Aaron’s heart was thumping. He ought not. It would be wildly reckless to go back to Joel’s room, to be there late into the evening, again. But he was angry and tired, and he didn’t want the evening to end. Even if he could just speak to Joel a little longer, that would be a bright light in a long, dark time.

“I’d like that,” he said.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE MAITRE D’, OR WHATEVER you might call that in an Indian rather than French restaurant, asked Aaron for a private word as he paid the bill. Aaron went with him, and was a good five minutes in the back room. Joel wondered what it was about, but not very hard. He was preoccupied.

He’d been decidedly unimpressed by Aaron’s failure to contact him as promised, and as the days passed, he’d had to face the fact that he was not just feeling snubbed, and welshed on, but disappointed. Their night together had been something out of the ordinary. Aaron’s need, and restraint, and how he’d finally surrendered himself, putting himself entirely in Joel’s hands. Hand.

And it wasn’t just that he did indeed bang like a barn door in the wind. It was the rawness when he spoke, as though he never told anyone anything and didn’t know how to do it. It was the inexplicable feeling that he trusted Joel, and Joel could trust him.

Met fucking Police. Joel must be off his chump.

And yet here he was now, waiting for a man with a laundry list of problems who’d ignored him for weeks and then sent a telegram ordering his presence, and who was even now in the back room with a doe-eyed and handsome restaurant proprietor doing God knows what. That said, Joel would fuck for this food, so he couldn’t argue that one.

So he waited until Aaron emerged—looking, it had to be said, grim-faced rather than sexually replete—and they thanked the proprietor and headed out into Soho.

The night was bright with lights despite the darkness and faint prickle of moisture in the air. It was not yet nine o’clock. Joel didn’t want to ingest anything else for several days, but he suggested, “Want to stop for a drink?”

“Not in Soho, I was stationed here for a while. Do you want one?”

“I’d rather walk the food off, if you’re all right with that.”

“Absolutely. How have you been?” Aaron asked, somewhat abruptly. “I am aware I’ve just talked about myself.”

“You have more going on. I’ve been fine. Nothing new. Clients. Saving up.”

“No trouble from Paul?”

“Not a peep.” Joel felt slightly bad now about mocking his relationship with his cousin. “It’s been terribly boring.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Aaron muttered. “What about your family? Since you know about mine.”