on the front page of a supermarket gossip rag, taking the walk of shame from your apartment, and that doesn’t go away in four months.”

“She didn’t have to take a walk of shame. I called her a cab,” Caleb grumbled.

“Her lipstick was smeared, and her hair was all over the place. She was only wearing one shoe, for goodness sake. And that was just the cover shot.”

“Hey, in my defense, I threw both shoes at her when I kicked her out—No, that—that didn’t come out right. Listen, Greg,” Caleb squeezed the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “There has to be something you can do to fix this for me. My PR agent already spread the rumor I’m away in rehab. What if we do some interviews and talk about me going through a rough patch or something? I’ll get in front of a camera and apologize profusely, Greg. Profusely!”

“You’ve been gone four months. The way the media is set up these days, there’s a new story every second. However, there are some faux pas you just can’t come back from in less than a year. I fully understand your desire to get back in the game, but take this break. Go to San Francisco. Teach the class. You’ll be paid well, and by the time September rolls around again, you can get the fresh start you need.”

Caleb nodded with regret. “Alright. Yeah, okay. Shoot me the phone number to the school so I can set this up.”

“Are you excited about it?”

“Hell, no.”

“Well, get excited about it. I’m excited for you. It’s a new phase of your career, Caleb. The mature adult period. You’re no longer the prodigy, but you’re still a valuable part of the art world, and there’s so much you can show these young people,” Gregoire joked. “By the way, the stills of the three paintings you sent me looked promising.”

“So, San Francisco it is. I’ll book a plane ticket tonight. I’m slated to wrap up here by the beginning of January.”

“And things between you and your, uh…will be wrapped up by then, too?”

Caleb glanced at the window, knowing Mason was with Riesling somewhere out there in the world, planning a future together. One month really was all they had left.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s be honest, Gregoire. By September next year, I’ll officially be dead wood, and people like Vido Charles will dominate the scene. I might be able to add some honorifics to my name or even get tenure at some lame ass university, but this was supposed to be my year to make a comeback. I blew it.”

Caleb threw up a hand casually, as if the loss was inconsequential. He had a mere month left with Mason. He let that sink in.

“Let’s get through this one day at a time, alright, buddy?” Greg said quietly.

* * *

Mason stepped out of the apartment with Riesling. “What did you think of it?” she asked.

“It’s a good location.” He shrugged.

“You’re still not sold on actually moving out,” she guessed. “Afraid to leave the nest?” She smiled up at him, and the breeze lifted her hair and made her look radiant. Mason tweaked her nose.

“No. Afraid that by signing a lease in town, I’m lengthening my sentence here,” he chuckled.

It was a cold, sunny Monday as they stepped out of the stately colonial and headed to his car. Mason had spent the day productively, but he was ready to go home. His thoughts drifted to his employment prospects. His father probably had jobs lined up for him but Mason had sent off resumes to companies not connected to his family. He wanted to get ahead on his merit not his name.

When the real estate agent ran out of the apartment behind them, Mason looked back in surprise. “Did we forget something?”

“You said you’re in finance, right?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I hate to flag you down like this, but I have a question for you. My mother owns an indie bookstore, and she’s been looking for an accountant for weeks. Gosh, I don’t know how any of this works. Do you do accounting? Can you contract out?”

“As a matter of fact, I do plenty of freelance accounting work. Here, let me give you my card,” Mason reached into his inner pocket. He handed the real estate agent his business card and nodded graciously. “Please have her to get in touch with me, and I’ll let her know if I can help.”

“That would be wonderful! I always want to help her out however I can. She’s held onto that business for so many years. It’s getting harder and harder for her to keep up with the bookwork side of things. I’m sure anything you can do would take a load off. Thank you!”

Mason nodded respectfully and waved goodbye as the woman strolled to her own vehicle across the street. “That was sweet of you. I hope you can help her,” said Riesling.

Mason sighed and started the car with a bemused smile. “I seem intent on sticking around, don’t I?”

“It won’t be as bad as you think.”

“He’s leaving in a month.”

“Oh,” she whispered. She laid a hand over his.

Mason turned the steering wheel and eased into traffic, heading back to the house on the bluff, the place where he and the artist in the attic had shared a blissful experience. As he sank into lush memories of lovemaking that made him clench his teeth and ball a fist, Riesling went quiet. Mason had one month to get Caleb out of his system. After that, he would do the noble thing. He would give Riesling the relationship she desired.

He led her up to his bedroom, and she sprawled on his bed, grabbing a book from his nightstand. “Well, after he leaves, I’ll still be here to keep you company,” she said at length.

“Which I very much appreciate, but…” Mason trailed off. His attention went to a velum wrapped package that had not been on his desk when he left. He gingerly folded back the wrapping and stared at the heavy weight, high quality specialty paper. “Have you considered what you want to do with your life?” He smiled to himself as he put the sheaf of paper in his desk drawer and turned to her.

She smiled wistfully. “We’ve been over this. The house with the white picket fence isn’t in my cards.” Riesling set aside the book and passed him a hand-painted bookmark that fell from the pages, something else new. It was of the ocean at dawn and took him back to the grassy knoll where Caleb had first touched him.

Mason sighed and gazed at the ceiling. The little gifts touched him.

“When I picture your future,” he murmured, “I see you as a famous newscaster who will meet a stunning actor who sweeps you off your feet.

“Or a writer,” she joked.

Mason grew serious. “We’ve been fools for long enough, Riesling. I’m going to get serious about my career and move forward with my life, and I want you to do the same.”

She nodded bravely as she looked down at her clenched hands. She licked her lips and nodded again. They met eyes. “When do you suggest we stage the break up?”

“January,” he sighed.

“Big blow up or quiet ghosting?” She forced a laugh.

He reached over and squeezed her hands. “A very amicable parting.”

She smiled sadly. “Then, I’m out of your life, and there will be no one to keep you company.”

“I’ve spent the vast majority of my existence on this earth depending on others to tell me what to do, who to be, where to go. I can’t do that anymore, and neither should you. You wouldn’t be here if your father hadn’t forced you to meet me.”

“The one time I want to thank him for meddling in my life,” she murmured. “But you know what? I think you should go big or stay home. I say, nix the new apartment idea. Travel the world! Take control of your destiny. What’s holding you back now? Nothing.”

Mason swiped a teardrop from the corner of her eye, but they were interrupted by his father at the door. “Good news! Robert and Belinda want you two to be the best man and maid of honor in the wedding in six months. Get ready to be stuck together for rehearsals, not that you two would complain about that, right?” Mr. Sinclair laughed and sauntered off.

Mason and Riesling shared a look. “So…six more months?” she smiled.

Mason fondled the bookmark. What was holding him back from traveling the world? His obligations to his family.

* * *

Caleb smiled at the sight of the laundry basket that had mysteriously materialized outside his apartment door. He brought it into the studio and found the piece of vellum Mason had used to write him a thank you note. “I’m glad you liked it,” he whispered to himself, setting his laundry aside. Wrapped in one of his shirts was a flash drive.

Caleb had the plane tickets to San Francisco. He no longer had to work on the collection, which was why he had idled away the day finding ways to make Mason happy. Caleb had watched him and Riesling’s return from apartment hunting, wondering if the he would pay him a visit tonight. He hungered for him.

He plugged the drive into his computer and discovered it was loaded with music. Caleb let the Korean pop play in the background, smiling to himself at how young and millennial his lover was. The music had a catchy rhythm and was sprinkled with English. He found himself bobbing his head to it as he settled in bed and stared at images of Vido Charles’ work on his tablet.

Caleb quashed the feeling of bitterness that loomed. If not for the competition, he would not have found the courage to ask Mason to be his muse. Now he had him for one month. It seemed a small amount of time.

Caleb heard footsteps in the hall and quietly slipped to the door. As soon as he opened it, Mason flowed into his arms. “I’ve made a decision about my future,” he whispered.

Caleb chuckled at his exuberance as he hugged him tighter. “So have I. I’m giving up New York for a temporary teaching gig…I spoke with my agent today, and he all but told me to throw in the towel. My painting career is over from here on out.”

Mason studied him from beneath hooded eyes. “I’m going to stick around here for a few more months to keep my family happy, but eventually I will take that gap year abroad,” he finally continued.

“Well, I’m glad one of us gets to do what we really want to do,” Caleb smiled with regret.

“There’s something else. I want you to stay with me until I go,” Mason said, caressing his face. “Six months, Caleb. Give me six more months of this.”

“First one night, then one month, now six?” Caleb tugged him to the bed and pushed him to the plush mattress. He lowered himself to Mason’s warm, hard body and kissed him tenderly to silence. “We’re living on borrowed time as it is. Hasn’t anyone ever taught you that what you borrow must be paid back? Usually with interest.”

Caleb brought Mason’s arms around his neck and dropped kisses. Mason’s soft sigh of pleasure whispered over his lips and sent waves of arousal coursing through him. “I thought these were stolen moments,” Mason countered.

Caleb flicked his tongue over Mason’s lips. “Make me want to stay,” he challenged.

Mason reached down and cupped Caleb’s erection. His fingers tightened and released in a tantalizing massage that made Caleb bite his bottom lip and groan, brow furrowed. Mason brought Caleb’s member from his pants and slid down the bed to bring him to his mouth, and Caleb rose on his knees, guiding his erection past Mason’s wet lips. With a grimace, Caleb braced a hand on the wall behind the headboard. He was glad that the music playing in the background that drowned out the sound of their lovemaking.

He rode Mason’s face with abandonment, and Mason answered with the same lack of inhibition. Caleb closed his eyes and felt lightning zing through him as Mason made his mouth a soaking wet heaven for him to dive into. Mason’s lips tightened at the right moments. His tongue elicited the right thrills.

“I said make me stay, not make me come,” Caleb sighed with rapture, a smile on his lips. Mason chuckled but kept doing what he was doing. “Mmph!” Caleb dropped his hand from the wall to the headboard in a vise grip that matched the tension in his body.

Mason squeezed the base of his cock to prolong the pleasure, and the bliss of his tongue skating from tip to hilt was tempered by the pressure keeping Caleb from coming. He breathed a sigh of relief as he surged deeper. Then, Mason used his other hand to stroke and fondle his balls, and Caleb caught his breath. Mason’s open mouth glossed over his most sensitive anatomy. Flinching as his lover wetly kissed and sucked his balls, Caleb’s chest heaved, and he let his head loll back.

The temperature in the room rose. He yanked off his shirt. His hips shifted forward, and he pushed his cock into Mason’s mouth again. Mason cupped his ass. When Caleb felt his finger fumbling for entrance, he jerked in surprise. “Mason!” he whispered fiercely. Mason groaned and sucked faster. He penetrated him, and Caleb’s body seized with shock and sudden ecstasy.

Caleb’s jaw dropped at the unexpected sensation. He was flooded with heat and excitement. He held still, afraid to move. Mason worked his magic, devouring his cock and pumping into his ass at the same time. The tremors started in Caleb’s thighs and spread throughout every part of him. He exhaled in a guttural growl.

“What are you doing to me?”

“Pleading my case,” Mason whispered.

Mason pushed him to the bed and flipped him on his stomach, all the while easing off his lover’s pants. Grunting, Caleb lunged to his knees, but Mason pressed him to the mattress and dragged his head back by the hair to kiss him fiercely from behind. Mason roughly released him, and Caleb sucked in a breath as the writer trailed silky kisses down his spine. When Mason got to the crease of his ass, he did not hesitate. His tongue speared into the crevice.

Caleb gasped. Fistfuls of covers filled both his hands. He throbbed with need from the teasing flick and penetration of Mason’s tongue and fingers. He danced beneath the writer to an unfamiliar rhythm of surrender and passion. Caleb’s hips rocked back and forth, begging Mason to go deeper and take him higher. All the while his cock jerked and sputtered threateningly.

“I’m close!” he sobbed. “Ah, God! What are you doing to me?”

“You can take it. Shh…”

“Mason!”

Mason reached beneath him and squeezed until the shockwaves subsided. Caleb’s saturated passage dripped and puckered insistently. His thoughts scattered when Mason positioned on his knees behind him. At the first probe, Caleb shuddered, tightened. Mason sucked his earlobe and whispered in Korean as he masturbated himself against the breach.

“Turn over,” Mason groaned. He pulled away to undress.

Caleb let the covers go and laid on his back relaxing little by little, aching, craving. Mason stretched atop him and kissed him. Their erections warred as they locked together. Moaning, Mason reached down again and stroked in and out of his own hand, pressing inch by inch into Caleb’s body with each pump. A low tenor wail started in Caleb’s throat, but he swallowed it down and let what was happening happen.

Mason whimpered into his mouth and deepened the kiss. “This is what you do to me.”

“Ah!” Caleb arched his back with a sob of shock and awe. This was what he did to him. The pain splintered into euphoria. Endorphins fired in his brain, and his body was on fire. He hugged Mason to his chest as he moved instinctively to meet him. It felt wrong but so right, and Caleb thought he would blast off at any second.

Mason’s tongue swirled behind his lips, licking the sighs and moans from his mouth. His hand moved to Caleb’s neck to hold him steady as he kissed him harder. The touch became a light choking that turned them both on. Caleb’s clutched Mason’s ass and urged him to keep going. The thrusts jostled them both. The sex was violent and ungraceful.

Satisfaction rose like a river ready to flood its banks, scaring Caleb with the rush. His cock spilled pre-cum onto his flat abs. Mason hammered faster, and Caleb cried out. Mason clapped a hand over his mouth.

Eyes rolling with excitement, Caleb’s tongue swept over his palm, and Mason grimaced with bliss. He took the wet hand and wrapped it around Caleb’s erection, groaning as he caressed him. But every time it seemed Mason would take him over the edge, he stopped. Caleb swore savagely at the torture that was being inflicted on him.

“Let me!” Caleb gasped.

“Are you convinced?” Mason’s lips glistened in the darkness as Caleb stared up at him. His almond-shaped eyes were dark with lust, and his cheeks were shadowed with desire. He shook his hair out of his face.

“Mason, I can’t stay,” Caleb sighed.

Mason dropped his head to Caleb’s shoulder, breathing heavily. He exhaled slowly and rubbed his open palm over Caleb’s quivering cock. “I guess we make nights like this one last then.” He gradually went back to making love to him. His thrusts were powerful and deep, and the pressure built all over again. Caleb closed his eyes and moaned. The combined ecstasy of Mason’s touch and his penetration was something intensely special, bordering on the spiritual.

His lower body rose from the mattress to chase the thrill as Mason’s hand blurred around his cock, stroking him faster and faster. Harder and harder, he dove into Caleb’s tightness. Caleb grunted, “Yes! Don’t stop!”

Mason sobbed his name and shivered deliciously. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes!”

“Oh Caleb, I want so much more.”

They kissed, quaking together. Mason locked eyes with Caleb as he poured himself into him, coming inside of him with a muted scream. Caleb felt the slick wetness dribbling from his body as his lover continued pounding until his own eruption followed shortly after. “I love you,” Caleb sobbed. He clasped Mason’s face and whispered the words over and over into his mouth.

“No,” Mason moaned, tearing away from the kiss.

Caleb clasped his chin and brought his mouth back for more. “I love you!” he growled. The stop-and-start madness of the sex made the climax that much more potent. The pent-up frustration crested in a pulsating crescendo Caleb could not deny. “I love you so much, Mason! I don’t want to leave you.”

“Then, don’t!” Mason kissed down his chest and lapped up the nectar that was still gushing. “You don’t have to love me from a distance,” he gasped, swallowing Caleb’s trembling cock. Caleb jackknifed to a sitting position and pulled him to his lips to halt the onslaught before it could restart.

Caleb forced Mason to meet his gaze. “There’s nothing I can give you,” he groaned, battered by aftershocks. He cupped Mason by the back of his neck and pressed their cheeks together to whisper in his ear. “Don’t you know I want to give you everything? I’ll never be what I could have been, but you can!”

“I’d trade everything for you,” Mason replied fiercely.

Mason sighed and climbed from the bed. Caleb fell forward, reaching for him. He slammed his fists on the mattress as Mason grabbed his clothes and started dressing. “That’s the problem, Mason. You’re too inexperienced to realize what you’d be giving up.” Mason flashed a brief bittersweet smile and turned away. Caleb rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

“Yes, of course,” Mason murmured. “I’m too young for you. I don’t know what I’m getting into. I don’t know what I’m giving up. You know what’s best for me, right?”

Caleb grabbed his wrist and pulled him down next to him. They lay like yin and yang with Caleb at the foot of the bed and Mason at the head. Caleb did not want the job in San Francisco. He only wanted to keep Mason from making a big mistake and putting his life on hold for him. “I’ll stay as long as I can,” he whispered. “But only if you promise me that—no matter what—you’ll go when it’s time for you to leave. ”

* * *

Caleb led him into his small bathroom and turned on the shower. His mouth whispered over Mason’s as they stood beneath the hot, steamy spray. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he whispered as his hands descended to Mason’s ass to squeeze and smack seductively.

Mason grunted and smiled. In many ways, he was doing the opposite of what he had considered with Riesling. He was continuing a different kind of charade that might lead to a different kind of unhappiness. But, Mason was willing to take the risks.

“You won’t regret it.”

“I know, but you will.” Caleb turned him to face the wall and doused his own erection in silky bath oil, working it around and around his shaft. He pushed into Mason with a quiet gasp.

“Mm…” Mason shuddered and bit his bottom lip. Caleb held him by the hips and pushed. Mason was sensitive and achy from the sex they had already had, but Caleb’s touch still elicited tremors. Mason clung to the wall, breathing faster as Caleb rammed impatiently into him. He wrapped his soapy hands around Mason’s dick, and Mason thrust into his tight grip.

He then grabbed one of Mason’s shoulders and leaned him forward for leverage, angling into him with passionate deep, long strokes. Mason’s mouth dropped open at the fiery mix of tension and release it brought. The backbreaking sex echoed in the tiny bathroom. Their slick and slippery bodies pounded together at a louder, more frenetic pace.

It was very different to the sensual exploration in the bedroom. Mason sensed things falling in place that had not been where they needed to be before. He and Caleb were two men moving in opposite directions—to the past and to the future. Here, they collided in real time, and the explosion of pleasure caught up with them. Caleb wrapped an arm over Mason’s chest and sighed against his ear as he jerked out and ejaculated on his ass.

Mason breathlessly faced him and masturbated to completion. Caleb cupped around both of them and let their erupting cocks kiss as the shower washed away the silky gush of jizz. Chest heaving, he finally looked Mason in the eyes. “I was wondering, Should I expect you to ask for another six months after these six months are up, then?”

Mason shook his head bashfully and looked down. “If I do, would you blame me for trying?”

“Better not try it. Apparently, I can’t say no to you.” Caleb chuckled and finished washing up. When they climbed out of the shower, Mason put on a pair of his lounge pants and dropped into the bed beside him. “What are you doing?” Caleb asked in surprise.

“Making our moments last,” he whispered. “Don’t worry. I know what time my parents wake. I’ll be out before they realize I was here.”

“You’re living a dangerous life,” Caleb whispered.

“Ah, but at least it is a life.”

Chapter 12

Two months had passed and the Sinclair household was transformed for the holidays. Tiny lights woven through the bannister illuminated the house at night, and Christmas carols filled the rooms by day. The scent of cinnamon and spices made the temporary apartment in the attic feel more like home, making it harder for Caleb to pack for his upcoming departure. He knew he could not stay though, no matter what he or Mason wanted.

It did not help that Mrs. Sinclair had warmed toward him, and frequently knocked at his door with samples of her delicious baked goods. She was a big fan of Christmas cookies, which was something they had in common. Caleb almost felt like a welcome addition to the household instead of the interloper he had been during the previous months. Her husband, on the other hand, stayed out of his way.

Mr. Sinclair was busy encouraging a closer union between Mason and Riesling while wedding preparations for Robert and Belinda picked up speed. The latter project was taking up more and more of Mason’s time. Caleb found himself inventing reasons to see him.

“Are we on for the sitting this afternoon, Mason?” he popped a head into the living room to ask one evening. The entire family was gathered. Was it his imagination, or did Riesling always tighten her grip on Mason’s arm at the sight of him?

Mrs. Sinclair looked up with a smile and gestured at a spread of cookies and cakes. “Ah, Mr. O’Hara! Would you like to join us for tea? We’re sampling wedding cakes from a great little bakery in town.”

“Come try a bite,” Belinda encouraged.

“Thank you, Mrs. Sinclair and Ms. Belinda, but I’m a bit tied up at the moment,” Caleb said. “Mason?”

Mason glanced at his father and back at Caleb with a shy grin. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Caleb nodded and exited, smiling to himself as he jogged up the staircase to the rhythm of “Little Drummer Boy.” He burst into his apartment, and his attention was immediately taken by the five paintings he had completed, each singular and unique, but all possessing a familiar pair of almond-shaped eyes.

Caleb had tried to resist the siren call of oil paints and canvases, but he could not give up on the collection, despite Gregoire’s assertion this was not his season. Caleb lived for the Saturday sessions that forced him to keep his hands off his lover and channel his passion into his art. There was a huge difference in his work as a result of the tension. Gregoire would be impressed—that is, if he were taking Caleb’s calls.

He sighed as he doubled back to close his apartment door and settled on the edge of his mattress. Maybe when he made it to San Francisco, he would find a small gallery willing to show his work, but his promise to stay presented a whole new set of problems. If Caleb did not take over teaching for Greg’s friend, he would show up without a sponsor, making it harder to break into the scene. Caleb pulled out his half-packed suitcase.

Riesling was growing more attached to Mason. He rolled the thought around in his head to determine if it inspired the same jealousy it had when he was not sure of Mason’s feelings for him. Caleb continued to believe she was the better match for his lover, but he would never be able to convince Mason of that even if he wanted to. The twenty-one-year-old was such an idealist.

“Hi Caleb,” Mason opened the door without knocking.

Caleb looked up and smiled. “Ready to get started?”

Mason shook his head apologetically. “Riesling has been invited to a Christmas party just off campus, and my father would like for me to escort her to make sure she is safe.”

“Oh,” Caleb murmured, looking away. “Alright, well, I can get some other things done while you’re away.”

“I don’t want to go, but really do have no choice. I wouldn’t send her out there alone, anyway. Those sorority parties can get a little wild.” Mason moved toward him and laced his fingers through Caleb’s. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“No, take your time.” Caleb’s brow furrowed. He hid his disappointment and even managed a convincing smile. “Hey, try to enjoy yourself out there. You never go out, and it’ll be good to be out around people your own age,” he teased.

Mason chuckled and fake-punched him in the stomach. Caleb caught his fist and brought it to his lips, and Mason cupped his face, but footsteps in the hallway made them break apart. Riesling peered into the room with a curious grin.

“Sorry to interrupt. Your father sent me up. Ready to go, Mason?” she asked.

“Yes. Uh, would you like to see what Caleb has been working on?” Mason invited. He gestured at the paintings lining the wall beside the bed where Caleb could stare at them all night if he wanted to. Caleb suppressed a sigh at the artwork being shown before he was ready, but he let it slide.

Riesling gushed predictably, “Oh, this is unbelievable! Caleb, you painted these yourself?”

He nodded modestly. Mason’s eyes drifted from the paintings to the suitcase, and he arched a brow. He kept his questions to himself, however. Caleb bit his bottom lip, wondering how to explain that he had to be prepared for whatever unexpected thing happened next. As things stood, he had no reason to be there, and Mr. Sinclair seemed determined to drive that point home.

“I’m so happy Mason is getting the chance to work with you. I know he loves the experience. Now, let’s get on the road before it gets late. I don’t want to be too late home.”

“Of course.”

Caleb watched Mason adjust the collar of her jacket and hold the door for her to leave, following behind her with a backward glance and smile. Where Caleb failed to talk sense into him about his prospects with a girl like Riesling, Mr. Sinclair might well succeed and that was what troubled him. That was what had him packing his bags well in advance of the six months Mason had asked for.

* * *

The alcohol flowed freely and the music was far too loud. Mason bobbed his head, attempting to look as if he was having a good time. Away from his parents, her good girl demeanor disappeared and the fun loving, mischievous twenty-something came out to play. She swayed in front of him amidst the rowdy crowd of college students who were yelling the lyrics to a song that Mason did not know.

“Want me to get you another drink?”

Mason shook the red plastic cup he had in hand. “I’m not done with this one yet.”

“You must think I’m a total lush, I am already on my fourth!”

Mason winced at her exuberance. “How long have we been here? Are you ready to go yet?” He rubbed his ear and sighed. Riesling nudged him and pouted.

“Ah, c’mon! It’s only been a few hours. It’s not even close to one o’clock yet, and you know if we go back early your dad is going to know something is up. Don’t worry—your darling artist will be waiting for you no matter when you get home,” she teased.

Mason clutched her shoulders and whispered in her ear, “I just don’t think this is my kind of scene. Why don’t we go grab a bite to eat or something? It’s too crowded, too intense in here.”

“Yeah, apparently two guys from rival frats got into a fight earlier.”

“You could have mentioned that earlier. I would have suggested an alternative. Riesling, you know how things get when a bunch of drunk frat boys square off at a party. This was a bad idea.”

“Relax! As you can see, everyone else is still cool. Why can’t you be? I never get to be myself, Mason. Let me have one night of being myself with you,” she coaxed, toying with his tie. He put his hand over hers and tightened his lips, looking down. “Look, there’s my friend, Taylor. I’ve gotta go speak to her. Could you hold my drink for me?”

Riesling darted off before he could say a word. Mason stared after her anxiously as the DJ put on another track that brought everyone to the dance floor. He scanned the room with wary eyes, taking a slow sip of his drink. This was why Riesling needed him as a friend. He was glad he had come, but now he was more than ready to leave.

He watched her toss her long blond hair and laugh loudly at something her friend was saying. She was in her element, and he was completely out of place. In all their pretending, Mason wondered if they ever really knew each another. “Probably not,” he muttered to himself.

As guitar riffs screamed from the speakers, the mosh pit in the middle of the floor became even more unruly. Mason was pushed back by someone barreling into him. Alcohol sloshed over his outfit, and he swore. The guy who had bumped him did not apologize. There were people pushing and shoving in the middle of the pit, and suddenly Riesling seemed a universe away.

“Ries!” he called out. She threw up both arms and flashed rock star fingers, shouting gleefully. He hoped she would avoid the mosh pit. Jumping into it seemed exactly like something she would do, though. Just as he was coming to terms with the thought of Riesling in the midst of a heaving mass of sweaty bodies, someone threw a punch and all hell broke out. Mason shook his head in annoyance as Riesling locked eyes with him across the dance floor.

“Mason!” Her pale eyebrows shot upwards, and her red lips parted in alarm. She struggled to get to him, but Mason threw up his hands in warning. She could very well be trampled in the melee if she tried to wade through.

“Stay there, Ries! I’m coming to you!” He was not sure she heard him over the noise of people cheering on the fight. The rival fraternities converged and limbs and drinks flew in all directions. Mason’s heart leaped into his throat, and he dove into the crush to try to reach her. “Riesling!”

Three loud explosions in quick succession rocked the room, and the world became still. Mason’s ears rang. The music went silent, and people screamed as they tried to get away from the chaos. Mason was not sure what was happening. He poured out of the house with the ocean of party goers, unable to break free of the mass of bodies.

He shouted Riesling’s name repeatedly, but there was no sign of her. In a panic, he jerked his cellphone out of his pocket and called his brother. “Robert! I need your help.”

“What’s going on? What’s all that noise?”

“Send Caleb. Riesling is in trouble. A fight broke out at the party, and I think there were shots fired. I can’t get to her.”

“Oh, my God! We’re on our way!”

Robert hung up before Mason could remind him not to let their parents know what was going on. He gripped the phone and ran between groups of shocked people who were standing in the front yard of the house where the party had come to a crashing end.

“Were those gunshots?” someone asked.

Mason’s heart constricted. Where was Riesling? He would never forgive himself if anything had happened to her.

* * *

The Jeep slammed to a halt, and Caleb hopped out, shouting Mason’s name. Robert scrambled out of the passenger seat behind him. Flashing lights from police cars blinded him. People crowded around the house where the fight had broken out. A crying girl huddled within a circle of comforting friends. Caleb’s eyes zeroed in on two people being placed into police cars.

“Were there shots fired? Does anyone know?” Robert asked a passer-by. The young college student shrugged and shook his head before hurrying on. “Does anyone know?”

Someone answered, “False alarm. It was the smoke machine backfiring. Everybody freaked out and bolted, but nobody got shot. I think some people got hurt trying to get out, though.”

Caleb headed straight for the police officers blocking entry to the house. He snatched down the yellow police tape and an officer shoved him. “Get back behind the tape!”

“Fuck that! My friend is in there!” Caleb shoved him back.

Robert hurried to his side. “I’m Robert Sinclair from Commissionaire International. Where’s your commanding officer?”

The officer looked uncertain at Robert’s no-nonsense attitude, but he pointed out the man in charge. “Chief Nile. He’s right over there.”

“Thank you.” Robert beckoned for Caleb to follow.

“What’s the plan?” he whispered.

“We have to get Mason and Riesling out of there,” said Robert. “The cops are likely interviewing everyone still on the property, but it shouldn’t be too hard to convince them it’s in their best interest to let them go. Chief Nile?”

A balding man in uniform turned at their approach. “Yes, sir? What can I do for you?”

“Hello, I’m Robert Sinclair of Commissionaire International. Our corporation routinely donates to the police union, and I’m a senior corporate officer. So I’m sure you understand my expectations. My brother is in that house, and I need him released immediately.”

“Hang on one second,” Chief Nile chuckled. “You don’t get to just barge in here and throw your weight around.”

“Understandable, sir. Let me place a call to Mr. Bichsel, himself, then. He can vouch for me.” Robert hid a half-smile as the chief’s expression changed. Apparently, the name Bichsel rang bells. Caleb put his hands on his hips and glared until the officer backed down.

“What’s his name?” asked Chief Nile.

“Mason Sinclair. He’s accompanying Ms. Riesling Potter. I’d like to ensure they’re both well.”

“Stay right here,” Chief Nile ordered as he breezed away.

Caleb shared a look with Robert. “Some trick.”

Robert shrugged. “Perks of being connected to some of the biggest names in the region. That’s what Mason has to look forward to as soon as he gets his mind made up about what he wants to do with his life.” Robert looked him over. “No offense, but the push and shove method doesn’t usually work with officers.”

Caleb sighed. “Yeah, well, some of us don’t have the luxury of big names, sociopathic tendencies, and matching egos.”

Within moments, Mason appeared at the open door to the house. He was shaking his head and looking worried. “I can’t find Riesling anywhere.”

Caleb stared at the door. “When the push and shove method is all you have in your arsenal, you use what you have. I’ll find her.”

Caleb jogged into the house, ignoring an officer who called after him. He darted past interviews in progress. The inside of the house was trashed. Shaken up teens and college students milled the rooms, being held until their statements were given. Caleb jogged up the stairs and peered into bedrooms.

“Riesling?” he called out.

An officer stuck a head out of another door. “You can’t be in here.”

“Chief Nile knows I’m here. I’m looking for Riesling Potter.” Caleb looked down the hall as she stepped out of a closet with wide, scared eyes.

“Caleb!”

“Thank God! Mason is worried sick about you. He couldn’t find you,” Caleb said as he made his way to her. He pulled her into a hug. She was trembling. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

“I need her statement first,” said the officer. She haltingly described how she was chatting with friends near the dance floor when the fight broke out and a sound like gunshots prompted her and her friend to run and hide. “Why were you hiding?”

“I was scared,” she whispered.

Caleb clutched her tighter. “I think you have what you said you needed,” he said forcefully. “She’s been through enough. Is she under arrest?”

“No, she is not.”

“Then, we’re leaving. Come on, Ries.”

He ushered her out of the house, and past a stunned Chief Nile who was talking to Robert and Mason. “I thought I told you to stay outside,” said the chief.

“I must not have heard that part,” Caleb lied. “We got what we came for.”

Robert interjected, “Thank you for your service, Chief Nile. I’ll be sure to let Mr. Bichsel know what a top-notch job you’re doing out here.”

The look on the cop’s face made it perfectly clear that he thought Robert was an entitled asshole. Caleb breathed a sigh of relief, however, as the chief backed away without giving them any hassle. His eyes darted to Mason. Riesling was safely tucked under Mason’s arm now. Caleb looked aside. “Let’s go,” he muttered.

Once in the Jeep, Robert started up. “Why did the two of you remain at the party when things were getting out of hand?”

Mason whispered, “It was a mistake. I should have trusted my better judgement.”

Riesling shrugged guiltily. Caleb shook his head and squeezed the steering wheel tighter. He could not help but feel she had taken Mason into a dangerous situation for kicks. All his thoughts about Riesling being the right kind of woman for Mason went out of the window.

“Thank you for finding her for me,” Mason replied. “Do my parents know?”

“No.” Caleb killed the engine as he parked under his customary tree.

Robert explained, “We told them you two missed the bus.”

Caleb suddenly wanted to get far away from the charade that his life had become. He could not stay another six months in this purgatory with heaven forever out of reach and hell always beckoning. He did not want to break his word to Mason, but the one month he had initially promised was over. Also, Gregoire had emailed him the plane ticket to San Francisco.

If he did not take the job there, he would be all out of options. Every rational thought in his head pointed him down that path. Caleb swallowed the lump in his throat as he reconsidered his fanciful daydreams of running away with Mason Sinclair. He had nothing to offer, but there again, neither did Riesling Potter.

Was there a chance he could convince Mason to go with him to the Bay Area? There was only one way to find out. He locked eyes with Mason. “Can I talk to you?”

Chapter 13

Mason climbed into the passenger seat that Robert had vacated. As soon as his brother and best friend were out of the way, Caleb pulled him into a kiss. His lips were warm and insistent. His hand clutched the back of Mason’s neck. It was dark out and no one could see them, but Mason’s heart raced at the possibility of getting caught.

“What are you doing? Not out here.” Mason broke away. “Someone could see us.”

Caleb swore and pounded the side of his fist on the door. “I was worried sick about you, and all you care about is someone seeing us. I was—I was ready to go through fire for you! How could she put you in a situation like that?”

“I think you’re being a little bit melodramatic. Look, things got out of control very quickly. I’m sure Riesling didn’t expect it. Don’t be angry with her.”

“I have a right to be angry with whomever I want,” Caleb growled.

“Look, I don’t want to argue.”

Caleb dropped a hand on his thigh, but they avoided each other’s gaze. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be angry with her. I shouldn’t be angry with anyone. But you must understand that the thought of something happening to you drives me crazy. It was different when I could make myself believe she was a safe alternative. Tonight reminded me that I don’t know Riesling from Jane Doe. She could be all wrong for you.”

Mason smiled in the shadowy recesses of the car. “She is all wrong for me, but I’m here. I’m safe and sound.”

“Someone is going to get hurt. If not physically—from another crazy attempt at rebellion—then emotionally, when all the lies catch up with us. I keep picturing it happening when I’m away and not able to come to your aid.”

“I thought you agreed to stay.”

“I can’t stay forever. You know that. Mason. Also, there’s something important I have to tell you. I lied. I lied about Gregoire not finding an agent for you. Ross Jones is interested in you and he represents some of the best and brightest. He wants to add you to his roster.”

“What?”

“So, you see, you can come away with me. Tonight. Let’s leave this complicated mess behind us and start over.”

“Seriously?” Mason exhaled with a laugh.

Caleb swallowed visibly and looked his way. There was an edge of desperation to his voice that Mason did not like. He was troubled at the fact Caleb had lied to him but, he was incredibly excited by the idea of running away together.

“Tonight, I saw the kind of clout you’ll have,” said Caleb, “with a corporation like Commissionaire behind you. I know the doors that will open for you, if you take that path. I know I can’t offer you half of what your parents have laid out for you here. I know if you come with me, that path might be cut off permanently. I’d like to think I can make you happy, though.”

Mason frowned as he realized he was serious. “Caleb, you do make me happy, but—”

“No, I don’t mean in some romantic head in the clouds way!” Caleb interrupted. “I mean I can take care of you! I have a job offer to teach at a school in the spring. If we leave tonight and I take the job, I can even find a smaller gallery to show the collection. We can both get our dream.” Caleb squeezed his hand possessively. “For once, I’m able to see a future for me with you in it.”

Mason squeezed his hand back and dropped his head on the headrest of the passenger seat. “Oh, Caleb,” he whispered. He shook his head and felt the momentary thrill his lover’s words gave him ebb away as reality crowded in.

“Please, say yes,” Caleb whispered. “I promise you’ll be able to travel the world. I won’t hold you back. Five months in the States while I teach this course, and then we can go wherever you want to go.”

Mason was unable to frame a response. He saw himself packing his bags and leaving town with Caleb. All their dreams coming true. A classic happily ever after where none had seemed possible. Out of the blue, Caleb was saying everything he ever wanted to hear. But, then he saw the six months stretching ahead of him to Robert’s wedding and his obligation to his family. He had to be there to see Robert down the aisle as his best man. Mason dashed a tear.

“I can’t do that. Please, try to understand,” Mason implored. “You have no idea how badly I want to say yes. I want to run up to my bedroom and pack my things, but I can’t do that.”

“Right,” Caleb said through an unexpected sob that tore a hole in Mason’s heart. The artist quickly recovered. “Can I ask why not?” He brandished a smile that cut with its coldness.

“I have an obligation to my family and the people I love here. I can’t bail on them.”

“Riesling. Of course,” Caleb muttered bitterly.

Mason frowned and shook his head, reaching for Caleb’s hand. Caleb pulled away from him and opened the driver’s door. Seconds later, Mason’s gaze skirted to the back porch where his father had appeared. He dropped his voice to a hiss. “It’s not what you think.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Caleb threw out his arms and backed away from the vehicle with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “The show must go on and you must play your obligatory role in keeping everyone else happy. I assumed way too much.”

“No!” Mason climbed out of the Jeep as Caleb slammed the door and headed toward the house. Mason caught up with him, and span him around. “This isn’t about Riesling.”

“Then, what is it about?” Caleb challenged, just feet away from his father.

Mr. Sinclair called out, “Everything alright, fellas?”

“Ye, Appa,” Mason replied instantly. “Everything is fine, Dad.” His eyes bore into Caleb’s and begged him not to take the argument further. Not in front of his family.

Caleb put his hands on his hips and stared him down. “What is it about?” he whispered.

“We can do this later. Caleb, please don’t ask me to choose between you and my family,” Mason said quietly.

Caleb waved away the assertion. “I’m not asking you to choose. You’ve chosen. I love you. Good night.”

Mason stared after him as he walked away. He had to find a way to make it up to the attic apartment when everyone went to sleep. He had to fully explain himself. He could not let Caleb believe his lie with Riesling to satisfy his parents was more important than their own relationship.

After Caleb had paid him off, Mason considered staying in New Hampshire and getting a corporate job. Then he had decided to travel the world but he could not leave before Robert’s wedding. Once he got past the wedding, Mason would be free, but first he had to be there for Robert. Family was everything. If Mason could explain that, he was sure Caleb would understand.

He sighed and trudged past his father who eyed him suspiciously. “What was that all about?” Mr. Sinclair probed.

Mason shrugged. “Nothing, artistic differences I guess. Let’s get inside.”

* * *

Caleb slammed the apartment door and yanked his suitcase from under the bed. His hands shook and he hated that fact. He detested the things that made him feel he was drowning in sorrow. He swallowed the burning lump in his throat and poured the contents of his dresser bureau into his luggage.

The room was cold and dark, but he did not turn on the light or the gas fire. He wanted to be alone and unseen, the way he should have always been in this house where he did not belong. His thoughts drifted toward the enigmatic young man lurking in the hallway when he had arrived. Mason had inched into his heart and burrowed a hole ten miles wide.

“It was crazy,” he whispered. “Insane!”

He did not expect that Mason would accept his offer. He should not have asked and he could have saved himself much embarrassment. Mason was someone who did as he was told and went where he was supposed to go. Even his decision to take a gap year was only a minor blip. It allowed Mason a taste of the independent life with the promise he would come home and get right back into the groove of what his parents wanted for him. Whether Mason cared about Riesling or not, he would do the noble thing. So, Caleb had to do the noble thing which was to let him go.

He slumped on the chaise lounge with his hands to his eyes to staunch the tears. He had bared his soul. He had told the truth when he said Mason made him feel that he had a future. Now he was back at square one both financially and emotionally. He had used most of his savings to pay Mason and he was growing bitter thinking about how he had squandered his resources.

He decided not worry about the furniture. A moving company could handle putting it in storage. Caleb heard laughter coming up from the ground floor, and he pictured the others going about their everyday lives, hardly aware of his own existence even.

It was nearly midnight, and Riesling would be gone soon. It sounded like Mason was playing Christmas carols to his doting audience. Caleb imagined that Mrs. Sinclair was pressing sugar cookies on her guests. Belinda and Robert would likely spend the night, rather than driving into town. The festive holiday cheer downstairs did not permeate up as far as his chilly attic room.

Caleb forced himself to move, mainly to take his mind off troubles that were his own doing. He put a protective sheet of parchment between his canvases and carefully wrapped the stack to take with him. All but the first three, the ones Mason had called unfeeling. He left those for his errant lover. He would take the rest, and that was all he would have of Mason when he left.

He scribbled the contact information for Ross Jones, the literary agent interested in representing Mason, on the back of one of the canvases. A parting gift. Then, he grabbed his things and crept down the stairs.

Caleb found his boots by the backdoor, and he slid his feet into them. He closed the door quietly to avoid alerting the others. Once he was in his Jeep, he pulled out his phone. He had a few calls to make to Gregoire; to the friend out west with the job offer and place where he would stay; and, to the airport to move up his departure date. As he backed out of the driveway, he stared up at the warmly lit house.

Caleb grabbed his cellphone and started making phone calls, mainly so he would feel less abandoned. He was used to the feeling of loss, it was an old friend. His mother had left him. The people who were supposed to care for him had failed him. The group homes didn’t leave him but many within those walls had abused him.

The only loyal friend he had ever known was Gregoire, and even his agent had now abandoned him and left him to fade back into obscurity. Love was a lie built on tiny moments that could not be extended to a lifetime. He had run out of moments.

As Caleb sat at the airport, waiting for his connection, he toyed with the idea of showing his collection in the Bay Area. He had nothing to lose now. He still remembered what his watercolor student Mr. Dantzler had told him. “When we do things we love, we find fulfilment. When the things we love are loved by others, we feel accomplished. We can feel neither of those things if we’re not doing something we love.”

He would continue doing the thing he loved, even if he accomplished nothing significant. And he would forget his muse.

* * *

Mason tapped on Caleb’s door but got no response. He eased into the attic apartment, surprised at how much cooler it was than the rest of the house. Riesling had stayed for an hour after the harrowing experience at the campus party. His parents had stayed up later than was usual for them. Mason expected to find Caleb in bed when he crept into his room. When he hissed Caleb’s name, silence was all that came back. Mason rubbed his arms uneasily as he hit the light switch.

“Caleb?” Nothing was out of place. The room just felt wrong. “Caleb,” he whispered again. He moved over to the bed and tossed back the covers. The mattress was cool to the touch and Caleb was nowhere in sight. Mason tiptoed to the bathroom, but Caleb was not there. A glance out the attic window revealed his Jeep absent from its usual spot.

Realization slowly dawned: Caleb was gone. “No, that’s not possible…” Mason rushed to the closet and threw it open. The sight of empty hangers made his heart slam against his chest. Running to the dresser bureau, he discovered it empty as well. Caleb was really gone, and Mason had a hunch the leave was not a temporary one. The art supplies were missing from his bookshelf; only his furniture remained.

No, not all that remained. With tears in his eyes, Mason moved toward a stack of canvases against the wall by Caleb’s bed, pictures of himself. He realized that the paintings he had called cold and unfeeling were warm, a testament to Caleb’s affections. “I take it back,” Mason whispered. He had been wrong to tell Caleb the pictures were lacking, just one in a string of huge errors Mason had made regarding Caleb.

He stumbled to the sofa and covered his face as he tried to figure out how to contact the artist. “This is about the argument,” Mason murmured. The argument after the party had left Caleb with a bad taste. Mason could easily imagine Caleb’s state of mind when he made the decision to leave but, he had to get him to come back so they could at least talk. He pulled his cellphone from his pocket, knowing he did not have his number.

Mason swore in frustration and threw his phone across the room. It hit the wall with a loud enough thump to wake someone downstairs. Mason doubled over in pain, not even caring that he might be caught. He let the tears stream as he realized how helpless he was to change the situation. Rocking back and forth, he let them fall.

After several minutes he grabbed his cellphone and the portraits that he instinctively knew Caleb had left for him, and he forced himself to exit the empty room before anyone came to investigate the noise. As Mason stepped from the bottom stair, he encountered his older brother in the hall. Mason tried to turn to hide his tears.

Robert ambled closer and glanced up the stairs. “Hey, what was that noise? I thought I heard something.”

“It was nothing. Go back to sleep,” Mason sniffed, clutching the canvases tighter. Robert’s gaze dropped to the paintings and swept back to his face.

“Did something happen with Caleb?”

“No. I just dropped my phone. He isn’t even up there. I think he’s gone for good.”

Robert’s concerned expression swam in Mason’s blurry vision, and he fought harder not to cry as his brother reached out to clasp his shoulder. “Without saying goodbye? Dad told me you two were arguing when we got back from the party, but I didn’t think it was that serious. I’m sorry to hear he’s gone. I know the two of you were close.”

“Please, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s late.” Mason pushed past him, but Robert slipped into his bedroom behind him. With a sigh, Mason carefully set the canvases against his bedroom wall. Robert stared at the paintings and shook his head in awe.

“These are exceptional. He painted them?”

“Yeah.” Mason turned his back to his brother and folded down the covers of his bed, hoping Robert would take the hint and get out.

“So, Dad was right. He was more than a friend to you, wasn’t he?”

Mason bit his bottom lip and blinked away more tears. “I have to be up early in the morning. I have a freelance job for a woman with a bookstore, and I need to be fresh.” Mason moved to get in bed, but his brother tugged him into a hug before he could make it. Mason fumbled away. “This really isn’t necessary, Robert.”

“Stop it, alright? Look, you can fake it with Mom and Dad, but be real with me. I’ve never given you any reason not to trust me.”

“No, Robert. You’re perfect. You make that clear at every turn,” Mason snorted. “No wonder they want me to be like you.” Mason shook his head and climbed in bed, drawing the covers up over his shoulder and staring blankly at the wall. “Well, I’m trying. He wanted me to go with him, and I chose not to. I stayed behind to do the right thing,” he sniffed.

“Call me crazy, but judging by your reaction right now, turning him down probably wasn’t the right thing to do. Mason, you don’t have to live for our parents or, me for that matter. If you wanted to go with him, you should have gone.”

Mason tightened his lips. “You know it doesn’t work like that! I put the family first. If I had chosen Caleb, I would’ve missed your wedding and let everyone down.”

“Who the fuck cares, Mason? Everyone would have gotten over it. Don’t make this about me. You’ve lived your whole life like we’re in competition, and I get it. Our parents haven’t exactly been gracious in their comparisons. But, that’s all the more reason for you to chart your own course! If you love him…”

“Don’t.”

“Do you?”

Mason squeezed his eyes shut and rolled over to face his brother. When he opened his eyes, he told the truth. “I love him so much it hurts.”

Robert sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “Then, why the hell are you here? Get out there and find him.”

“I have no way to do that.”

“Yes, you do. You have the money you need to travel. You have the means to find him. Let me worry about Mom and Dad. For once in your life, do what makes you happy, Mason.”

Chapter 14

On balance, it had been a good six months. Caleb had made it to San Francisco. He had taught at the art academy in San Francisco and gained a network of colleagues and friends who respected his work. His collection was even showing in a local gallery. It was doing reasonably well, although nowhere near as well as his earlier work. The upcoming interview with the magazine looked promising.

Caleb pretty much had everything he wanted except for Mason Sinclair. Maybe that was why the past few weeks had been riddled with X-rated fantasies that had caught him off guard at the most inopportune times. Caleb had not been able to sleep around, and had not been able to strike up either a meaningless or meaningful relationship with anybody since leaving New Hampshire.

It had only taken the first two or three weeks away for Caleb to fully understand that Mason had changed him in ways that were likely permanent. He powered on a hypnosis video to clear his thoughts but found himself spiraling into an erotic dream.

* * *

It took a moment for Caleb to realize he was dreaming. He clenched his teeth as Mason’s mouth flowed up and down his rigid staff in silky slow motion. The ecstasy made his toes curl and his eyes roll back as he struggled for self-control. It was a dream. It had to be.

Caleb forced himself to keep his eyes open despite the mind-blowing bliss but Mason was still there. “God, I miss your face,” he whispered. A shock of black hair fell over the familiar almond-shaped eyes. Mason shook back his hair and closed his slender fingers around Caleb’s cock. A smile played across his full mouth like the sun breaking through the clouds.

Caleb shook his head. It’s not real, he reminded himself. So why was he falling in love all over again? Mason kissed a burning trail up his muscular torso to his lips, and Caleb weakened. It did not matter what was real and what was fantasy. There was no resisting this temptation his mind had conjured to console him for what he had lost.

“How much do you miss me?” Mason moaned.

“Mm…more than words…”

Caleb’s dick grew painfully erect, and he wrapped his arms around Mason’s ghost and pulled him closer. Mason kissed him languidly like there was no rush. The scent of his cologne unexpectedly filled Caleb’s nostrils, playing with his head again.

Maybe it was real. But no. They were in the attic apartment Caleb had not seen in months, in the bed where sex had taken them down a dangerous path. To love and heartbreak. This was a dream, and Caleb did not want it to end. He stopped dwelling on the setting and focused on the man in his arms.

He nipped at Mason’s bottom lip, thrusting deeper into Mason’s palm as he cupped his face and stared into his dark eyes the way he longed to do in real life. When Mason brought their erections together and slowly dragged a palm from base to tip over both of them, Caleb’s throbbing member reacted with a shiver and a dollop of pre-cum beaded on the tip.

“I think you have you forgotten me.” Mason whispered.

“How can I?” Caleb grunted deep in his chest as Mason pushed him to the mattress and straddled him.

“Touch me and show me you haven’t.”

Caleb groaned as he slid his hand down Mason’s smooth chest. He watched the look on his face, so unforgettable. Mason bit his bottom lip and squeezed his eyes shut. Caleb’s fingers trailed through the sparse black hair on Mason’s stomach and tangled in his pubes. He caressed the proud rigid staff spearing toward him and masturbated Mason with a slow stroke of his hand.

“Like that,” his lover urged.

Mason bent to kiss him, sending desire pounding through Caleb’s sex-starved being. How long had it been? He had not even tried to be with others. His body only thrilled to the touch of one person. As if reading his mind, Mason seductively straddled his hips and glided along his cock. It made Caleb push his head back into the pillows and push his hips forward to grind against him.

“Ooh, yes!” Caleb hissed expectantly. He gripped Mason’s thighs and held him steady as he chased his mouth with deeper penetration of his tongue. Mason squeezed Caleb’s nipples, eliciting a groan. “I’ve missed you so much. Give it to me.”

“Take it.”

Caleb reached beneath them and guided his erection into Mason’s tight sheath. “Is this what you want?”

“Mm!” The quiet hum of excitement and anticipation made Caleb clench his eyes shut with pleasure and remembrance as Mason slid down his steel rod and took him completely. His lids fluttered open to see the look of abject surrender on Mason’s face. Mason put his finger to Caleb’s mouth, and Caleb desperately pulled the digit past his lips to suck while Mason rode him.

Mason was impossibly tight and around his thick shaft. He moved slow and hard to draw out the torture. Caleb felt like he was gripped in a fist that would milk him of every ounce of jizz. He pushed a hand through his hair and growled at the bliss. Mason’s every move was a tantalizing glimpse at what he could have only in dreams.

Drawing his finger from Caleb’s mouth, Mason ran the hand down his flat abs and touched himself. He sighed shakily, and Caleb felt the touch deep in his own core. He gasped in anticipation at how his lover’s body grew harder right before his very eyes. Mason stared at him intently, stroking his erection with the same slow, precise rhythm he used to make love to Caleb.

With his free hand, Mason reached behind him and fondled Caleb’s balls. The feathery caress made Caleb flinch. He hissed in a breath and abruptly sat up to kiss Mason’s chin, his mouth dropping open in a moan as he sucked and licked his way to Mason’s lips while the inferno raged between them. He remembered this. Chest to chest, they rocked together. Their mutual sounds of ecstasy filled the room.

The breathless Korean whispers sent Caleb back in time, and he hugged Mason closer, wishing it was more than a dream. “Don’t stop,” he begged. Caleb’s hips rose and fell from the mattress with powerful up-thrusts into Mason’s soaking wet oasis. The thrusts jostled Mason in his arms, and with the forceful thrusts, he grunted and squeezed Caleb tighter. His ass constricted around Caleb’s swollen shaft. Caleb cried out breathlessly. “Oh, my God, you—Ah! You’ll make me come! Don’t!”

Caleb fell back to the bed as Mason rose off his cock and deftly turned to ride him in reverse. He gritted his teeth, clawing down Mason’s back when he descended on his steel pipe again. Caleb watched him sinuously roll his body to take him deep and slowly let him go. Mason swirled his hips, adding to the thrill. When he shyly glanced over his shoulder to gauge Caleb’s reaction, Caleb bit his bottom lip and nodded. Just like that, he channeled. His head lolled in languid acceptance of his fate. This could only end in surrender.

Mason swirled up and down in a carousel of gratification, his sounds of pleasure coming louder as he moved faster. Caleb’s heels dug into the mattress as he tried to take it, but the exhilaration was almost too much to bear. He moved restlessly and tried to restrain the building tension. Mason’s ass puckered around him in a slick, wet kiss, destroying any chance at self-control.

“Caleb!”

“Uhn!” Growling, Caleb held him by the hips and hammered up and into him, taking the tempo even faster. Mason sobbed his name again. Caleb groaned at the intense sensations flooding him. “Why did you leave?” Mason whispered, tightening around him again. Caleb bucked harder, almost coming. “I want you back…”

Caleb threw Mason off before the erotic session ended prematurely. Besides, he was letting his imagination run away with him. Mason was likely on to bigger and better things, not pining after him. Caleb’s subconscious was painting the picture he wanted to see. He reminded himself this was about getting off and letting go.

He stretched over Mason, kissing him ferociously with a hunger that knew no bounds. He reached down and caressed Mason’s pulsating cock as he plundered his mouth, and he swallowed the urgent cries of pleasure that burst past Mason’s lips. Caleb found the entrance and plunged inside. “Huh!” Mason gasped. He clutched Caleb’s face and looked him in the eyes as Caleb sank deeper. “I want you back,” Mason repeated. Caleb shuddered violently, moaning.

It’s just a dream, he thought. But Mason would not let him look away. Caleb held himself up with one hand, the other raking through Mason’s thick black hair. He danced in and out with a forward sway of his pelvis. His lips parted. Caleb kissed him tenderly, penetrating Mason’s mouth with his tongue the same way his pounding cock slipped easily to its destination.

He pushed harder and deeper; yet, still their eyes connected. Caleb squared his jaw and poured his sexual frustrations into the act as the pleasure climbed. His punishing thrusts shook them both. Mason’s neck arched, and he looked at him from beneath half-lowered lids. Caleb’s brow furrowed. He had to look away, or this would be real, and it was not. It could not be. It was simply about getting off and letting go.

“I love you, Caleb,” Mason whispered sultrily.

“No!” Caleb shouted, tearing away from him.

Clutching himself, he marched away from the bed in the too-familiar attic apartment that was not his any longer. “Are you here to satisfy me or to torment me?” he asked bitterly. He threw his body on the white sofa and covered his face with his hands. None of this was real, and the longer the lucid dream lasted, the more he realized that he did not want a facsimile. He wanted Mason back.

He felt a timid hand touch his shoulder and looked up at what his brain had constructed from memory. The pale perfect body, dark hair and intense black eyes. The expressive mouth. The hands that had stoked fires that seemed impossible to put out. Caleb bit his fist and stared up at him.

Mason kneeled on the abstract rug in front of him and put his hands on Caleb’s thighs, making Caleb open up his body to receive him. When Mason’s mouth slipped over his erect phallus, Caleb laid his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes so it could be done, so he could escape. In the quiet, dark space inside his mind, he heard Mason loud and clear.

“You can’t get away from how we feel. Let me love you.”

Caleb groaned and let Mason’s mouth immerse him in ecstasy. He cupped the back of Mason’s neck and rode his tongue harder, a grunt torn from him as his body reacted to the magic. “Then, love me,” Caleb gasped. His eyes widened as his manhood fired off on Mason’s lips. Semen erupted from his quivering cock and doused his lover. Mason swallowed him down and stroked him to release more.

* * *

Caleb’s eyes opened wide. “Mason!” he groaned as he came awake. “Ah! Fuck!” He masturbated uncontrollably, letting his ejaculate rain on the burgundy sheets of his twin-sized bed in the apartment in San Francisco. He grunted as the last drops shook free, and he fell back into the mountain of pillows at the head of his bed. Caleb fought his way back to reality through a haze of desire.

The annoying bleat of the alarm clock jangled his nerves. He slapped it across the room. There was no one here with him. The mind-blowing sex was not real. Why was he thinking about Mason more and more? With the spring semester over, he was supposed to be dedicating his time to promoting his artwork, not clinging to the past.

Oh, shit! The interview!

Caleb stumbled from the bed and yanked off the sheets to toss them in the washer. He could hardly believe he had had another wet dream, and he was behind schedule as a result. A glance at the time showed him that he had only thirty minutes to get ready for the interview with the magazine. Grumbling, he padded to the bathroom for a shower.

He went over his relatively hectic schedule for the day; an interview with the magazine, meeting with a potential agent, and then a dinner date with Gregoire’s friend. He was kind of pleased with the modestly successful run his collection was having on the West Coast.

“First and foremost, I need to find my focus and put together some goals now that it seems I have a future to look forward to.” Caleb was finally getting his career back on track, which was why this was not the time to be fixating on his ex.

He did not wait for the water to get hot when he turned on the showerhead. Caleb stepped under the tepid spray, shivering, but knowing it was what he needed to cool his fiery libido. He missed Mason so much he could almost smell him on his skin. He turned the water up higher, in a futile attempt to wash away the memories.

* * *

“The wedding looked amazing! I hope you guys enjoy your honeymoon,” Mason said with a smile.

Robert flashed a thumbs up from the screen of his phone. “We plan to have a blast! What about you? How are you enjoying yourself?”

Mason walked along a pathway in Bodnant Garden, a popular tourist destination in Wales. He turned his phone around so his brother could see the vibrant pink, white and purple flowers. “I’m finding plenty to write about. My travel blog is gaining followers and my platform is growing. It all bodes well for my upcoming book. Did Mom and Dad say anything about my absence from your wedding?”

“They did, actually.” Robert laughed at Mason’s dismayed expression. “Believe it or not, they had nothing but good things to say about it. Anyone who would listen got regaled with stories of your travels. Mom kept bringing out her cellphone to show the pictures you sent her.”

“I’m surprised.” Mason was pleased.

“Oh, and Riesling asked about you.”

His lips tightened. “Hmm, did she? I haven’t spoken to her since I left. I thought it might be better for us if I gave her some time to get used to not being around me.”

“Yeah, well, I think she may officially be over you. She met our cousin, Tae, and that was all she wrote.”

They chuckled together. “I’m glad she’s happy,” Mason murmured. “I’m glad everyone is happy.”

“Wish I could say the same for you,” Robert said lightly. “Do you still want to see him again?”

“I dreamed about him last night,” Mason confessed shyly. “I can’t seem to get away from seeing him, if only in my head.” He chuckled. He had finally gotten used to talking to his brother about his relationship with the artist, but some secrets came easier than others.

“It’s bizarre that a person can just disappear like that. How many months did you search for him? Three?”

“It doesn’t matter. I know he doesn’t want to be found, or he would’ve given Gregoire a way for me to get in touch with him. He probably thinks he’s doing me a favor, and I guess he is. After all, I gave up the hunt to pursue my dreams. I have an agent now. I’m doing what I always wanted to do.” Mason shrugged and glanced at the tourists breezing past him in the floral scented paradise. “What more can I ask for?” He smiled wistfully.

Robert murmured, “Your happily ever after.”

“I’ll leave that to people like you and Belinda and maybe Tae and Riesling. Congratulations, again, on tying the knot. Now I need to get to the hotel in time to pack for my next flight.” Mason did not want to continue the conversation that was causing him sadness. He had gotten better at hiding it, but eventually Robert would realize he was still in pain, aching to hold the man who made him feel like spring. Mason suppressed a sigh.

“Wait, when will you be back stateside?” Robert asked before ending the call.

“Um, I’m not sure. I’m currently writing a series of travel pieces for a magazine and I have a few destinations lined up that I can’t break unless I have a really valid excuse.”

“Well, check your email. I sent you a little something. And, when you do finally get back on this continent, I want to see you.”

“Okay,” Mason replied cheerfully. “Talk to you later, bro.”

He swiped to end the video call and directed his attention to the meandering path that led back to the bus station. While he waited for his ride, he wondered what his brother had sent him via email, but he was not curious enough to check just yet. His mind was full of packing plans, plot ideas and notes for the paid writing assignment with a travel magazine that his agent had secured for him. Mason had a ticket for Nairobi, a destination that promised to deliver plenty of content for the magazine as well as amazing imagery for his sci-fi story of a young adult globetrotter.

Mason dozed on the bus, barely aware of the buzz of foreign conversation around him. Within a half hour, he arrived at his hotel and took the elevator to the floor where his modest room was. The travel mag provided room and board at each destination, which made it easier for him to handle the costs of traveling. He could hardly believe that mere months ago he had been in a sleepy New England town on the verge of giving thoughts of ever seeing the world.

During his travels, Mason had created enough memories to last a lifetime. Odd then that the most unforgettable one was a man he had met before stepping out of his safe, boring former life. He bit his bottom lip to still the tremble that crept up, signaling tears he refused to shed. When he pulled his luggage from the closet, his cellphone fell out of his pocket, reminding him to check his email.

Sighing, Mason plopped down on the loveseat and pulled up the message from his brother. “I think you need to see this.” He frowned at the link to the San Francisco Gazette, but he clicked it, and their website appeared on his screen. A video clip began to play.

“Twenty-one and Counting?” Mason whispered.

The newscaster in the clip spoke animatedly about a new collection at a popular Bay Area gallery that was creating a buzz from coast to coast. It was called Twenty-One and Counting: The Experiences of Age by Caleb O’Hara. Paintings from the showing filled the screen, and Mason sucked in a breath. He was looking at himself. He had found him. Caleb was in San Francisco.

To get to him, Mason would have to give up his job for the travel magazine. Mason knew he needed the writing experience to further his outreach. Was Caleb worth putting his dreams on hold for yet again?

Chapter 15

Caleb gestured at the paintings and people behind him as the camera panned wider and captured the gallery opening event. Alyssa had really come through. She had managed to get his art shown at a larger gallery, and the magazine interview had catapulted him into the spotlight.

As soon as he entered the building, a reporter shoved a microphone in his face and asked him for a reaction. “It’s unexpected,” Caleb replied modestly. “I worked for years in New York, and I had my share of successes and failures, but I had pretty much given up on any hopes of hitting the big time again, so to speak.”

“Is there anyone you would like to credit with helping you on this journey?” The striking brunette smiled encouragingly.

Caleb shrugged and grinned self-consciously. He had almost forgotten the heady excitement that came with being the center of attention. “I would definitely like to thank my agent, Gregoire DeSimone, without whom I would not be here. I’m pleased to announce that he will continue to represent me for the foreseeable future.” Caleb had a list of other people to thank, but the reporter jerked the microphone back.

“What about your muse?”

He looked skyward, laughing. “Yes of course, I thank my muse from the bottom of my heart.”

“Who is he?”

Caleb shook his head. “That will remain a mystery.”

“And, while I have you here, there is speculation in some circles that your muse is in fact a secret love interest. I think I speak for everyone when I say that’s a surprise, considering your reputation with the ladies. I wonder what Ms. Jade Wellington thinks.”

“Yikes! Let’s not,” Caleb demurred, knowing the comedic answer would appease his audience more than a real explanation would. People behind him chuckled in amusement, proving his point. “In terms of my secret love life or lack of, l’d like to keep that a mystery, too. This time around, I’m not looking to be infamous or notorious. I’m not here to create a reputation separate from my art. I’ve been there, done that. Thanks for spending time with me. I better go and mix and mingle.” Caleb waved and flashed his most beguiling smile for the camera.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he sat at the bar and snapped for the bartender, but someone else eased onto the barstool next to him and flashed a credit card that caught the bartender’s attention faster. “Two cognacs, please,” the young man murmured.

Caleb gripped the edge of the bar, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him. He looked closer at the man’s thick black hair and felt butterflies flutter through him. No way possible, he thought. Did he miss Mason so much that he saw and heard him everywhere? Caleb shook his head at himself. “One for me, as well.”

“Don’t worry. I have you covered,” Mason replied with a slow smile.

Caleb blinked in shock and his heart stopped beating as his eyes flew over the intimately familiar face. “What the hell are you doing here?” The words fell from his lips.

Mason arched a brow, his smile tightening. “I came to see what all the fuss was about, but I don’t want to intrude. I figured you made it hard for me to find you on purpose,” he murmured, taking the drink the bartender set before him. He clinked his glass to Caleb’s untouched one and settled back with an arm on the bar, half-turned toward Caleb. “So, do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Caleb slipped from the barstool and instinctively stepped into Mason’s arms, even though he knew people would soon put two-and-two together. He should have whispered discreetly for him to leave, but he could not form the words. He clenched Mason’s shirt in his fists and hugged him closer. “I just can’t believe you’re real.” He blinked rapidly.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Mason whispered.

Caleb sucked in a breath and forced himself to pull away. “Shit. The minute they see you, they’ll harass you with questions,” he warned.

“They, who?”

“The press. That’s how you found me, isn’t it? I tried to keep a low profile, but the collection is doing so much better than Gregoire or I ever expected. If you’re seen here, however, the buzz will go from being about the artwork to being about the gossip. You don’t want that. Your parents will find out.”

“I think they know,” Mason replied, blushing.

Caleb shook his head. “Yeah, but you have to consider how a big gossip story about our history will make your friends and family back home feel. Come on.” Caleb thrilled at the welcome weight of Mason’s hand in his as he dragged him past the bar and through a door marked Employees Only. He found an exit onto a back alley.

“Well, this is familiar,” Mason laughed breathlessly.

Caleb groaned and turned quickly, pushing him against the brick wall. “Yes,” he whispered. His mouth slanted over Mason’s in a hungry kiss. His hands raced over Mason’s chest. Their bodies strained together, and Caleb felt his manhood respond instantly to the contact. He was on fire for him. Groaning, he forced himself to think clearly. “No! You shouldn’t be here. What about Riesling?”

Mason gathered his face and kissed him harder, faster, shaking his head. “She does not matter.”

Caleb broke away and paced to cool his arousal. “She matters. You stayed back for her,” he countered. The pain he had managed to forget came roaring to life at the memory of Mason turning down his offer to run away together. It was not something a desire-laden kiss could erase.

* * *

“I left the same night you left,” he whispered. “Caleb, I searched for you for months. I exhausted most of the funds you paid me to sit for you. I’ve been gone ever since. When I couldn’t find you, I decided to use the last of the money to see some of the world. My travels, in a roundabout way, led me back to you. I have a job with a travel magazine, and I convinced them to send me here to cover some of the art scene in the Bay Area.” He held up his press pass.

“What are you saying? If you’ve been searching for me, then, why did you tell me you couldn’t come with me?” Caleb challenged.

Mason dropped his hands on Caleb’s shoulders and dragged him back into his arms. “Because my brother asked me to be his best man. I had six months until the wedding. I needed to be there for the planning and rehearsals. I felt like I had to be there for my family. That was the part you misunderstood. It was never about Riesling.” He smiled.

Caleb’s eyes widened as he did the math. “You missed the wedding?”

Mason nodded. “They got married a few days ago.”

“I was so angry with you.” Caleb brought Mason’s lips close to his. “Turns out, I was the one being selfish. I had no intention of making you choose between me and your brother. I should have given you the chance to explain.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s behind us. All that matters is the here and now,” Mason whispered heatedly.

Chuckling, Caleb replied, “Our stolen moments.”

“Yes,” Mason groaned. Caleb’s tongue swept through his mouth. Mason gripped Caleb’s belt buckle, throbbing at the thought of having him inside.

“You make me want to shirk my responsibilities,” Caleb sighed. “Unfortunately, I have to be in there. This is my show.”

“Will you come to my hotel?”

“No. I want you with me. You’ll come to my apartment. You have no idea how much I don’t want to let you go right now,” Caleb said. Mason had a pretty good idea. Caleb cupped him by the back of his neck and gave him another slow, sensual kiss that conveyed both urgency and a deeper longing.

“Am I allowed to see my portraits?” Mason asked teasingly.

Caleb shrugged uncertainly but smiled. “We have to stay apart in there. I’m telling you, the minute they see us together, they’ll realize who you are.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Put it this way. The last person who made the front pages with me played a large part in damn near ruining my career,” Caleb laughed.

“Point taken,” Mason conceded. “So, we’re back at it with the stolen moments?”

Caleb exhaled shakily. “Somehow, we keep ending up here. Is it fate?”

Mason kissed him lightly. “All I know is I traveled the globe, looking for you and I’m not leaving without you tonight.”

Caleb entered through the back door, while Mason went around to the front of the building to reenter like any other guest. He grabbed a brochure and made his way around the room. Near the entrance were oversized prints of the portraits. The whole thing felt surreal.

Mason wove his way deeper into the building and nodded, impressed at the smaller portraits that offered a more intimate look. People crowded around the pictures, making approving noises. Mason stood behind a group and studied the picture. Somehow Caleb had captured him exactly, conveying the pressures Mason had felt during the sittings along with a certain amount of whimsy.

The works of art on display were passionate, melancholic, wistful, and adoring. To see himself as Caleb saw him made Mason feel vulnerable, yet understood on a very deep level. His heart swelled with pride at what Caleb had accomplished. He brought out his camera and began taking photographs to accompany his write-up for the travel magazine.

Mason studied other images where Caleb had taken a different approach. The artist had reimagined Mason as a child. The likeness was so convincing that Mason wondered if Caleb had snuck a photograph from his mother. He chuckled as he followed the timeline in the art. In another painting, he was a well-dressed, well-behaved teenager sitting at a piano with bored eyes.

He aged from one canvas to the next. Five works pictured him in various poses in his twenties. In his forties he was in a coffeehouse in Italy and in a flower filled field. He was in all the places he had imagined himself. The twenty-one paintings took him well into old age, and Mason marveled at Caleb’s work. In the last painting, he stood before a white clapboard farmhouse, his face lined and with many stories to tell.

His future self stared back at him, and something in the eyes spoke secrets that Mason fully understood. He was looking at Caleb, who was just out of frame in each of the paintings. Caleb had painted himself into his life. The theme struck Mason deeply. An entire series dedicated to growing old together.

His gaze skated to the artist in the black suit, moving through the crowd, and they locked eyes. They forced themselves to stay away apart. Listening to the other press staff present, Mason began to get a sense of what Caleb had been talking about in the alley. The big question of the night was who was Caleb O’Hara’s muse. Mason ignored the gossip and watched the clock. He could not wait for the event to be over. He wanted to find his way into Caleb’s bed the way he had in his dreams. He wanted to make up for the months they had spent apart. The thing about stolen moments was that it was impossible to know when the next one would come around.

Looking at the images around him, Caleb had opened his heart and told him everything he could not say with words. Mason heard him loud and clear. But he could not stay as he had to chase his dreams. Mason was only scheduled to be in the area for an all too meager two weeks.

* * *

Caleb waited for the crowd to thin before beckoning Mason to follow him. He jogged out of the gallery to his Jeep waiting curbside. A second later, Mason stepped out behind him. “Are you ready to go?” Caleb asked with a wicked grin as he grabbed the handle of the driver’s door. Mason blushed, knowing what he was really asking: Was he ready for what they had both been craving?

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Mason murmured, climbing into the passenger side of the car.

Suddenly, the door to the gallery opened, and the insistent reporter who had held Caleb up earlier in the night quickly approached with her camera guy. “Shit,” Caleb whispered. “Put your head down.”

The camera flashed with a blinding white light that stunned him as he jammed his key in the ignition to start the truck. Smelling a story, more press flooded out behind her and quickly surrounded the vehicle, and Caleb scowled. The reporter banged on the passenger window but Caleb shook his head. Mason kept his face turned. “Please respect my privacy,” Caleb said loudly.

“Mr. O’Hara! Is this your muse? Can we get a statement from you? Sir, what’s your name?”

Mason put a hand on the glass to block even more of the view. “You’re like a celebrity,” he teased.

Caleb chuckled. “No comment,” he shouted at the reporters. He toed the gas and eased away from the rabid press, trying not to hurt anyone in the process. “I guess this is what I get for being a player in my former life. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Hopefully some of the fuss dies down soon. I hate to say it, but Gregoire might be stirring some of this up.” He shook his head. “Are you hungry?”

Mason dropped a hand in his lap and grazed his manhood. “All I want is for you to hurry up and get us home.”

Caleb chuckled. “Yes, sir.”

He shifted gears and smoothly accelerated. They flew down the highway with Mason’s fingers toying with the zipper of his pants. It was no surprise when Mason impatiently freed his erection and stroked him to hardness. Caleb exhaled through clenched teeth as his body responded to the touch it missed most. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, and let Mason masturbate him.

When Mason deftly leaned over the center console and put his mouth on his erection, Caleb groaned and pushed his seat back to give him access. “This isn’t the Mason I remember,” he whispered in awe.

“I’m tired of playing it safe.” Mason deep-throated him, and Caleb almost slammed on brakes.

“Oh, fuck…” Caleb set the truck on cruise control and took his feet off the pedals.

His cock emerged dripping wet from Mason’s lips. Mason quickly swallowed him back down and bobbed. Caleb growled with pleasure as he dropped a hand to the back of Mason’s head and ran his fingers through his hair. It was better than anything he had dreamed. His memory simply could not match the reality. Caleb panted and urged him to go faster.

The Jeep eased to a stop at a red light. Caleb tried to keep his face neutral, but was struggling. He grimaced with ecstasy as Mason came up for air and kissed his lips right there in front of the traffic cameras and everybody else. Caleb chuckled breathlessly at his boldness. He caressed his face and whispered, “You never cease to amaze me.”

Mason smiled and went back down on him as the light changed. Caleb swore softly as he made love to Mason’s mouth, wishing he could stretch him out in bed and make love to him the way he wanted. He had to get home and fast! His moans of pleasure filled the car. His excitement rose like heated mercury as Mason jerked him hard and fast against his open mouth. His tongue darted out to swipe the head of Caleb’s dick.

“Uh! You’re unbelievable! You’re gonna have to stop.”

“Come for me,” Mason whispered over him.

Caleb shuddered. “Ooh, shit!” he groaned. Mason hummed and sucked aggressively as he stroked him faster. Caleb felt the moment hurtle toward its zenith. He gasped and pulled the car over on the side of the road.

Groaning, Mason rhythmically sucked the head of his cock, and Caleb involuntarily rose out of the driver’s seat. He thrust in and out of Mason’s mouth, gasping and moaning as the pleasure took him higher and higher. He clutched the back of Mason’s neck and tensed. “Yes! Uhn! Mason, baby—Ah!”

Mason shook out of his grip and twirled his tongue into the slit at the tip, teasing Caleb to madness. When he deep-throated him again, Caleb pressed the back of his head and held him as he throbbed in his mouth. His cock sputtered and quaked, threatening to spill, but Mason jerked away before it could happen.

Caleb growled through clenched teeth at the torture of the sudden stop. He sucked in a breath, shuddering. Mason groaned and kissed him with abandonment, and their erratic breathing heated up the interior of the car. Caleb tore at him to get closer, shoving a hand into Mason’s pants and stroking his cock.

“Caleb!” Mason sobbed his name, ramming into his palm. His need dampened Caleb’s fingers. Caleb urgently masturbated him and felt more of his pre-cum spill free. They slammed into the center console to get to each other, but there was not enough room in the car.

“I have to get you home,” Caleb moaned.

“Wait! Let me—” Mason went down on him again. Caleb swore in shock as Mason gripped his dick and sucked him hard and fast.

“Mason! Ah, fuck! I can’t take—Let me get you home, baby! Please!” Even as he spoke, Caleb climbed the driver’s seat to get deeper into Mason’s glorious mouth. Caleb huffed, stammering incoherently, from the amazing pleasure. Mason was relentless with his stunning technique. Caleb abandoned his attempt at trying to leave. Mason would have his way, and Caleb would relish every second of it.

“Come, come now,” he whispered heatedly around Caleb’s rigid member. He moaned and applied the same brilliant mix of rhythm and pressure that had almost undone Caleb the first time.

The climax struck like a tidal wave. The force of it shoved Caleb into the driver’s seat. He slumped as his cock erupted in Mason’s mouth. He was shocked at the potent ecstasy, and Mason greedily sucked until Caleb’s quivering erection had nothing left to give. Mason finally sat up, and Caleb yanked him closer, kissing his taste from his mouth. He felt completely exposed in that moment.

“Please, tell me you’re staying,” Caleb moaned. Mason looked him in the eyes and hesitated. “Stay with me. Please. We can go wherever you want to go after this. Just stay with me.”

“I don’t want to get in the way of what you’re doing here,” he whispered.

Caleb squeezed his eyes shut, feeling rejected all over again. “You won’t…but I understand.” He did get it. Mason was still exploring who he was as a person. They were at different points in their lives. It was not fair to make him set aside his life plans for this clandestine relationship. “I understand,” he whispered, getting back on the highway. He would have him for as long as he could. That was all he could ask for.

Chapter 16

He hurriedly unlocked the door and yanked Mason into the cool, dark living room. Their passionate kiss sparked like the opening chord of a symphony. The honeymoon starts now, Mason thought, but they only had two weeks. Mason’s body was a house of cards, and one touch would take him down. Giving head in the front seat of the Jeep had only served to raise his arousal to the breaking point. Mason had missed and craved Caleb with a need that now threatened his very future.

Caleb wanted him to stay. Mason clenched his eyes shut and kissed him harder, wishing he could just say yes. He had made the wrong decision once and nearly paid the price but fate had brought them back together. The problem was that Mason would have to give something up. His writing? Traveling the world? Or, Caleb O’Hara.

“I wish I didn’t need you, but I do,” Caleb growled desperately, undressing him as they walked across the living room. They left a trail of clothes from the front door as shirts and pants were tossed aside, but they never made it to the bed. Mason stretched out naked on the steps, with his raging boner pointed at the ceiling. Caleb fell at his pelvis.

With a hum, he slid his expert tongue down Mason’s shaft, and swirled it over the sensitive ridge of his erection. The slippery glide of his mouth made Mason strain forward to offer up every inch. Mason gripped a fistful of Caleb’s hair, groaning at how good he felt. When he looked down at Caleb’s powerful back muscles bunching as his head rose and fell, his body tightened expectantly.

Memories of every time they had made love ran through Mason’s head, but this time was different. This was no clandestine meeting in the upstairs attic or down a dark alley. Caleb gripped Mason’s throbbing manhood with both hands and focused his attention on the tip, nibbling and licking and teasing him to madness. Mason’s unbridled lust expressed itself in vocal cries of pleasure.

Caleb went wild at the Korean words flowing from his lips. “Mm, yes,” he whispered, sucking harder. His silky spit dripped down Mason’s cock and pooled around Caleb’s hands. Mason threw his head back and gasped, his toes clenching the hardwood floor in vain as he backpedaled up the stairs, but there was no escape.

Caleb gripped his hips and deep throated him again. A storm of ecstasy came crashing down around Mason’s quivering hard-on. He bucked and surged deeper into Caleb’s mouth. Caleb huffed around his thick shaft and slowly released him inch by inch. A line of pre-cum clung to his mouth, and he stared up at Mason with vulnerable eyes.

Caleb stroked him with his hand as he sucked him off. He held the back of Caleb’s head and thrust into his mouth. Every time he thought he would explode, Caleb pulled away. Mason writhed on the stairs, chest heaving. His pelvis rocked back and forth to a fast tempo.

Caleb rose and brought Mason’s bare foot to his mouth. His tongue darted out to lick his toes, making Mason squirm. When he sucked, Mason gasped. A tight string of pleasure raced from his foot to his core. Like everything else Caleb had shown him, Mason enjoyed the new sensation. He closed his eyes and let go.

Slowly, Caleb eased Mason’s foot over his muscular chest and down his washboard abs to his cock. Mason felt the steel shaft throbbing against the sole of his foot, and he experimentally stroked him. He curled his toes around him, slid the arch of his foot over the velvety skin. He rubbed up and down, listening to Caleb’s hushed breaths come faster.

Caleb brought Mason’s legs to his shoulders and kneeled on the stairs on top of him. They stared into each other’s eyes as Caleb moistened a digit and probed Mason’s ass to stretch and prepare him. The familiar sting made Mason quiver in anticipation. His lips parted on a moan. He rested on his elbows and tilted his pelvis forward to receive him, and they both looked down to watch Caleb’s massive erection breach the passageway.

Mason felt every muscle in his body relax for the thrill. He hummed unconsciously as Caleb pushed harder. He gasped when the tight constriction allowed entry. Then, Caleb leaned back and doused his erection in spit.

“Yes,” Mason breathed.

Caleb held his thighs back and made love to him with a languid forward sway of his pelvis. In and out. Mason’s mouth fell open in bliss. In and out. Faster. Mason’s ass puckered around the thick spear penetrating him, and Caleb’s face clenched in a grimace of pleasure as his knees went weak. Mason’s thighs fell from his shoulders to lock around his hips.

Caleb laid on top of him with a groan. They kissed fiercely with grunts and sighs of excitement and exertion. Mason wrapped his arms around Caleb’s neck and ground against him. They broke the kiss but pressed cheek to cheek throughout. “Take all of me,” Caleb groaned. Mason’s eyes rolled back in bliss, and he did as instructed.

His body felt impossibly full with Caleb’s erection inside him. He met him thrust for thrust. He ran his fingers through Caleb’s hair and pulled him closer. Their chests brushed and burned where their skin touched, and the tension became a fever that needed to break. Mason reached between them and touched himself.

As soon as his fingers met his skin, he climaxed. Mason stammered in shock, shuddering uncontrollably. He clutched his cock tighter. His jizz fired over Caleb’s quivering abs and seemed to drive him crazy. Caleb growled his name and fucked him harder. “Come for me,” he whispered fiercely against Mason’s lips. “Come for me, baby.”

* * *

The pool of ejaculate soaked them both as Caleb held Mason closer and reveled in his orgasm. The apartment echoed with Mason’s loud gasps of pleasure. Caleb groaned and kissed Mason’s neck, feeling his pulse beat erratically. He could not let the moment pass. He eased out of Mason’s body to lick the last drops from his still quaking erection. Mason screamed his name and bucked.

“I’m not done with you,” Caleb moaned.

He grabbed Mason’s shoulder and turned him over on the stairs. Caleb reentered with a soft whimper and molded against his lover’s body from behind. Using the stairs for leverage, Caleb continued the mind-blowing sex. He ran a hand down Mason’s side as he kissed his shoulder. Caleb gripped his hips and guided him to take the long, hard strokes that would push them both over the edge again. He could not believe how amazing it felt.

“Duh!” Mason groaned. “Duh sse gae!”

“Oh, my God! You’ll make me come all over you if you keep talking like that!”

“Harder,” Mason whispered.

Caleb wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tighter as he gave him what he was asking for. They slammed together with violent ecstasy. The combination of fast, hard and tight almost made his body let go. Mason trembled and squeezed him tighter, and Caleb growled and bit down on the back of his shoulders. He never wanted it to end.

In the Jeep, when Caleb had asked him to stay, he had not gotten the answer he wanted. But, here, that did not matter. It had been a long shot to expect Mason to put his life on hold for him. Caleb would take whatever he could get. Even if it meant falling deeper and more dangerously in love every time they touched.

Mason turned his face, blindly seeking his mouth. Caleb kissed him. Mason’s tongue swept over his lips. They nipped and sucked, clinging together passionately, breathing raggedly, and Caleb knew what would happen next. He groaned as his body tensed and his pelvis flexed forward.

He pressed his cock along the crease of Mason’s taut ass and watched his jizz erupt in a geyser and spill over Mason’s perspiration-dampened skin. Caleb grunted as waves of pleasure rocked him. He swayed weakly, almost falling. He stumbled to the stairs beside Mason and stared him in the eyes. “How am I going to live without you?” Caleb whispered breathlessly.

“You have me,” Mason replied softly, caressing his face. “I’m right in front of you.”

* * *

Caleb took pleasure in running a bath for his lover in the deep-basin tub. He poured scented oils and lit candles around the bathroom sink. Mason stepped into the room and placed his cellphone near the candles. A love song played quietly from the device as Caleb gestured to the water and watched him sink in clouds of billowy steam. It was an unplanned romantic memory to add to the lengthening list of perfect moments together.

“I want to draw you,” Caleb said, smiling gently.

Mason grinned and waved dismissively. Caleb ran for his sketchbook. “Is this something you’ll add to the collection?” Mason asked. Caleb chuckled.

“No. This will remain private…I’ve missed you so much.”

“So I’ve heard,” Mason murmured drowsily. He rested his head on the ledge of the tub and watched Caleb sketch his picture. “What was the overall theme of the collection, aein?”

“A-in?” Caleb tried out the unfamiliar word.

“It means sweetheart. What was the overall theme of the collection?”

Caleb chuckled. “Whatever you took away from it. You know I hate assigning meaning.”

“I know what it meant to me, but what did it mean to you?”

Caleb hesitated and avoided looking at him. “Let’s just say, for a change, I did not paint reality.”

“You want to get old with me?” Mason whispered.

“I’m allowed to dream, am I not?” he asked teasingly. “Anyway, how is the writing coming along?” Caleb finally met his gaze.

Mason shifted in the tub and rested his chin on his crossed arms on the ledge. “We could do this, you know. It doesn’t matter whether I’m traveling or in the office, or you’re painting or promoting your art, we could make a relationship work.”

“Not long distance. Distance makes lonely people do crazy things,” Caleb stated. “You might find yourself in a hotel room with a lover who isn’t me.”

“Are you afraid you’ll see other people?”

“You’re all I see.” The pencil scratched the rough surface of the paper and a smile tickled the corners of Caleb’s lips. “Twenty-one obsessed paintings later, you’d think that would be obvious. When I left New Hampshire, I tried to get out and meet other people, but I couldn’t drum up any enthusiasm. What about you?”

“No one,” Mason murmured.

“I’ll be faithful to you.”

“We’d have to have a relationship first.”

“I belong to you. You belong to me. We have no idea what the future holds, so let’s leave it at that for now,” Caleb said. He turned the sketchbook around so Mason could see what he had drawn.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but I’m totally in awe of you.”

“I’m sure my egotistical ass noticed that right away!” Caleb laughed. “Thank you. The new, humble me greatly appreciates your high esteem.” Caleb bowed as he slipped out of the bedroom.

Two weeks. He had him for two weeks. He did not want to think beyond that.

* * *

Due to his work assignment, Mason had the luxury of being invited to many of the same art events Caleb attended. They raised no suspicions and to all appearances, they were two friends connected by a love of the arts. Behind closed doors however, it was an entirely different story.

Mason barely had time to schedule his blog posts in batches. He spared an hour every evening to write for the travel magazine. As soon as he was free, they tumbled in bed together. Before sleep each night, he called his parents to report on his travels, but he did not mention Caleb O’Hara, their former renter.

The days passed in a bliss-filled haze, and Mason remembered the hard, long months of wishing for exactly what he had now. He remembered the nights when he would go to bed with Caleb’s hand-painted bookmark clutched to his chest or listen to classical music to feel a connection. Of course, that was the future he had to look forward to. After two weeks, his would be back on the road and it would be like nothing had never happened. As if the twenty-one paintings were not all of him, and like Caleb was not his be all and end all.

Mason was sitting in the Jeep waiting for Caleb to wrap up an event when his cellphone rang and he saw the number flash across the screen. It was Robert, the person who had orchestrated the reunion. He smiled in pleasure and answered his brother. “Back from the honeymoon already?”

“Still in Fiji. It’s everything you told us it would be and more. I was calling to see where you are.”

“Take a wild guess,” Mason laughed.

“You found him!”

“In San Francisco. Thank you for the link, Robert. I even managed to score a legitimate reason for being here. I’m working on an assignment for Traveler’s Heights. Unfortunately, I have to hit the road again soon. I have other assignments out of country.”

“Yeah, but you two settled your differences, and you’ll live happily ever after once you finish the magazine gig, right?”

“Honestly, married life is making you more of a romantic than me, and I’m meant to be the family dreamer,” Mason said. “I don’t know, Robert. He wants me to stay with him, but I’d have to give up the job with the travel magazine. My agent pulled a lot of strings to get me in there, and I need to firm up my resume.”

“Well, why can’t he just travel with you?”

“He needs to be here with his art. Twenty-One and Counting is blowing everyone’s expectations away. They’re calling it an unqualified success. Meanwhile, we’ve been trying to keep a low profile the whole time I’m here so reporters won’t run with the story of us being together. I feel like I’m holding him back.”

“In my opinion, this thing has been secret long enough,” said Robert. “Let it out into the light. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Mom and Dad finding out?”

“You can’t keep your preferences a secret from them forever.”

“I know. They already have their suspicions, but I have some experience with keeping them from knowing for certain. Mom is traditional, Robert. You know she won’t go for it, and Dad is set on me giving up the writer’s life, taking an office job and settling down. If they know Caleb and I are together, there will be hell to pay.”

“It was kind of hell you being without him, too. I was there every step of the way, remember? You can cloak it, shield it or call it by another name, but if it’s the real deal, it usually shows, and it should! I know you’re trying to gain experience and forge ahead with your writing career or your career in finance—whatever you decide—and I know this relationship thing is new for you. You have a lot of things to wrap your head around so you can make some tough decisions about where you want to go next, but can I give you some advice?”

“You will anyway,” Mason chuckled.

“Remember that life is about living in the moment and enjoying every second of it. When you find that thing or that person you love, you don’t worry about who agrees with your choices or who doesn’t.”

“Go on.”

“You can write anywhere in the world, Mason. Even San Francisco.”

Mason nodded, staring out the window as Caleb strolled around the corner with his hands in his pockets and a bemused smile on his face. “I hear you, hyung,” Mason murmured. “I have to go. Caleb and I have a date tonight. I’ll talk to you soon, though.”

“Don’t leave the country without coming to see me first.”

“Of course. I’ll visit New Hampshire before I leave.”

Mason ended the call as Caleb climbed in the car. “Alright! Now that the work stuff is out of the way, there’s somewhere I want to take you.”

“You hinted that it might be a bit out of my comfort zone,” Mason said. He had been wondering about the secretive date all evening.

“I think once you get used to the idea, you’ll see it’s not what you expected. This place gets rave reviews. Very discreet. We can be a couple in front of other people for a change. What do you say?” Caleb grinned. Mason leaned across the center console and kissed him lightly.

“While I’m here, you can take me wherever you want me to go.”

“If only I could convince you to stay,” Caleb murmured.

Mason smiled and sat back, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “I’m giving it a lot of very deep thought.”

“Well, let’s see if a trip to a sex club will get us from maybe to yes.”

Mason raised a brow. “A sex club?”

Caleb sped down the highway with his eyes on the road. “I want to fuck you for the world to see. But what happens at the sex club…stays there. It will never get out.”

Mason was surprised to find that the idea appealed.

Chapter 17

Caleb woke up in Mason’s arms and smiled drowsily as the sunlight flooded in through the window. He pulled the curtain closed so Mason could get his rest. His cellphone buzzed faintly from the dresser, but he did not want to move. The blissful sex they had had the night before had involved a rigorous workout that had him achy but entirely sated.

“I’m coming. I’m coming,” Caleb whispered, forcing himself out of bed. He grabbed the phone as it stopped ringing, scrolled through his call history and discovered it was Gregoire who had called. Caleb hit redial and padded out of the bedroom. “Why the heck are you up so early?”

“I wanted to break the news to you personally. Congratulations! You’ve been invited the Wellington Foundation Ball next month. That’s the good news. Now for the bad news.”

“It’s barely after eight over here. Can’t it wait until after my morning coffee?”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Stop being overdramatic, Gregoire. Spit it out.”

“Vido has been invited to the event, too. He is also running a concurrent showing at the Gallery de Duchamp, and he’s actively trying to divert attention from your Twenty-One and Counting exhibit. Although I discouraged it, he informed me he’s looking out for his best interests. I can’t believe he accused me of playing favorites.”

Caleb snorted and ran a hand over his face. “He’s a kid. What did you expect? He still thinks whining and an unshakeable sense of entitlement will get him everywhere.”

“There’s one teeny tiny other problem…He may have,” Gregoire paused before spitting out the rest of the statement, “told a reporter about your secret relationship with Mason Sinclair.”

“What?” Caleb barked.

“Remember that day I asked you about your muse while you were still in New Hampshire? Vido was here in my office during that phone call. Of course, I had no idea he would retain that information and try to use it against you.”

“Goddamn it, Greg! I’ve been walking a tightrope over here trying to keep up with publicity while keeping Mason out of the limelight, and you let Vido Charles break the news? Did he make it seem like a scandal?”

“Not entirely. He may have sort of implied the hype should go to the muse more so than the artist. A direct quote might be—”

“A direct quote?” Caleb growled.

“—From the Society Pages, ‘It would take a talentless hack to screw up what nature so perfectly designed. It’s no wonder O’Hara fell for him. I would give an arm to get M. Sinclair on my canvas.’”

Caleb saw red. “The only thing saving that bastard right now is distance from me.”

“Calm down. Don’t get in your knickers in a knot. This could work to your advantage. A little stir around your muse will keep the buzz going on the West Coast no matter what Vido does over here. His latest exhibit’s success hinges greatly on how he performed last year. He doesn’t exactly have a game changing body of work this time. So, why not encourage the press to snoop a bit?”

“You’ve been after that since day one,” Caleb accused.

“Because the only thing that sticks in a person’s head like a brilliant piece of art is a brilliant story behind the artwork. Consider it, Caleb. You got romanced by a darling twenty-one-year-old on holiday in New England. He swept you off your feet and managed to drag the emotion from you that was sorely lacking in your work. I know my marketing and believe me, that’s a story that sells.”

Caleb sighed and peered through the partially open bedroom door at his sleeping lover. “You may know what sells, but I know what will send Mason running. If people make this into a big deal, he’s out of here. He won’t stand for his family’s reputation being hurt by our relationship, and I’m not such a glory hound that I would ask him to. The answer is no. Make this story go away.”

Gregoire responded glumly, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I have to go. He’s waking up. Call me back with an update.”

Caleb ended the call and tiptoed into the bedroom as Mason rolled over and blinked sleepily. “Who was on the phone?”

“My agent. Vido Charles is trying to compete with me over on the East Coast. No surprises there. Did you sleep well?” Caleb smiled and stroked his face. Mason stretched and groaned.

“Yeah, but I feel like I ran a marathon.”

“Because you’re insatiable.”

Mason blushed and eased the cover over his face. “How many times did we do it last night?”

“Three…Want to go for round four?” he teased.

“I don’t think I can survive it,” Mason chuckled. He dragged the cover away and sat up. “I have to get in touch with my agent and the travel mag. My two weeks are almost up here. I need to tell them I’m staying.”

Caleb grinned as his heart beat faster. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

Mason pushed his hair out of his face and met his gaze. “I’m okay with giving up the travel magazine job. The biggest benefit with that one was that they covered a lot of my expenses. I can still use the three months of experience with them on my resume, and I can write my book from here. We’ll ride out your season. After that, we can go anywhere.”

“These stolen moments are starting to stretch out. What if—like I said—we discover we’re more attracted to the danger of discovery than to anything else? What if this is nothing more than infatuation?” Caleb shifted uneasily, the thought of their cover being blown weighing heavy in mind. He prayed that story had not gone far.

“It’s not infatuation for me.”

“No, not for me, either,” Caleb assured him, leaning forward to buss his lips. “Call your agent and then get ready for breakfast with me. I want to take you out.”

* * *

Mason found his phone and debated whether to talk to his agent or his editor first. Sighing, he dialed his agent. He might be able to convince him to get in contact with the magazine and save him the trouble. Ross answered on the second ring in his characteristic gravelly New York voice. “We have a problem, Mr. Sinclair.”

“With the magazine? Look, I know I haven’t been in touch with them in a few days, but that’s pretty much standard when I’m on assignment. Did they complain or something? I was calling you to talk about them anyway,” Mason rambled as he got out of bed and got his things together for a shower.

“Let me ask you something. What exactly are you doing out there in the Bay Area?”

“I, I’m covering the art scene,” Mason stammered.

“Humph! According to your editor, you just committed the cardinal sin of journalism. You made the story about you, buddy, and folks over at Traveler’s Heights ain’t happy about it. Society Pages got a source saying you’re in a secret gay relationship with an artist out there. Firstly, let me tell you, it’s the twenty-first century, which I remind you of because being a gay, diverse writer happens to hit so many targets! What the hell is wrong with you, keeping that a secret?” Ross chuckled.

Mason blanched. “What are you talking about, Ross?”

“I’m talking about your spread in the biggest gossip rag in town. Here, let me find my glasses so I can give you a line or two. Let’s see. Where to start? Ah! Smut gold: ‘M. Sinclair dazzled viewers of Mr. O’Hara’s electric new collection Twenty-One and Counting: The Experiences of Age; he is featured on all twenty-one canvases, a level of obsession that has many wondering exactly what is the relationship between the artist and the muse.’ Interesting. Should I go on?”

“That’s enough,” Mason whispered in horror. “This is on a popular, wide-circulation website?”

“Widespread enough. So, I’m gonna ask you again. What exactly are you doing out there in the Bay Area?”

“I’m with a friend.”

“The artist? Well, if you don’t want this story to grow, then I would recommend you pick another playground. I convinced Traveler’s Heights to give you a little break. Take a month off and go home until this dies down.”

“I’ll call you back, Ross. I need to talk to Caleb.”

“I’m about to text you a link to the article so you can see it for yourself and make your decision.”

“Yeah. Talk to you later.” Mason ended the call and dropped his clothes on the bed. “Caleb! Have you heard about this?” Mason fumbled with his phone to open the text from his agent. He shoved the phone at Caleb who was in the kitchen, making coffee.

“What is it?”

“There’s an article about me.”

“Oh,” Caleb sighed. “Fuck.”

Mason’s eyebrows winged skyward at his less than surprised reaction. “You knew about this?”

“I just—I talked to Gregoire, and he mentioned it to me, but I have him doing damage control. You should have nothing to worry about.” Caleb put up his hands to calm him down, but Mason shook his head and backed away.

“Damage control?” he retorted. “I called my agent to let him know about my decision to stay here, only to find out my boss at the travel magazine I’m working for is livid because I’m the day’s big scoop! I’m supposed to be out here covering the art scene. Now everyone knows that you and I are in a relationship. Some damage control.”

“I warned you,” Caleb muttered tightly.

“We were discreet.”

Caleb sidled closer and cupped his chin, drawing his lips up for a soft kiss. “Don’t let it upset you. I’ll take care of it. I’m sorry the news leaked, but it’ll be old news by this afternoon. Get dressed and let me take you to breakfast like I promised.”

Mason stared at the floor with a frown. “Caleb, my agent got the travel mag to give me a month off. He wants me to go home to help kill this story,” he said quietly.

Caleb backed away. “So…you’re leaving?”

Mason met his gaze and blew out a breath. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m overreacting.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Caleb said with a shrug.

“We’ll see,” Mason murmured. For the first time since his arrival, he was nervous about going out. His cellphone buzzed with a text message. Mason opened the text and read it with growing uneasiness. “It’s from my brother. He made it back from his honeymoon yesterday and says a reporter just dropped by the house.”

* * *

“This is exactly what I was worried would happen,” Mason continued over breakfast.

Caleb shook his head. “I’m doing everything in my power to kill it, but it’s taking on a life of its own. If your parents told them anything about me staying there—even innocently mentioning it—then, they’ll run with the story. Gregoire thinks it’s good publicity. He thinks the romance will drive interest.”

“So, you want this?”

“Of course not!” Caleb growled. “I would much rather people talk about the artwork itself. The muse is supposed to be secondary.” He locked eyes with Mason. “Not like that. You know what I mean.”

“I’m stealing your spotlight,” Mason sighed.

“No. Mason, let’s just keep doing things like we’ve done them while you’ve been here. It doesn’t have to get complicated. We keep a low profile.”

“My assignment is almost up. I won’t have a legitimate reason for being here, and the minute people find out who I am to you, they’ll focus more on that than your artwork. Not only will I put my career in danger by being here, but yours as well. Look, that’s not what I came to do, and I’m not sticking around for it.”

Caleb put down his fork. “What are you saying?”

“I’m going home. I have to explain this to my parents.”

“You know what? You’re right. Go home to your parents! Explain it to them. Tell them you were just trying this out like you’re just trying out writing. Tell them I’m another gap year for you. Tell them you’ll get back in line and straighten up your act. Do what comes naturally to you, Mason. Conform.”

“Caleb, I’m not like you! I’m not a rebel without a cause. You gave up your millionaire lifestyle to live in a goddamned attic apartment to feel like a starving artist. You’re slumming it, you haven’t risked anything! You never gave up anything for this!”

“Is that what you think?” Caleb scoffed. He rose and threw down his napkin, leaning across the table so they were eye to eye. “I was never a millionaire, Mason. The money I paid you to sit for me was my last. It was meant to buy back my childhood home so I could have a connection to my mother. Don’t tell me what I have or haven’t risked or given up.”

He stormed out of the diner, and people stared after him. Mason called his name, but Caleb continued out the door to the parking lot. He was Mason’s ride home. He sat in the Jeep and struggled with his emotions. He was worried about the impact the scandal would have on his art, but that was in fact the least of his concerns. Caleb had no idea how he would recover from losing Mason again. He gripped the steering wheel and powered on the engine as Mason climbed into the vehicle.

“Excuse me!” a young lady flagged them down before they pulled off.

Caleb rolled down the passenger window. “Can we help you?”

“Well, I saw you guys in the diner.” The woman approached his car with a friendly smile. “Hey, aren’t you Caleb O’Hara? I was at your gallery opening a few weeks ago.”

Caleb nodded. “I am, but I’m sorry but I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” She hurriedly raised her cellphone and took a picture. Caleb blinked and pulled back. “I just wanted this.” She shook the camera and smiled.

“Drive,” Mason mumbled as he powered up the window.

“Shit!” Caleb put the car in gear and drove off.

“I apologize. For my assumptions and for my selfishness. I had no idea, and I wish I would have known. I wouldn’t have taken your money,” Mason said. “I’ll pay you back with my first advance.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want the money. It’s done. All of it is over and done. When are you leaving?”

“I think I should go tonight.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Mason asked. “Look, I’m not running home to cover my own ass. I’m doing this for you. I recognize how much work you put into rejuvenating your art career. You’re thinking about us but, you’re not thinking about what you’ll be giving up. Make this collection a success so you can get back to where you belong in your world.”

“A week ago, when we were in the sex club together, I felt so incredibly free. I pictured…I pictured us getting old together. I very briefly forgot these are stolen moments. If there’s anything to pay back, it’s time. Go back to your world, Mason. I’ll stay here in mine where I belong. It’s time for the fantasy to end”

Chapter 18

“Mom, Dad…I need to talk to you,” Mason said.

Desmond and Yoo Jin shared a look. “What about?” Mr. Sinclair asked.

Mason pushed his hands in his pockets and shook his hair out of his eyes. “The reporter who came here.”

“About Mr. O’Hara,” Mrs. Sinclair nodded knowingly. Her eyes darted to her husband again.

“About us. We were together. In a relationship,” Mason clarified. “I wanted to be the first to tell you, but the truth is coming out sooner than I expected because his art is doing so well. I have no control over exactly what information is released and I know you’ve had your suspicions for a while.”

“Oh, I had more than suspicions, Mason,” his dad interjected. “I saw the chemistry between the two of you. I wanted to nip it in the bud before it got out of hand. I did not want you to get involved with him.”

Mason forced himself to continue with the confession. “I never meant to disrespect you, Appa. I’m sorry that this is reaching the press. I know it will cause you some embarrassment. I want you to know Caleb is doing what he can to minimize the spread of the story.”

Mr. Sinclair interjected, “Embarrassment? Humph! You think you’re a pioneer in the taboo love arena. How do you think your mother and I wound up here?” Mason’s brow furrowed.

Mrs. Sinclair grabbed her son’s hand as they strolled along. “Oh, Mason. It’s clear you think we don’t understand, but we do. In Seoul, we were made to feel very bad for our love. I was shunned by both friends and family for choosing an outsider. In America, your father dealt with criticism for marrying a foreigner. It taught us to understand how powerful the heart is.”

“Then, why did you try to keep us apart?”

His father replied, “I knew there would come a point when Caleb O’Hara returned to the lifestyle he was accustomed to, and that would leave you to pick up the pieces on your own. Listen, all I’ve ever wanted for you was happiness and stability and he was never going to provide either. Why would a man like him give up everything he had accomplished for a relationship with a dreamer like you?”

Mason asked boldly, “Why did you? If what you’re saying is true, it suddenly makes sense why you had to leave Seoul so quickly. That had to wreak havoc with your career.”

“Because it was more than a crush,” Desmond Sinclair insisted. “You’ll understand it better when you get older, son. At twenty-one, there’s no way you have the experience to know the difference between infatuation and love. He made you feel something you never felt before. So what? It’s all a part of growing and learning who we are and what we want.”

Mason squeezed his fist and sighed. “But it doesn’t matter. Caleb and I are no longer together. I’m here on break for a month, and then I’ll get back to my gap year, back to my writing.”

“Have you considered calling it a wrap and getting on the right path?” Mr. Sinclair pressed.

“Like you said…this is all a part of growing and learning what we want. I know that I don’t want to be a financial analyst. I don’t want to work in one of the stuffy offices in the city. I don’t want to be stuck in one place. I’m sorry, but that is just the way it is.”

Mr. Sinclair sighed with regret. “Well, it’s your life, and you have to live it for yourself.”

Mrs. Sinclair nudged him and smiled. “Don’t pretend you haven’t enjoyed every minute of his travels. I can’t get you to stop telling people about our brilliant writer son. Mason, no matter what your father says, he is proud of you, and so am I. Don’t worry about the gossip. Above all things, family takes care of family.”

“While we’re at it, I wish I could see some of the artwork,” Mr. Sinclair said.

Mason grinned. “You’re in luck. My assignment in San Francisco was to cover the art scene. I have plenty of photos. I didn’t send them for fear of your reaction.”

They returned to the cozy New England house on its bluff above the Atlantic, and Mason proudly spread his photographs on the coffee table in the living room. He sat at the piano, playing a gentle tune, while his parents surveyed his work. His body was present, but his mind was far away. He sighed and played the chords of one of his favorite songs, occasionally adding the words.

Mr. Sinclair held up a photograph and caught his attention. “I might have been wrong. This painting captures you so completely.”

Mrs. Sinclair laid her hands over her husband’s. “I do believe you’re seeing him through the eyes of someone who loves him in a different way than us. Someone who, in their own way, loves him with all his heart and soul.” She met Mason’s gaze. “Are you sure this is where you’re supposed to be, Mason?”

* * *

Caleb slammed the door of his Jeep as Gregoire continued rambling in his ear. “I have three venues begging to have you shown here. San Francisco has had you long enough,” his agent complained.

“And the minute I push those pictures on the East Coast, the gossip rags will explode. Have you seen what they’re already saying?”

“Yes. Thankfully, PR is on top of the story now. They’re carefully spinning this as a friendship that expanded and led to enlightenment and inspiration. Ross tells me the buzz could be good for Mason, too. He hasn’t spoken to him about it yet, but I’m sure at least one of you will realize how this will help your career.”

“Gregoire, as soon as I’ve fulfilled my end of the contract, I’m retiring,” Caleb stated, breezing along the familiar Portsmouth sidewalk.

“What the hell do you mean, you’re retiring?”

“I’d like to sell the rights to some of my older stuff to generate a steady stream of income. I’ll do some commissioned pieces to pad my account, too, but I’m done with this. I want my life back.”

“Caleb, you’re talking in riddles.”

“Look, when I was nineteen, all I thought about was succeeding and I accomplished what I set out to do. I had no goals after that.”

Gregoire hesitated. “But, you do now. You want him back.”

Caleb had stopped by the Sinclair house and he had expected to have to fight to get information on where Mason was. Instead, they had freely directed him to the bistro that he was now outside of. Mason was meeting with Riesling and his cousin, Tae. Caleb hated to interrupt the reunion, but he had to see him. He stared through the plate glass window and spotted Riesling’s familiar white-blonde hair.

“It’s been a month since he left, a month since the story about us broke. I let him go, didn’t even put up a fight, and I’ll never stop regretting that.”

“Jesus Christ. You’re really in love, aren’t you?”

“Call it whatever you like, but let me call you back.”

He ended the phone call without waiting for his agent to say goodbye, and walked into the bistro. Several people looked his way, but not Mason. Caleb straightened his shoulders, wondering what exactly to say to the man who had turned him down not once, but twice. How could he convince Mason that they belonged together?

He approached their table, and Riesling looked up with wide blue eyes. “What are you doing here?” she yelped with surprised pleasure, springing to her feet and launching into Caleb’s arms. He hugged her and smiled. Mason stared at him, shocked. He put down the glass of wine he was holding and rose to his feet slowly.

“I think it’s obvious,” Caleb murmured, releasing Riesling. She dropped a hand on the shoulder of the man who sat in the booth with her and introduced him, but Caleb only had eyes for Mason. “Pleasure to meet you, Tae. Mason, I hate to barge in like this, but I must talk to you. Can you spare a minute?”

Riesling grinned. “So, you’re here to officially snatch him away from me, are you?” she teased. “Tae, this is Mason’s friend who helped save us that night I told you about.”

“The fight at the party?” Tae asked.

“Yes. I was worried sick about Riesling. In the chaos, Ries and I got separated, but Caleb came to the rescue and found her. That was also, incidentally, the night he left me. So, what exactly are you doing here?” Mason smiled, and the sun shone. Caleb suddenly realized his life had changed course exactly that moment when Mason had smiled at him for the first time.

“Rectifying a mistake I made a month ago.” He grabbed Mason’s hand and slipped a slender silver ring on his finger. Mason glanced down at it and back at him in shock. “I asked you to stay, but I didn’t give you a good enough reason,” Caleb replied breathlessly. His heart was in his throat. He did not know how Mason would respond.

Riesling gasped when Mason lifted his hand. “Is that…?”

Tae clapped, and Mason stood without saying a word, a look of amazement and uncertainty on his handsome face. “Say something,” Caleb pleaded with a nervous laugh.

“What’s the reason?” Mason whispered.

Caleb stepped closer, not caring that they were in a restaurant full of strangers. He cupped Mason’s face and stared him in the eyes. “Because I want to get old with you. Because I’m tired of begging, stealing and borrowing time with you. I want you to be mine for more than a moment. Mason Sinclair, marry me.”

Mason blinked back tears and laughed. “Well, I see you’re determined to have me follow in my brother’s footsteps after all.”

“I took care of everything in San Francisco,” Caleb continued hopefully. “I’ll explain it to your parents. I can’t stand back and let everyone else dictate your life—not even me. I’m free to go wherever you want to go next. We don’t have to rush anything unless you want to. Big ceremony, small family gathering—I don’t care. Just tell me you’ll be with me.”

“I explained everything to my parents and they admitted that they were wrong about us. Turns out my father’s only objection was that he was worried that you would break my heart in favor of your art career.”

“My career is thriving, thanks to you. The interest in Twenty-One and Counting is massive, and if your parents don’t mind our relationship being in the news a little while longer, then I can tell Gregoire to go ahead and show the pieces in New York. I’m already in talks with him to sell the rights to some of my older pieces for walking around money. All you have to do is say yes.”

Mason wrapped his arms around him and squeezed him in a hug. “The answer is yes.”

Chapter 19

They decided to tie the knot in a quaint little New England church, that had been once been a lighthouse. Mason thought that was fitting. The silver moon swam in the blue-black water, and the choppy waves lapped at the shore as Mason stood outside, waiting for the familiar notes of the wedding march. The vibrant light from the lighthouse swept over the grounds and sea. Mason was nervous. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, and he realized the magnitude of what he was about to do.

His family was inside along with friends and colleagues. Caleb’s friends were present, as well. “Are you sure you’re ready to do this?” Mr. Sinclair asked with a huge grin. Mason chuckled despite his nerves.

“I’m ready,” he said. The first chords of the march began to play, and his heart soared.

His father walked him down the aisle. Belinda and Riesling had managed to turn the inside of the church into a wonderland. Yards and yards of glittering tulle draped from the ceiling and cascaded down the walls. Fragrant bouquets of magnolias and oleander decorated the pews. Mason smiled and his vision blurred with sudden tears of joy as his gaze swung to Caleb.

“One step at a time,” Mr. Sinclair whispered with a firm, steady hand on Mason’s elbow. They marched down the aisle and Mr. Sinclair handed him off to Caleb.

“This is it,” Caleb murmured. Mason nodded in agreement. With a few words and a signature, he was binding himself to this man for life. He was no longer nervous

“Let’s do this.” He had worked on his vows for weeks, on the road and in the air. He knew exactly what he wanted to say to Caleb O’Hara when it was his turn to speak. “My dearest Caleb-hyungnim. I remember wandering into the green forests of your eyes and never walking out. I am lost within you and I would be lost without you. And now I want an eternity with you.”

The vows continued in soft-spoken words that made Caleb smile and dash a tear and squeeze his hands tighter. Mason chuckled and grinned and nodded, speaking that which was in his heart.

“I want to get old with you,” Caleb replied. “I want to fall asleep with you on my dying day and wake up in heaven beside you. May not even death do us part. You are the love of my life.”

An hour later as they danced in the reception hall, with their cheeks pressed close, Mason whispered, “Was it everything you wanted?”

“That and more,” Caleb admitted. “I never thought I’d be saying I do to someone.”

“So, what are you going to do with the rest of this life we have together?” Mason put his forehead to Caleb’s and grinned.

“I’m going to make sure you do more of that. More smiling. More humming to yourself as you write. More pictures taken and love notes.”

“Maybe adopt?” Mason suggested.

Caleb lifted his eyebrows in surprise but nodded. “We can consider that.”

Mason hugged him closer and nuzzled his neck. “Is it me, or are you ready to find out what married sex feels like, too?”

“Let’s slip away before anyone notices.”

“Oh, they’ll notice,” Mason laughed. Caleb tugged his hand anyway.

“Then, let’s not care,” he replied.

* * *

They crashed through the hotel room door in a tangle. Hands groped, lips kissed feverishly. Caleb slung Mason to the bed and climbed on top of him with a passionate growl. He rubbed the crotch of Mason’s pants. He could feel his husband’s massive erection begging to be touched, kissed and loved. With a moan, Caleb undressed him.

The elegant suit came away in layers—coat, vest, tie, shirt. He kissed Mason harder as he unfastened his slacks and shoved them down. When his husband was in nothing but his trousers socks, he gave up trying to get him completely naked and dropped to his knees by the side of the plush hotel bed.

Mason cried out as Caleb fluttered kisses along the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Caleb flicked his tongue over Mason’s balls and groaned deep in his chest as he kissed his way to the tip of Mason’s cock. At the same time, he struggled out of his shirt. He sucked in swirling circles that made Mason jerk with pleasure. Then, he swallowed him to the hilt, and Mason rose off the bed.

He grabbed Caleb by the back of his head and wove in and out of his mouth with slow, precise moves of his hips. His almond-shaped eyes were clenched shut. Caleb stared up at him, falling deeper in love by the second. Mason’s tangy flavor spilled on his tongue, and he released his erection in increments until the whole glistening shaft reemerged.

Caleb unfastened his own pants, masturbating Mason against his lips with his free hand. Arousal hastened his heart rate and made him dizzy with need. Caleb’s cock sprang from his boxers as he kicked away the rest of his clothes.

“Ah! Don’t stop!” Mason gasped.

Groaning, Caleb sucked him back into his mouth, and Mason shoved to the back of his throat. He was so deep and so hard that Caleb moaned around him in excitement, picturing Mason’s thick, hard cock pressing into him. Maybe tonight. They had all night. They had all the rest of their lives.

He wrapped both hands around Mason’s cock and sucked harder and faster. Mason sobbed his name. He jerked a handful of Caleb’s hair and surged deeper into his mouth again. Caleb exhaled around his cock and pulled back, and a thin string of spit followed. Mason whimpered and leaned down to kiss him.

“I can’t resist you,” he whispered.

“Well, you’re in luck because you don’t have to anymore,” Caleb quipped.

Mason overpowered him and pushed him to his back. Chuckling, Caleb allowed it. He loved it when Mason turned the table. He sucked in a breath as Mason swirled his tongue around his nipple as his hand danced down to Caleb’s cock. He stroked him expertly. His mouth followed the path of his hand, and when his lips closed around Caleb, he trembled.

“Ooh! Is this what happens when you don’t resist?”

“You belong to me now.” Mason grinned and flicked his tongue over the head of Caleb’s erection again.

“Yes! I’m so yours!” Caleb groaned, chuckling softly. He was giddy with anticipation. Ahead of him, he saw thousands of evenings like this one. They would go back to traveling the world. Mason would become the famous writer; Caleb would continue making art. They belonged together.

Mason’s head bobbed faster at Caleb’s pelvis, and he ran his fingers through Mason’s hair, gently guiding him back and forth. His body tightened in readiness. His heels pressed into the mattress as his pelvis canted forward, and he rocked in and out of Mason’s perfect mouth.

“Oh, yes,” Caleb groaned.

Mason slipped a hand beneath him to fondle his ass. It excited him. Caleb’s mouth dropped open in bliss. His eyes widened, and he emitted a hoarse scream. Mason pressed in and out as he swept his mouth up and down Caleb’s cock.

Caleb gritted his teeth and pushed Mason away from him. With a hand to Mason’s throat, he kissed him and tasted himself on Mason’s tongue. Caleb hummed with pleasure. He shoved Mason to the bed on his stomach. He kissed and licked his way to the crease of Mason’s ass with no inhibitions.

His tongue darted inside of him. He eased in a finger to stretch and pleasure him while masturbating him. Caleb reached for the suitcase, and it fell over, items spilling across the carpeted floor. He blindly grabbed the lube and uncapped the bottle.

Mason squirmed, moaning, as Caleb soaked him. Rising on his knees expectantly, he positioned himself behind him and pushed inside. He remembered the heaven of Mason’s embrace. He remembered all the stolen moments and experiences they had amassed. This was familiar territory.

And yet it was not. Because this time when he molded his hard, muscular body to Mason’s, they were married. They belonged together eternally. Caleb was not prepared for the way his heart swelled with amazement as his thrusts increased in pace and intensity, spurred by something other than pure lust. He was in love with this man.

He swept Mason’s thick black hair from his neck and pressed his lips to the warm, satiny skin. He wrapped his arms around him, breathing heavily. His body thrilled, while his spirit soared. They climbed higher and higher up the mountain to ecstasy together, and nothing they had experienced before had prepared them for the ascent in matrimony.

Mason’s lush sounds of satisfaction filled the bedroom. Caleb answered him. If someone had asked months ago whether they would make it to this place, he would have told them no. It had not seemed possible to have and to hold.

Mason writhed beneath him as the mastery of Caleb’s sex took him over the edge, and his rigid cock spewed the evidence of his desire in a rain of utter completion. Tremors wracked his body as he poured out. Caleb shuddered and braced himself for the same fall.

Caleb gasped as he reached the zenith of his love. He emptied his soul and came apart, collapsing to Mason’s back.

“I love you,” Mason sighed. They rolled over together and ended in each other’s arms, drenched and sated. Their hearts beat in sync. Their breathing slowed. They prepared to love again.

Epilogue

Twenty-one and who’s counting?

Caleb woke up in the wrought iron bed in the old white clapboard farmhouse from his childhood. Home. He stared lovingly at the man still asleep beside him.

“Always the last to rise,” he chuckled.

Thumps and bumps from the family room threatened to wake Mason, but he snuggled deeper into his pillow, clinging to the last vestiges of sleep. The noise from their rambunctious grandchildren brought a smile to Caleb’s lips. He heard their daughter Kylie trying to shush them to no avail.

Pressing a hand on the side table, Caleb eased to his feet and put on his slippers, ignoring and creak and groan of tired old bones. He grabbed his cane and shuffled into the kitchen to start the day off with his usual bracing hot mug of coffee. On the back porch that overlooked a wide-open field where horses grazed in the distance, his easel waited patiently; another sunrise was calling his name.

Kylie peered into the kitchen. “Did the rascals wake you, Dad?”

“No, no! You know I’m always up at the crack of dawn. Come have coffee with me.” He set another mug next to his and waited for the coffee to percolate while Kylie grabbed the creamer from the fridge and sugar from the pantry. “Where’s the hubby?” he asked.

“He texted to tell me he’s in Toronto, but he’ll be home later this evening in time for the birthday party. I finished the slide show,” she said excitedly. Caleb rolled his eyes and chuckled. Was it Mason’s birthday already?

“Ah, yes. I forgot about the party. Did the pictures help with the presentation?” he asked affectionately.

“The pictures, the post cards, the letters—all of it comes together to tell an amazing love story. I’m so happy to be a part of this. I can’t wait for you to see it. Abeoji is going to love it! I even used music from that old flash drive that he gave you. You know the original isn’t compatible with my device, but since he was able to remember some of the titles, I was able to find the songs.”

“I’m proud of you,” Caleb murmured. “I didn’t expect you to get so invested.”

“How could I not? You guys are my whole world! I thought I wouldn’t be able to do it because I don’t have much experience with this kind of thing.”

Caleb nodded, pleased. “Decades ago when I married Mason, I had no idea where the journey would take us. Sure, we had an itinerary. We were going to Nairobi, France, Japan, and other places but I didn’t know where we’d end up.”

“I thought it was sweet that you gave up hopes of ever having this house, yet you got it in the long run.”

“Our fifth anniversary,” Caleb chuckled, remembering. “Mason surprised me with it. I guess he felt like he owed me. It was the second time he made me the happiest man in the world. The third was when we agreed to adopt you.”

“Oh! You’re gonna make me cry, Dad. I feel like I’m getting to know the two of you in a different way. I mean, you guys are my parents. I always thought of you guys as chatty old men who enjoyed laughing together while Abeoji wrote and you painted,” Kylie giggled. “But you opened up a whole new side for me.”

“Chatty old men? Hah!” Caleb laughed. “Well, if you need anything from this chatty old fellow, yell for me, meanwhile I’m heading out to paint.”

He took his mug and slipped through the screen door onto the back porch. He was eighty-three and the damp mornings made his hands ache. Caleb dug the salve from his pocket that Mason had picked up for him, and he rubbed it over his gnarled knuckles. He settled in the comfortable chair that his son-in-law had modified for him, and lifted his brush and began his work. Not long after, he heard the door open behind him and glanced over his shoulder.

Mason ambled closer and kissed his forehead. “Good morning, Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed your beauty rest, old man. What is it? Eighty-three this year?”

“Twenty-one and who’s counting?”

Mason chuckled, slowly sitting in a rocking chair beside him. He emitted a groan and sighed. “So many years. Kylie has the kids making cupcakes. Party?”

“Just act surprised,” Caleb replied with a laugh.

* * *

When it came time for the birthday party, Mason did as Caleb requested. He went on a fake trip to the store with Caleb so the family could get set up. They got back to the house, and Mason walked through the door and acted surprised when their daughter, son-in-law and three grandkids sprang from behind the furniture, along with Belinda and Robert and their four adult children.

Mason rocked back on his heels. “What is all this?”

Caleb led him to a chair. “Happy birthday! We have a special program set up for you. Kylie worked really hard on it. Cue it up, honey.”

Kylie clapped gleefully and hit the play button on the remote control. Her husband, Brandon, turned off the lights, and everyone found their seats. Mason reached for the youngest grand-kid and pulled her into his lap. “Did you have something to do with this, Buggie?” he asked, tickling her. The three-year-old giggled loudly and pointed at the makeshift projector screen. Mason turned his attention to the movie playing out.

“Twenty-One and Counting: Sixty Plus Years Later,” Caleb read aloud. “Good Lord!”

“Ah! I remember that song in the background. I used to play it on the piano every time I thought about you,” Mason gasped. Broken memories came back to him.

“We’ve had some experiences,” said Kylie wistfully.

“My goodness, we look so young,” Mason marveled.

Caleb chuckled. “And you haven’t changed one bit.”

“Oh-ho! I beg to differ, but thank you.” Mason patted his hand affectionately and gestured for him to sit next to him. They watched the film holding hands as the images moved on to pictures of their travels around the world.

They sighed with pleasure at a video clip of the day they had picked five-year-old Kylie up from the agency. The raven-haired kid waved at the camera, and Mason’s heart melted. The next series of photos and videos showed their complete family. The walk down memory lane was almost too much for Caleb.

“Please don’t cry, Grandad!”

“I’m not sad, Buggie,” Caleb replied, hugging her neck as she climbed from Mason’s lap to his. She clung to Mason’s neck and turned to continue watching the movie. “We shared so much together. We built so much together.”

“You gave me the happiest life imaginable. I wish my father could see us now.”

“He came around eventually,” Caleb smiled.

“To think, I almost ended up with Riesling Potter.”

“Wonderful woman, but I’m glad you came to your senses,” Caleb quipped. Mason bowed in his direction and smiled. Riesling had gone on to marry his cousin Tae, much to everyone’s delight. “If you could go back and do it all over again, would you change anything?”

“Well…” Mason looked thoughtful as he watched the video of Kylie giving birth for the first time.

* * *

Caleb sucked in a breath, recalling how nervous he had been that day. He had worried every second of every birth, but she had churned out three beautiful children and surged right into parenting seemingly without breaking a sweat. Caleb counted it a blessing and a testament to how he and Mason had stumbled their way through being her fathers together. They must have gotten something right.

Mason finally replied, “If I could go back and do it all over, I don’t think I would change a thing. Sometimes I wonder how much different things would be if I had been prepared for our relationship sooner or if I hadn’t told you no the first time you asked me to come with you. I think everything had to happen exactly as it happened for us to get to this exact point.”

“I agree,” Caleb murmured as the film came to an end. “We winged it. Best decision ever.”

Everyone clapped and the lights were turned on. The grandkids’ father, Brandon, moved from the kitchen to the living room with a huge sheet cake covered in candles. The house filled with the sound of voices singing “Happy Birthday to You!” Robert filmed it to add to the collection of moments they had already made together, and Caleb felt his heart swell.

This was it. This was what life was about. His happily ever after with Mason had its share of financial woes and disagreements, but the years had also come with a partner in crime, inside jokes and learning that family came first. They had fought for their love, and they had won.

Caleb’s successful art career had led to tenure at a university. Mason’s writing had taken off quickly and landed him in the ranks as a midlist author for years before a surprise bestseller cemented his reputation.

Mason’s current project was a labor of love. He was writing about a troubled young man who feared getting old in an era where youth and vitality were prized, a man who thought his best years were behind him. Mason was writing the tale of the stranger in the attic who had kissed him one night in a dark alley and fallen head over heels in love at the most inopportune point in both their lives.

Once upon a time, Caleb O’Hara had obsessed over twenty-one pictures of the same face, aging gracefully from canvas to canvas. He had painted by day and night, between classes, at odd hours. He had painted his hopes and dreams into every line, curve, light and shadow, and he had shown the pictures in a small gallery.

He had expected little from the show but the paintings had brought him the object of his affection. Mason had taken one look and known what he was trying to say. They had found their happily ever after. They had gotten old together. They had lived a thousand adventures; life had become a series of experiences that they wanted to share.

“Make a wish,” Caleb whispered.

Mason leaned closed and bussed his cheek. Caleb clutched his cane tighter and grinned. “I have exactly one wish,” Mason replied. “And many more with you, Caleb Sinclair-O’Hara. And many more…”

* * *

Mason climbed into bed next to Caleb after the tiring day. The birthday party had been great fun, and seeing family and friends gathered to celebrate another year had been fulfilling, but he was exhausted. He snuggled closer to Caleb, who smelled of talcum powder and medicinal rub. Mason brushed his nose through his lover’s thinning grey hair.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Caleb whispered.

Mason chuckled softly with his eyes closed and hugged him tighter. “It was very enjoyable. Thank you for doing that for me. That’s why I love you,” he murmured. He kissed the back of Caleb’s neck and rubbed his cool, dry hand lovingly beneath the covers.

It felt like just a few minutes had passed when the brilliant early morning sun woke him, and the sound of the children playing in the family room filtered through. Mason blinked sleepily and stretched. He slid his feet from under the covers, rose unsteadily. and shuffled toward the door. Kylie smiled as she reached out to hug him in the hallway. He loved that their daughter was so affectionate.

“I put on coffee.”

“Good to know. I think I’ll get some writing done after I get some caffeine in me. I’m working on my special project today.”

“I can’t wait to read it.”

Mason put a finger to his lips and shushed her softly. “You’ll wake him. To the kitchen.” They tiptoed out of the room, and Mason settled at the table while Kylie fixed their coffee. They chatted, mainly about her work stuff.

She topped up their mugs and changed the subject. “You know, dad never sleeps this late.”

“You’re right. I should probably go see what’s keeping him in bed. He’s probably just exhausted from the party last night,” Mason murmured.

“You do that, and I’ll go see if I can get the kids to settle down in the den. I swear, they have so much energy but it’s way too early for this much noise,” she giggled. Mason tapped the tip of her nose and made his way down the hallway to the quiet bedroom.

His eyes slid to typewriter under the window, and he gravitated toward it out of habit. The same old Remington that Caleb had bought for him when he was twenty-one. The thing was an ancient, but it had never failed him. Smiling, Mason tapped a key and straightened the heavy paper waiting for him to add more words to the perfect love story. The story of Caleb’s life.

“Aein, how are you feeling?” Mason asked, turning toward the bed. “Get up, get up. It’s morning, sleepyhead.” He leaned over the bed and kissed Caleb’s cool cheek. But something in his stillness and silence made Mason realize things were not quite right. “Caleb?”

He slowly turned Caleb over onto his back. His husband’s eyes remained closed like he was sleeping. Mason felt his heart thud as he sank to his knees beside the bed and clasped Caleb’s hand. The world slid sideways, instant tears. Caleb’s chest was unmoving. He had passed away with a soft smile on his face.

“My beloved.”

“Abeoji, is he up yet?” Kylie asked from the door. She hesitated. “Appa?”

“He’s—gone.” Mason’s voice was breaking. Kylie rushed into the bedroom and laid a hand on Caleb’s chest. She checked his pulse. Mason shook his head. “He’s gone, Kylie.” He rose and gathered his trembling daughter in his arms to ease her out of the room. “He’s gone.”

Tears streamed freely, but his voice stayed level and calm. “Get the children, sweetheart. You guys wait in the den while I call the ambulance.”

She crossed her arms and stared at him with glistening eyes. “I am so sorry.” Mason nodded too quickly. “I’ll be okay.”

* * *

The family were gathered together again. Food smells permeated the house and conversation was subdued. Mason drifted through the rooms, touching items they had shared, things soaked in the memories of the greatest love of his life. The funeral had been understated, exactly as Caleb would have liked.

Mason stepped out on the back porch from where Caleb had painted his last sunrise. He sat heavily in the rocking chair, feeling older than his eighty-plus years. “We had a good life, Caleb-hyungnim,” he whispered. “We raised our beautiful daughter and met her wonderful husband. We indulged our grandchildren. And now, now you leave me.”

Mason had no idea what he would do next. The sudden loss had left him bereft. He hated to admit he had been utterly useless in the days following. The funeral arrangements had been left to Kylie and the nieces and nephews.

But he could almost see him. Caleb. Perched on his modified painting chair. Rubbing salve on his gnarled knuckles, reaching for the paintbrush. “Do you know what happens to muses?” Caleb had asked all those many years ago. “The same thing that happens to prodigies…They get revered, and then they get forgotten.”

Mason shook his head. He realized what he had to do. He owed it to the love of his life to continue the story. He would make sure Caleb O’Hara was not forgotten. Mason padded back into the too quiet house, full of people with sad eyes and food he had no appetite to eat. Kylie rushed to his side.

“Are you alright, Abeoji?” she whispered. Mason nodded and smiled, patting her hand.

“I have work to do,” he said. The typewriter called to him. He sat at the desk and read over the first lines of the story he had been writing for years. The words leapt from the page.

“Are you—are you here for the room, too?” Caleb asked nervously. Mason leaned against the piano, thinking Caleb was the most beautiful man he had ever seen. He could flee without talking to the stranger. Or, he could give in to his curiosity. Who was Caleb O’Hara?

More Ultra-Spicy Romance From Nicole Stewart

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AARON HARDY

Aaron Hardy has his dream job—cleaning dressing rooms and placing sushi orders. But even if it isn’t the most glamorous gig in the world, he intends to do it to the best of his ability. He’s playing personal assistant to a dreamy celebrity.

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