Hearsay (19 page)

"I can get on board with that."
 

"Perfect!"
 

"There's one thing we have to do first." Roman turned him around and patted Derrick's back pants pocket. "Give me a dollar."

Derrick's heart melted on the spot. "That's so sweet of you, but there's no need."

"Indulge me."

"You're already working on Tyler's case," Derrick said at the same time he took a dollar out of his pocket and handed it to Roman, "and Noah Goldstein said he'll represent me if I need him to."

"So I'll be his second chair if it ever comes down to that." He took the dollar from Derrick's hand and put it in his own pocket. "Now, about making the night better…"
 

"What do you have in mind?" Derrick asked dreamily.

"Come with me." Roman kissed him on the cheek before taking his hand and dragging him out of the conference room. "I'll show you."

Chapter Twelve

Derrick bent his knees, leaned his torso forward, and managed to complete five twist-heels, kick-foot combinations before losing his balance.

Laughing off his misstep, he made a funny face and quickly apologized to the woman next to him.

"Don't worry about it," she said, even though it was the third time Derrick had almost bumped into her. "It takes a while to learn the steps."

"I'll do my best not to injure you in the process," he promised, ignoring the way in which she caressed her wavy middle-parted bob and slid her fingers down the side of her throat.

"A little bump and grind never killed anyone." She shot him yet another flirty smile, and Derrick gave her a polite nod before retreating as far as he could on the cramped dance floor.

Why are you wasting your charms on the wrong guy, sweetheart?
He mentally wondered.
I may look like it sometimes, but I'm definitely not heterosexual.

"Is this your first time?" she asked over the jazz music playing on the phonograph. "You look a little surprised by your surroundings," she added, pulling the string of pearls around her neck and touching it to her lips.

Derrick nodded. "I had no idea they had speakeasy-style dance bars in Manhattan," he said, taking in the 1920's décor and the crowd dressed in vintage or vintage-inspired attire.

"Oh, there are plenty," she assured him, taking a step closer to him. "I'm here every week."

Derrick nodded again. "That's what my boyfriend told me on our way here," he informed with a wink. "This one's his favorite."

So Roman wasn't his boyfriend—yet—but Derrick was working on it. Besides, same as the 'bump and grind', a little white lie never killed anyone. However, it helped put an end to her misplaced interest, which was exactly what Derrick wanted.

Mission accomplished,
he thought when the woman finally backed off.
 

Derrick rolled his shoulders, shook his arms, and refocused his attention on the Josephine Baker look-alike dance instructor.

Following her steps, Derrick hopped on his left foot and brought the heel of his right foot backwards to his left butt cheek. Next he kicked out his right foot in what should've been an easy forty-five degree angle. The move was far from graceful, but he gave himself credit for remaining vertical.

And for not letting his two left feet—or the potential legal mess hanging over his head—hold him back from having fun.

I got this.

Undeterred by his lack of mad dancing skills, he squatted forward and broke into a move that was all waggling knees and crossing hands. Everyone around him executed the combination without missing a beat, but Derrick felt like he was having a seizure. Even worse was the fact he probably looked like he was. Extremely unattractive, to say the least, and definitely not something he wanted Roman to witness on their first night out.

Okay, I don't have this,
he conceded.

Trying to learn a dance made popular in the 1920's while Roman procured a private table for them had been fun, but the time had come for Derrick to give up and go back to his date.

He left the dance floor and scanned the room for Roman. A few seconds later, Derrick spotted him by the bar, just in time to see him try to hide his grin into his glass.

"I can't do the Charleston," Derrick announced when he stopped in front of Roman.

"I noticed," Roman deadpanned. "You're definitely not Fred Astaire, and trying the Swing is most likely out of the question, but I won't hold it against you."

Derrick cocked a hip and arched an eyebrow. "It's more difficult than it looks."

"I'm sure it is…"

Roman glanced at the dance floor, and Derrick did the same. No one seemed to be having a problem doing their thing.

"Oh, shut up," Derrick ordered playfully. "For all I know, you're ten times worse than I am. Also, I'm an excellent modern dancer. I can roll my hips and shake my ass like nobody's business, so you don't get to make fun of me until I've seen
you
do the Charleston."

Roman set his glass on the bar and flashed the most genuine smile Derrick had seen on him since he'd showed up at Derrick's office earlier that week. It was lazy and broad at the same time, a clear sign he was having a good time.

Thank God.

"There's a booth waiting for us in the den, and the live music's about to start." Roman said in a husky voice as he offered Derrick his arm. "Want to try something a little slower with me?"

Heat radiated through Derrick's chest. His cock swelled against the zipper of his pants, and his mouth became so moist he thought he might drool.
 

Roman in lawyer-mode was a force to be reckoned with that inspired and scared Derrick in equal parts. Roman in courtship-mode was attentive and utterly sweet. Derrick couldn't have asked for anything better. But Roman in seductive-mode… wow. He was breathtaking, devastatingly sexy, and more than Derrick's cock could bear.

The parted lips and the firm eye contact… the lowered voice and the frequent touches… For the first time in a year, Roman wasn't trying to hide his attraction or desire, and it was all Derrick could do not to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. He wouldn't be able to deal with the disappointment if that were the case.

"I'd love to try something slower," he whispered, slipping his hand in the crook of Roman's arm. "I want to try everything with you."

Roman gave him a peck on the lips and then took him through a hallway behind the bar and down a narrow flight of stairs that led to a dimly-lit underground space.

There was a fully-stocked bar that included an enormous metal tub and bartenders clad in black pants, white shirts, and red vests and bowties. Up front, there was a small dance floor between the stage and several two-chair small round tables covered in white tablecloths. Six velvet Art Deco loveseats and tables were placed against the wall across from the bar, and four more sofas completed the set up on the back wall.
 

A jazz band composed of eight musicians and two singers started playing on the small stage as Derrick finished inspecting the place, and he felt immediately transported to an era best known for its gangsters, prohibition, and gilded opulence.

He
loved
it.

Stirred up by the intimate vibe, the rich, throaty voice of the singer covering Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong's
Cheek to Cheek
, and the sight of at least three other gay couples, Derrick squeezed Roman's arm and veered him toward the dance floor. He couldn't wait any longer to be in the arms of the man he so desperately wanted.

"This club is fantastic," Derrick said, placing his hand in Roman's at the same time Roman placed his other hand on the small of Derrick's back. "Have you ever dressed up?"

"Once or twice," Roman answered with a smile as he started moving them slowly clockwise. "I mostly come here for the live jazz."

"Are you willing to dress up again?"

"I would if that's what you want."

"I do!" Derrick grinned. "We can be the gay version of Al Capone and Lucky Luciano. Or I could be Greta Garbo. Yes! I can see myself as Greta."

Roman chuckled. "Do you dress in drag often?"

"I never pass on an opportunity to dress up as Greta Garbo, Sofia Loren, or Jennifer Lopez," Derrick joked. "I did it for Halloween, back in college."
 

"I'd love to see that, but I'd rather be Henry Ford or Charlie Chaplin."

"Gangsters, industrialists, actors…" Derrick shrugged. "It doesn't matter. But next time we come to this place, we have to be dressed appropriately. As much fun as I'm having, I have to confess I'm feeling slightly out of place, as if I don't belong in here because my clothes are from the wrong era."

"I happen to think you look dashing in your contemporary suit and tie," Roman complimented in a soft tone. "I would've given you a heads-up, but bringing you here was a spur-of-the-moment decision."

"I figured as much," Derrick admitted, looking Roman straight in the eye. "You don't regret it, do you?"

"No, I don't." Roman shook his head. "This is the best thing I've done in months."

"I'm thrilled to be here with you," Derrick said quietly. "I love it when you're spontaneous."
 

"Being around you is… well… let's just say it's been a while since I've felt so invigorated." Roman took a deep breath and caressed the back of Derrick's hand with his thumb before adding, "I just hope you'll want to repeat the experience once you've heard what I need to say to you."

Roman's words were music to Derrick's ears. A balm to his bruised soul... and also a veiled reminder there was something wrong in Roman's world. Something serious enough to prompt Roman to sever all contact between them and make him believe there was a chance Derrick would not want to see him again.

Derrick squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block all the possibilities flashing through his mind.

Most of the gossip spread about at ABC was clearly exaggerated or flat-out bullshit, but it was like Tashana always said; more often than not there was a speck of truth behind every rumor making the rounds. Somewhere, someone had seen or heard something that had initiated it all, which was the reason Derrick had been unable to stop thinking about the rumors he'd heard about Roman in the past months. Hard as he'd tried, he hadn't been able to stop putting two and two together and coming up with a whole lot of "Jesus Lord, don't let this be true."

Stop it,
he ordered himself.
This isn't the time.
 

Heart hammering in his chest, he took Roman's glasses off and put them in his own jacket's inner pocket. Then he pressed his forehead to Roman's and rubbed the back of his neck with slow, gentle strokes.

"Did I just ruin your night?" Roman whispered against his lips in a tone so vulnerable it broke Derrick's heart.

He let go of Roman's hand and cradled the side of his face. Immediately Roman's arms went around Derrick's waist.

It was true he didn't want to hear anything that could be remotely considered bad news, but he wanted to do everything in his power to erase the sadness clouding Roman's eyes. To soothe the anguish and fear he could sense pulsating inside his man.

And, no, there was no doubt in his mind that Roman was
his
man.

The one Derrick wanted to be with for the rest of his life.

"I know there's something bad lurking on the horizon," Derrick said quietly, caressing the bridge of Roman's nose and the angular line of his jaw. "I may not want to talk about it, but I can feel it. My stomach's been hurting for days, as if I ate something bad, and there's this… tingling in my chest that won't go away." He gulped down the lump in his throat and gave Roman a tremulous smile. "I don't know if I should attribute this sense of doom to the impending conversation between us, Tyler's case, or both, but I can tell you this much; I spent years wishing I could be with you. Almost two weeks walking on clouds just from being alone with you and getting to know the man behind the professional mask. A year telling myself I had imagined the deep connection I felt between us and the past three days watching you fight an attraction that's so obviously alive, it's almost painful to see you try." He slid his fingers through Roman's silky hair and placed soft kisses on his cheek, his jaw, and the corner of his mouth. "But we're finally here, enjoying each other's company and picking things up right where we left them, and there's
nothing
you can say that would make me go away. Not a damn thing."

"Don't say that," Roman begged with a shaky voice and a burning gaze. "Don't make me believe this thing between us will happen. Not yet. What I have to tell you will change your—"

"Shhh." Derrick pressed his index finger to Roman's lips and gave him a sultry smile. "None of that. Tonight we don't worry about a thing. We drink, dance, and put your pretty mouth to better use. Is that okay with you?"

Derrick didn't wait for an answer.

He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Roman's shoulders in one swift move, then sealed their lips together and gave in to the need that was threatening to consume him.
 

Roman's arms tightened around Derrick's waist with steely strength. He tilted his head, opened his mouth, and sought Derrick's tongue with his own. What followed was a hot, devouring kiss, more suited for the back room of a seedy gay club than the dance floor of a classy jazz club.

Derrick couldn't care less.

He was dying of lust. Desperate to get what his body had been craving for far too long.

He dug his fingertips into Roman's shoulders as they took turns ravishing each other's mouths. Oblivious to their surroundings, they licked, tasted, and made muted, growly noises of relief and pleasure.

Roman's hand moved slowly from Derrick's waist to his ass. The firm—albeit brief—touch left Derrick gasping for air. His knees weakened and his flesh heated, and, a second later, Derrick stopped dancing in favor of pressing the hard proof of his arousal against Roman's groin. He felt intoxicated by Roman's touch and scent. By the hunger he wasn't able to keep contained.