With or Without Him (47 page)

They swirled away into the gray sky, caught by the wind. Two balloons stayed together, their strings tangled and he watched them float up until he couldn’t see them anymore. A sign he and Haris were meant to be together or a final goodbye?

Haris didn’t think he’d ever been so nervous in his life. If Des hadn’t helped him, hadn’t managed to persuade Tyler to go out tonight to celebrate finishing his exams, he’d have had to come up with another plan, but this was the best and in some ways the worst he’d had. No one but Des and Wilson knew what he was going to do. Benny, the manager of The Room, had agreed to put Haris on part way through the evening.

Now he cowered backstage, knowing if this failed, he should probably give up. Yet even the thought of it made his chest ache. When Des had texted to say Tyler was there, Haris had rushed to the bathroom and thrown up. The irony didn’t escape him. Now all he could do was wait his turn while a large part of his brain hoped he dropped dead before it came.

Another round of applause died away and as the band that’d been playing shuffled past Haris, Benny began to speak.

“We have a new act tonight, folks. It’s his first time on stage, first time with an audience and he tells me it’s his last. So for one night only, I give you Haris Evans.”

Haris tugged the Peruvian hat onto his head and somehow his feet carried him out on the stage. Benny patted him on the back and then he was on his own, his knees knocking, staring at a sea of dim faces, looking for one that would always shine for him—a guy whose jaw had dropped. Haris swallowed hard and nodded toward the wings. The prerecorded music started of Des playing the guitar. Haris counted under his breath and began to sing.

Everything was going right

A perfect man, a perfect night

I should have known but failed to see

No place I’d rather be, you feel like home to me

Your smile alone could warm my heart

I didn’t think we’d ever part

But like a fool I couldn’t see

No place I’d rather be, you feel like home to me

And now you’re gone, the price I pay

Is more than words could ever say

I miss your touch, and I can see

No place I’d rather be, you feel like home to me

Only reason I go on

Is hope that you aren’t really gone

And trust that I can make you see

No place I’d rather be, you feel like home to me

Haris was dimly aware of applause he didn’t deserve. He’d done his best, but he wasn’t a singer, or a poet. He pulled the hat off, suspecting he was bright pink with embarrassment, but he’d have stripped naked and danced if it meant Tyler would give him another chance. He bolted off the stage and smacked into Tyler’s arms. When Tyler didn’t let him go, but tightened his hold, a lump formed in his throat.

“I didn’t know you couldn’t sing,” Tyler said.

Haris let out a choked laugh.

Tyler smiled. “Actually, you sounded good to me.”

“I wrote the lyrics. Des put them to music. I wanted to play ’Jingle Bells’ but he persuaded me not to.”

Tyler let him go and Haris felt his heart lurch as if it were trying to reach Tyler’s.

“Any point me saying I’m sorry again?” Haris asked.

“Only if you stop needing to say it.” Tyler’s hand brushed his and he threaded their fingers together. “Thank you for the balloons. They made me smile. The exam was still bloody hard though.”

Haris’s breathing quickened. “I know I’m an idiot but I’ve learned. I don’t want it to have to cost me everything.” He wet his lips. “Wilson’s barely spoken to me for the last couple of weeks.”

Tyler’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that a plus?”

“I’m used to him babbling. He keeps giving me these looks and the bloody dog growls when I’m in its vicinity. They want you back too.” He took a deep breath. “But I need to know if I should keep trying. I don’t want to end up as some freaky stalker.”

“Just a freaky singer.”

Haris groaned. “I knew I was crap. Des bloody lied.”

Tyler laughed and squeezed his fingers. “You weren’t crap, but the hat maybe wasn’t a good idea.”

“I thought—”

“I know and I liked it,” Tyler said.

“I wasn’t trying to say I wanted you to…though…”

Tyler laughed.

“I love you,” Haris said quietly. “And I’m sorry.”

Tyler nodded.

“So,” Haris whispered. “With me or without me?”

“No more walking away when we’re arguing,” Tyler said.

Haris nodded.

“No more jumping to conclusions.”

“No.” Haris tightened his mouth.

“Trust me.”

“I do.”

“No one comes between us.”

A sob burst from Haris’s lips and Tyler pulled him into his arms.

“Ever,” Tyler whispered. “Because there’s no place I’d rather be. You feel like home to me.”

About the Author

Barbara Elsborg lives in West Yorkshire in the north of England. She always wanted to be a spy, but having confessed to everyone without them even resorting to torture, she decided it was not for her. Vulcanology scorched her feet. A morbid fear of sharks put paid to marine biology. So instead, she spent several years successfully selling cyanide. (Try saying that fast)

After dragging up two rotten, ungrateful children and frustrating her sexy, devoted, wonderful husband (who can now stop twisting her arm) she finally has time to conduct an affair with an electrifying plugged-in male, her laptop. Her books feature quirky heroines and bad boys, sometimes two bad boys for each quirky heroine, and more recently two bad boys all on their own. She hopes her stories are as much fun to read as they are to write.

You can find out more about Barbara and her books at
www.barbaraelsborg.com
, catch more of her scintillating wit at her blog at
barbaraelsborg.blogspot.com
, and if you want to tell her how much you love her books, please, email her
!
[email protected]

Look for these titles by Barbara Elsborg

Now Available:

Cowboys Down

Worlds Apart

Every Move He Makes

Keeping an eye on his charge isn’t easy. Keeping his hands off? Impossible…

Every Move He Makes

© 2013 Barbara Elsborg

It took attending his own funeral to force Logan to accept a new life as an undercover MI6 agent. That doesn’t make his latest assignment any less aggravating. Babysitting a Russian pop star with delusions that someone’s trying to kill him.

Other than an inexplicable attraction Logan ruthlessly suppresses, he couldn’t have less in common with the irritating, arrogant rich kid. He’s even prepared to walk away—until very real bullets start flying.

After his mother’s death, Zak Kochenkov’s life unravels in an impenetrable haze of grief, drugs and alcohol—until one bodyguard candidate stands out. Except his hopes of having some fun with that guard’s body evaporate when he realizes Logan is buttoned up tighter than a clam.

The first thing Logan learns is that his charge won’t do as he’s told. And there’s some secret behind his haunted eyes that shakes Logan’s resolve to keep him at arm’s length. Because he knows if he lets passion close his eyes, that’s when danger will find them both…

Warning: Contains a sexy bodyguard with a tortured past, and a spoiled rock star with a tortured conscience. Stir (don’t shake), and prepare for spontaneous combustion.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Every Move He Makes:

Zak walked through the automatic doors of Merton Towers and winced when he saw the clock above the elevator. His father had warned him not to be late and he was. When he stepped out of the elevator on the tenth floor, Lev glared at him.

“
Dobroye utro
.” Zak gave him a broad smile as he wished him good morning.

Lev had worked for his father for years and Zak had never liked him. The guy had scared him as a child, and there was something bovine in his heavy features that still made him want to shudder as an adult. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Lev smile, which was why Zak always grinned like a monkey every time they met.

“Good morning, Mary.” He gave his father’s secretary a courtly bow and she rolled her eyes, but she had a soft spot for him. He put a bar of chocolate on her desk.

“Thank you, but it’s not me you need to sweeten. You’re—”

“Late. I know. In his office?”

She nodded. He strolled down the corridor to the room at the end and went in without knocking.

“You’re late.”

“Some idiot had thrown themselves under a train.” A fairly safe lie since it was always happening.

“An idiot? What does that make you then?”

Zak squirmed under his father’s stare. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t know how I got up on the roof. I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

“But you nearly did. Fucking drugs, Zak? Can’t you see what they’re doing to you?”

“I’ll stop.”
Soon.
One day.

His father didn’t bother responding to that. He looked him up and down. “You couldn’t have made an effort?”

Zak glanced at the ripped jeans that hung off his hips, his creased shirt and scruffy leather jacket. “I’m here, aren’t I? You didn’t tell me what I had to make an effort for. Another lecture about what a mess I am?”

He threw himself into one of the leather armchairs in front of his father’s desk and sprawled with his legs crossed at the ankle. He noticed he’d put on socks that didn’t match and snorted. His father looked his usual immaculate self in a sharp gray suit with a white shirt and red tie.

“How was that audition?” his father asked.

“It went really well.”

“Did you even go?”

They stared at each other across the desk. Zak didn’t blink.

Eventually his father sighed. “There are five people in the conference room. One of them is going to be your bodyguard.”

Zak sat up.
He believes me?
Pleasure slid fast to dismay. He didn’t want a bodyguard. Someone watching what he did 24/7 and reporting back to his father?
Hell no.
He wished he’d never mentioned the incident with the car and the knife. He unconsciously rubbed his chest. The scratch had just about healed. No one was trying to kill him. If they had been, he’d be dead. A bit of him wished he was, and then he’d get rid of this never-ending clamor in his head of everyone telling him what to do, his father, his dead mother and worst of all, himself. Music used to calm his mind, now it made him feel worse because it reminded him of what he’d screwed up.

He opened his mouth to argue and his father held up his hand. “Don’t bother. This is non-negotiable. I’m taking Ludmilla to Vegas for a week. I don’t want you left unsupervised.”

“I’m twenty-five, not five,” he spat.

His father leaned over the desk. “Then fucking act like it.”

Zak pressed his lips together.

“Unless you want to come to Vegas with us?”

He’d rather eat his own eyeballs. “Going to marry Twin Peaks?”

“Don’t call her that.”

“Sorry.” He wasn’t.

“Would it bother you if I did marry Ludmilla?”

Less than a year after his mother died? The piece of silicon-enhanced fluff barely older than him with nails like claws? Why would it bother him? His parents had rowed all the time. Zak had been amazed they’d stayed together as long as they had. His mother was a bitch. His father was a bastard. But they were still his parents. And if his mother hadn’t died, they’d still have been together.

His father tapped his fingers on the desk. “I had three reputable companies send nine candidates. Seven men and two women. I whittled it down to five while I was waiting for you to get out of bed. You can pick any of them. They all signed nondisclosures and are waiting in the conference room. I’ll call them in one by one.”

Zak rose to his feet. “Don’t bother.”

His father jumped up. “Zak! You
will
choose one of them. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you. Your mother would never forgive me.”

Zak sucked in his cheeks.

“Sit down. Think of a few sensible questions to ask.”

“I’ll see them all together.” He stalked out of the room with his father on his heels.

Inside the conference room, he scanned from left to right as everyone rose to their feet. Then he got stuck.
Oh shit.
Not a good idea to choose a guy who made his heart leap with one look. Zak turned his head away from trouble and faced the nearest guy who wore a sharp dark gray suit and had a military buzz cut.