Dash fingered the jacket. “This might actually be comfortable.”

“It’s yours, by the way.”

“You mean, for the night?”

“No, for always.”

Dash stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “You bought it?”

“I could hardly have it altered otherwise.”

“Nobody owns tuxedos.”

“I do.”

“Why would you—” Dash looked truly perplexed.

“Because I wanted to; now go put it on so we can see how it fits.”

“And what will we do if it’s not right?”

Thorne shrugged. “Fix it.”

“Is everything that simple for you?”

“Everything that can be fixed with money.”

Dash shook his head, but he was smiling. He grabbed the tux and headed toward the bathroom.

“Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom. To change.”

The bathroom? “Sudden case of modesty?”

Dash laughed. “No, I want to make an entrance.”

Several minutes later Thorne resorted to pacing. What was Dash doing in there? It didn’t take that long to get dressed. Did the tux not fit after all?

He was about to go knock on the bathroom door when Dash opened it. Any complaints about how long he took to change died when Thorne saw him. He was fucking stunning. “You…I…wow.”

Dash grinned. “Thanks. Your tailor must practice some dark brand of magic. This fits like it was made for me.”

“Now, aren’t you glad I didn’t rent you some uncomfortable sack?”

“I…thank you. Sorry it took so long, I had to look up a video on how to tie a bowtie.”

Thorne couldn’t help but laugh. “You did an excellent job.”

“Thank you.”

Thorne glanced at the clock on his bedside table. “Damn. I was hoping there would be time to get you out of it again.”

“Not until the party is over. Go put yours on, and I’ll pour you a drink. How about that?”

Thorne looked at Dash longingly, taking in his beauty a few seconds longer. “Okay.” There would be time later to peel him out of the tux, slowly, carefully, revealing every inch of him.

THE ROOM GLOWED softly from the strings of lights circling the ceiling and snaking around the potted trees positioned along the wall between groups of paintings. There was a low murmur of talking, clinking glass, and a whirl of exceptionally well-dressed people. Dash was dizzied by it all, but the art was beautiful. He hadn’t been sure what to expect—modern nonsense that was nothing but a splash of color on the canvas, desolate, depressing images that made a point too esoteric for him to grasp. Instead, the room was filled with a series of amazingly lifelike landscapes that captured the sun’s rays in a way that Dash wouldn’t have thought possible outside of a photograph. He was seriously impressed.