Read Stripped Bare Online

Authors: Susan Mac Nicol

Stripped Bare (3 page)

He reached out, pulled Shane’s head towards his and took his lips in a desperate kiss. Shane leaned in, his hands pulling David toward him, and for a while they kissed, tongues meeting each other’s and hands caressing at anything they could find. The fact he’d been roofied and jerked off over was escaping Shane.

Finally, David pulled away, his lips rosy from kissing, his eyes haunted. “I have to go. Bye, Shane.”

He turned and walked to the door, leaving Shane with both a raging hard-on and a sick feeling in his stomach. He watched the door close behind the other man and then sank onto the side of the bed, running a hand across his face.

Shit, this had to be one of the worst nights he’d ever had. And he’d had a few. This one was less to do with anything crazy or kinky and more to do with the sense of foreboding that things were about to go very wrong.

Family Trials

Matthew Langer sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his chair. He stretched his six foot two frame, raising his arms above his head and yawning. His body was tired, his muscles cramped from sitting reading legal documents all afternoon.

Time to go to bed.

He straightened all the papers on his desk into neat, square piles and smiled. Sam had always said Matthew’s tidiness had driven him crazy, as well as his constant need to have everything under control. But they’d managed to compromise. Matthew would ignore the piles of clothing on the floor at the side of Sam’s bed each night. Sam would in turn appreciate the fact that the bathroom towels had to be rightly aligned on the rails and would do his best to keep them that way.

Matthew looked at his watch. Ten p.m. The time piece was his pride and joy, an Emporia Armani that Sam had bought Matthew for his twenty-eighth birthday two years ago just weeks before Sam had—no, best not go there.

Matthew had been trying to shut the thoughts out all day. Today would have been Sam’s thirty-second birthday. It was the reason he’d been closeted in his study upstairs, ignoring the world outside and throwing himself into the dry tomes of the family affairs of his employer, Walter Debussy.

Matthew switched off the goose head light, plunging the room into darkness. He moved away from his desk, picking up his mobile, and walked out onto the landing, dimly lit by wall sconces.

Thank God the day was nearly over.

He dreaded the eighteenth of August. It was a mix of sweet and sour emotions. The sweet remembrance of Sam’s face when he blew out his birthday candles and the feel of his warm mouth when he kissed Matthew a thank you for his present. It was the warmth of his knowing smile and his strong arms when they celebrated his birthday by making love in the ornate four-poster bed in their bedroom. The same bedroom Matthew was headed to now. The sour was the simple fact that Sam was no longer around to enjoy the evening as they used to. He gazed unseeingly out into the quiet Chelsea street below. The neighbourhood was still. No dog walkers or late-night revellers walked past. It was one of the reasons he and Sam had bought the three-bedroom, two-storey brownstone. It was in a cul de sac in a quiet residential neighbourhood, not far from the Fulham Broadway tube station.

His phone rang and he smiled. He knew who it was before he glanced at the caller ID. A look of tenderness crossed his face as he answered it.

“Rach? Hi, big sister. How are things in Tokyo?”

Rachel Langer was a fashion model who travelled all over the world on fashion shoots. Matthew knew she was in Tokyo at the moment for a hectic swimwear shoot.

“Matt? How are you, little brother?” Rachel’s slightly Americanised voice echoed down the phone. She spent a lot of time in the States and had a tendency to pick up the accent. She was also the only one in the family to call him Matt, preferring the more American version of his name.

“I’m doing okay, thanks, sweetie.” Matthew knew why she was calling. She’d rung him on Sam’s birthday for the last two years.

“Bullshit. I bet you buried yourself with work. I know you so well.”

“So I was working. You know it takes my mind off things.”

Rachel’s voice was sympathetic. “I know, Matt. It’s a bad day for you. It’s why I like to call you before you go to bed and cry yourself to sleep.”

Matthew flushed. “Rachel, come on. You don’t know that’s what happens.”

Her sigh was audible. “Oh no? So you don’t do that then?”

Matthew scowled at his mobile.

His sister sighed again. “Matt, honey, how’s the love life doing?”

Matthew rolled his eyes. This was the question she asked him every time she spoke to him. “How’s the love life, have you found a man, are you having regular sex so you don’t explode?” He’d cringed the last time his older sister had asked him that question and he hoped like hell she wasn’t going to ask him again tonight.

“I’m too busy working for the Debussy family to have a love life. Walter keeps me busy.”

Rachel’s snort echoed down the line. “That bloody twat?” Rachel might be Americanised but she’d spent enough time in the UK to still use the vernacular. “You’re still working for him? Honestly Matthew, surely you can find a job where your boss isn’t a prick like that man. I don’t know how you stomach him. He always looks down his nose at you because you’re gay.”

Matthew felt a prickle of annoyance. “You know why Walter and I put up with each other. For me it’s a
very
well-paid job, and I work from home so I don’t see him all that often. For him, he doesn’t have an ‘outsider’ coming in and prying into his financial affairs. I know everything about his business from working with Dad, so he’s comfortable with me. Having a gay lawyer is obviously the lesser of the two evils.”

Matthew had been subjected to the occasional snide remark or eye roll when Walter was about, but he was used to that attitude from some people.

Rachel sniffed. “The man is a nasty prat. He treats David like crap.”

Matthew sighed. He knew exactly. David was his best friend. “Like I said, I know his business and I do my job well.” He huffed, wanting to change the subject. “I’m not a model like you, getting paid shitloads of money to take my clothes off and have men ogle you.”

“But you could, sweetie,” Rachel said, ignoring the acid tone of his voice. “You know that Klaus would just love to see that fine backside of yours in swimming trunks showing off your package.”

Matthew blushed pink. “Christ, Rachel, leave my “package” out of this. And Klaus is nothing but a bloody lecher who’s been trying to get into my pants since I was sixteen and of legal age.”

Klaus Brandenberg was Rachel’s manager, a bisexual man with an innate sense of picking models who were meant to be stars. He’d built Rachel from a willowy and beautiful seventeen-year-old into the sought-after model she was today. He’d had his eye on doing the same to Matthew, but that had not been a path Matthew wanted to follow.

Matthew had given modelling a go once with Klaus, when he was eighteen, just to shut his mother and Rachel up. He hadn’t liked it at all. He didn’t like being told what to do, pose this way, walk this way, wear this, turn this way, stick that cock of yours out so those men who want to ogle you can see it.

And Klaus had been grabby and had no idea of personal boundaries. Matthew’s backside could attest to that, having had Klaus’ groin pushed into it at every opportunity the man could find.

His sister giggled. “Klaus is rich, not bad looking, swings both ways and just adores you. You could do worse.”

“Hmm. Thanks but no thanks.”

Rachel sighed. “I think you made the right choice. Modelling is absolute chaos and everything’s spontaneous. You wouldn’t last a day in my world. And oh my God, sharing a dressing room with a bunch of other models would take that OCD of yours and make you into a gibbering idiot.”

Matthew frowned. “I do not have OCD, Rach. I just like things in their place.”

“Uh-huh. You call it what you want, little brother.” Her voice softened. “Anyway, I have to go. It’s six a.m. here and we’re on our way to some mountain or other to do a photo shoot. Matthew, darling, let loose. Find a man and have some fun. I know you loved Sam, sweetie, but it’s time to let go.”

Matthew kept quiet. Rachel sighed. “Go to bed. Have your cry and think of Sam. Give him a kiss from me.”

Matthew’s throat choked up. “I will. Night, Rach. Thanks for the call. I love you.”

“I love you too, little brother. Sweet dreams.”

The phone went dead. Matthew shook off the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him and entered his bedroom. That was another thing. It was no longer “theirs.” Now it was just his alone. He’d never get used to that. Before, they’d had plans for a family.

He stripped out of his dark blue jeans and casual tee shirt. He was already barefoot, loving the feel of the cool wooden floors in the house in the mid-summer heat.

Matthew wandered into the en-suite bathroom and performed his nightly routine without variation. He brushed his teeth first and then washed his face. Finally he made his way to the bed, sliding in between the cool cotton sheets. He looked lingeringly over at the empty space beside him, his eyes pricking with tears.

“Happy birthday, Sam, sweetheart,” he whispered. His throat clogged up and Matthew celebrated Sam’s birthday alone and in tears.

He was dreaming of a dragonfly. He had no bloody idea why but his dream consisted of a very irritating and constant buzz as a large, iridescent green-winged insect flew around his head incessantly. He raised a hand to swat it away but just couldn’t seem to shut it up.

“Bugger off, you poxy thing,” he muttered. “Leave me alone. I’m trying to sleep.”

But the dragonfly didn’t listen, and in a sudden temper, he lashed out at the insect. His hand collided with something solid, sending a jolt of pain down his right arm. He opened his eyes in panic, only to realise the dragonfly was his mobile on vibrate and he’d just knocked over the bedside lamp. The lamp had knocked over his tumbler which now lay on its side, dripping water onto the polished wooden floors.

He cursed and sat up, the sheet falling to his waist as he picked up his phone. The time showed 3:00 a.m. His heart sank when he saw who it was. It could only be bad news when his employer Walter Debussy called him at this time of night.

“Walter? Is something wrong?”

“Matty, I need you down at the hospital. Chelsea and West. It’s David. He’s been hurt and I think I might need some help.”

Matthew, worried about David, ignored his annoyance at the man’s use of the pet name Sam had used as he swung his legs out of bed.

“What’s wrong with David, Walter? Was he in an accident?” he demanded as he pulled on his boxers and a pair of jeans one handed. He couldn’t manage his shirt so he switched his mobile to speakerphone and put it down on his bedside table.

Walter’s tinny vice reverberated in the quiet of his bedroom. “No, not an accident, Matty. Just get down here, will you, as soon as you can. I’ll be in A and E.”

“Walter, how badly is he hurt—”

The phone went dead. Matthew cursed again.

This didn’t sound good. He might be the Debussy family lawyer, but he had no idea what he would be able to offer Walter down at the hospital. What the hell was going on down there?

His stomach clenched when he thought of David being hurt. He and DD had known each other since Matthew’s father had become the family lawyer when they were boys. Matthew finished dressing, gave his short, thick black hair a cursory brush and picked up his car keys. He was fortunate enough to have a parking space in the street, another reason he and Sam had bought this place. It cost him a small fortune, but it was a small price to pay for having the privilege. He locked the door behind him and made his way down to his car, a deep blue Audi A3 cabriolet and his pride and joy. Matthew climbed in and settled himself in the driver’s seat. He heaved a great sigh. He wasn’t looking forward to whatever was waiting for him at the hospital.

When he arrived at the hospital about fifteen minutes later, Matthew strode into the A and E to see a rotund but elegantly dressed Walter Debussy pacing the floor like a caged tiger. His face brightened when he saw Matthew.

“Matty, good of you to come. Come over here, sit down.”

Once again Matthew ignored the diminutive of his name. He felt a prickle of ire at the fact Walter knew that had been Sam’s special name for him and now, especially at this particular time of year, it seemed cruel to be calling him by the name his dead husband had affectionately used. Matthew had a feeling in his bones that it was a definite ploy to unsettle him, but now was not the time to be petty.

“How is David, Walter?” Matthew asked as the older man led him over to a quiet, unoccupied corner of the waiting area. “What the hell happened?”

Walter glanced around. Matthew’s spidery senses went on high alert. This didn’t smell good at all.

“David was hurt during a fight and he suffered a rather nasty head injury.” Walter’s voice was quiet. He stared directly into Matthew’s eyes. There was no guile in them, but Matthew knew instinctively that David’s injury had something to do with Walter. It wouldn’t be the first time, although David always had an excuse to hand about how his black eye or his bruised chin had been sustained.

“Exactly what kind of fight and with whom, Walter?” Matthew’s voice was deceptively quiet.

The older man shrugged. “Someone attacked him just outside the gate to the house while he waited for the gate to open. They pulled him out of the car and beat him. We think someone pushed him and he hit his head against the brick pillar. Roy saw what was happening and called an ambulance. They brought my son here and here we are.”

Roy Parsons was Walter’s factotum, his shadow, who would do anything for Walter. Matthew despised the man. The feeling was mutual. Roy was one of
the
most homophobic individuals Matthew had ever met. He lived with the Debussy family in a small cottage on the premises. Walter held him in high regard. Matthew had no idea why. Roy was an extremely unlikable man.

“Did Roy recognize David’s attacker?”

Debussy gave a shrug of distaste and shook his head. “Probably some queer boyfriend that he got involved with who decided to try and be a man for a change. My son should pick his friends with more care.”

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