With Or Without Him Part 19

When Tyler came, trembling against him, instead of thinking he couldn't have chosen someone better, Haris wondered if he'd made a terrible mistake. What if four months wasn't enough?

Tyler lay slumped on top of him, his c.o.c.k still inside him, panting into his neck. He had his arms stretched over his, their fingers entwined.

"You have such a responsive a.s.s," Tyler muttered.

"It's talking to you?"

"Oh yeah. It said, 'Thank you, Tyler, for f.u.c.king me beautifully. You are so wonderful.'" He laughed. "G.o.d, I could lie here forever on you like this. Your a.s.s didn't say that part. That was me."

Haris chuckled.

It was several moments before Tyler pulled out. He climbed off the bed and padded into the bathroom.

"Am I still giving the orders?" he called.

"Depends."

"Get in here and wash me, slave," Tyler said.

Haris grinned and climbed off the bed.

They very nearly didn't make it to the charity event and not because Tyler couldn't get the hang of tying his bow tie-although he couldn't. Haris gave up in the end and tied it for him. But once Tyler stood in front of him in his tux, he looked so d.a.m.n s.e.xy, Haris wanted to strip him and drag him back to bed which kind of alarmed him. Maybe if they f.u.c.ked often enough, he'd get Tyler out of his system. Wasn't that what the four months was about? Scratching an itch? Proving to himself he could sustain a relationship? Keeping tighter control of his emotions? Maybe if he kept telling himself that, he'd grow to believe it.

As they sat in the back of the car, their knees touched and Haris's c.o.c.k twitched. Christ. He was seriously worried about the chances of an inappropriate b.o.n.e.r whenever Tyler was in the vicinity. He'd have to keep his jacket fastened the entire evening.

He'd called Stan and told him they were going out and hopefully the guy was somewhere behind them. Several glances through the back window had shown no sign of anyone following.

"What are you looking for?" Tyler asked.

Haris considered lying, but he needed Tyler to have his wits about him just in case. "Wilson thinks a white Fiat has followed us on occasion."

He hadn't expected the wide-eyed look from Tyler, nor the obvious tension in his body.

"You know someone with a white Fiat?" Haris asked, stones tumbling in his gut.

"No. Following in a Fiat? That's not very glamorous. Not a BMW or an Audi?" Tyler's smile looked forced. "Why would someone be tailing you?"

"There probably isn't, but in my business I have as many enemies as friends. Better to be careful."

He was relieved when Tyler didn't press him. He might have enemies in the business world, but there would be no logical reason for them to tail him.

The car stopped and Wilson came round to open the door. Tyler had already exited on the other side.

"Didn't see the car tonight, sir," Wilson said quietly. "What time would you like to be collected?"

"Ten thirty."

Haris joined Tyler in front of the floodlit Natural History Museum. Christmas music travelled through the air from an ice rink in the grounds.

"Maybe we could-"

"No," Tyler said. "My b.u.t.t's been punished enough."

Haris smiled and headed toward the entrance along a path lit with blazing torches.

"What's this in aid of?" Tyler asked.

"Fundraiser for a cancer charity. It's a dinner and an auction."

"And it's okay for me to come?"

"I bought the whole table. There's room for you."

Haris showed his ticket to the chap on the door and they walked into the towering central hall.

"Wow," Tyler said at his side. "It looks fantastic."

Haris agreed. The giant diplodocus skeleton took center stage, but elaborately decorated tables had been arranged around it, the place settings sparkling under the mult.i.tude of lights. Above the middle of each table sat a Christmas tree, supported on silver branches. At the side of the room, a group of singers dressed in Victorian clothes were halfway through "Hark the Herald". All the scene needed was fake snow.

A waitress approached with a tray of drinks, and Haris and Tyler took gla.s.ses of champagne.

"Thank you for inviting me," Tyler said.

"You're welcome."

"Work from the outside in on the cutlery, right? And don't worry, I won't lick my plate, just so long as there isn't any maple syrup."

He chuckled. "Come on. Let's mingle."

Tyler hung back. "What am I supposed to say if someone asks who I am?"

"The truth. You're a music student and you're my friend."

"You're no fun. I wanted to tell them how much you like f.u.c.king my a.s.s."

Haris almost choked on his champagne.

Chapter Twelve.

Another world. Tyler stood in a tuxedo costing eight hundred pounds, wearing ninety-pound shoes, drinking champagne and feeling a fraud. It was a beautiful world and he didn't belong here, though Haris did. He admired the way Haris could turn on the charm. He seemed to know everyone's name and had a smile for each person he met. Though none like the ones he gives me.

Haris introduced him as a talented musician, an up-and-coming star with inspirational flair, a name to remember for the future while Tyler shuffled his feet at his side. Then a guy who worked for Spot, a music magazine Tyler loved, had given Tyler his card and told him to give him a call. What the f.u.c.k planet am I on? Before his nerves got the better of him, Tyler invited him to the gig on Tuesday and when he'd said he'd try to make it, Tyler had just about pa.s.sed out.

At their table, name cards were slotted into little silver Christmas trees. Haris sat on one side of him, a Dr. Sally Freeman on the other. Tyler introduced himself and shook her and her husband's hand. He picked up the auction program from the side of his plate and scanned it. People were offering all sorts of stuff: holiday in the Caribbean, the use of a private jet, a huge painting by David Hockney, services of a wedding planner. Christ.

"Everyone's been extraordinarily generous," said Dr. Freeman.

Tyler nodded.

"What do you do?" she asked.

She had to be the only person in the room Haris hadn't told. "I'm a music student. My final year. Are you a doctor of medicine?"

"Yes, a children's cancer specialist."

"My brother had leukemia." Oh G.o.d. Where had that memory come from? A blurred image came into his head of Noel with no hair, and Tyler struggled unsuccessfully to bring his features into focus.

"I hope he was one of the lucky ones."

"Yes and no. He died, though not from cancer."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Life can be very unfair."

"Yep, it can."

She turned to speak to her husband and Tyler felt Haris squeeze his knee.

"You told me you didn't have any siblings," he said quietly.

"I don't anymore."

"What was your brother's name?"

"Noel." Can't talk about him. "So have you offered something on this list?" He leaned to whisper in Haris's ear. "b.l.o.w.j.o.bs every night for a week. Should I bid? I can go up to seven quid. That should be the winning offer surely."

Haris laughed. "I think we'll keep that private. You could do something though. Maybe play at someone's dinner party or give guitar lessons. I can tell the auctioneer to put another item in. The more money raised the better."

"You serious?"

"Of course I am. I've told everyone I've met that you're as big as Mozart."

"Hey, he was five-four. I'm over six feet." He chewed his lip. "I'll play at a dinner party if you like."

Haris beamed and stood up. "I'll tell the auctioneer before you change your mind."

Oh G.o.d, what if no one wants me? Tyler gulped at the thought of there being no bids. He'd slide under the table with embarra.s.sment.

As Haris moved farther away, Tyler hovered on the verge of going after him and telling him he'd changed his mind when his gaze collided with someone he'd hoped never to see again.

Gerald sat staring at him.

Oh f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k. Tyler couldn't look away. The guy's fat lips curved in a smile and finally Tyler managed to spin around. He reached for his wine and almost tipped the gla.s.s over. Panic fluttered in his stomach. What if Gerald said something to Haris? Like what? He could hardly tell him the truth. But he didn't need to tell him the truth, did he? Tyler put the gla.s.s down before he dropped it. Christ. s.h.i.t. b.o.l.l.o.c.ks. He flicked his wrist repeatedly with his finger and thumb.

I'm going to throw up.

"Are you all right?" the doctor asked, looking at him in concern.

"Bathroom?" Tyler blurted.

"Over there on the right."

He tried not to race out as he wended his way through waiting staff in the process of delivering the first course, only breaking out into a run when the path was clear. Part of him wanted to keep running out of the building and into the night but what would Haris think then? He slammed the door of a cubicle and vomited into the bowl. I have to tell Haris the truth. Tell him what I used to do. He knows about the BDSM thing, he'll understand.

Would he?

Tyler wiped his mouth with tissue, flushed the toilet and leaned against the wall of the stall. If Gerald approached him and used his name, he wasn't going to be able to deny he knew him and when Haris asked how they knew each other...f.u.c.k. But if he threatened Gerald by saying he'd tell about Jeremy? Tell who, he wasn't sure. Did he have a wife? Was she sitting by him? Could he do that?

"Finished throwing up?"

Tyler shuddered. He should have known Gerald would follow. Maybe it was a good thing. He could stop this right now. He opened the door of the cubicle and walked to the wash basin. Gerald stood leaning against the door, smirking. b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Tyler splashed cold water into his mouth and spat into the bowl. Ignore him.

Gerald strolled over to the dispenser and handed him a paper towel. Tyler s.n.a.t.c.hed it from his hand. So much for ignoring him.

"What's a bad boy like you doing in a nice place like this?" The f.u.c.ker had the nerve to sn.i.g.g.e.r like some cartoon villain.

Tyler longed for some superhero to drive an iron fist through the wall, grab Gerald by the neck, yank him back and launch him into s.p.a.ce. Nothing happened. Nothing ever did. He had to handle it himself as he did everything else. He learned how to be resilient. If he hadn't, he'd have crumbled. He wiped his mouth, bunched up the towel and threw it in the trash. What was the point saying anything to this a.r.s.ehole? He'd be better off denying he knew him. When he moved toward the door, Gerald stepped in front of him.

"I'm hard even thinking about f.u.c.king you." He rubbed his hand over his crotch.

Don't you dare touch me. Tyler met Gerald's gaze and tried not to swallow.

"What happened to you on Sat.u.r.day?"

Tyler reached for the door handle, and Gerald caught his wrist and twisted hard.

"I had to make do with Jeremy. He's a screamer. I prefer your sullen defiance."

Tyler wrenched free. "You raped him, you f.u.c.king monster."

When he saw the shock on Gerald's face, and the swift way that shock turned to fury, he wondered if he'd just made a bad mistake in letting Gerald know he and Jeremy had been talking.

But the guy's distraction allowed Tyler to elbow him aside and get out of the restroom. He raced back to the table and dropped down breathless next to Haris.

"Okay?" Haris shot him a puzzled look.

"Yeah, fine." He stared at the elaborate seafood starter in front of him and doubted he'd be able to eat a thing.

"I managed to get you on the list," Haris said. "Right between 'a day at the races' and 'four hours with a tax consultant.' I think they'd have to pay most people to spend four hours with a taxman."

"Great." Tyler stuck his fork into a prawn and pushed it around the plate, making a pattern in the sauce.

"What's wrong? If you've changed your mind, I can-"