With or Without Him (11 page)

He took the elevator to the restaurant before he could change his mind, wondering if Haris was even there, if this was some whacked joke. Tyler suspected the restaurant staff would spot he was an intruder the moment he walked in—
penniless Joe alert—
but they took his scuffed leather jacket and showed him to a table by the window where Haris sat staring out at the city. The instant ache in Tyler’s gut almost alarmed him. Haris turned before Tyler reached him, maybe he’d seen his reflection, and as he stood, his face lit in a smile that uncurled Tyler’s cock.

“Are you staying?” Haris asked quietly.

An image of wild horses trying to drag him out filled his head. “Depends. Is the food any good?”

He chuckled. “Why don’t you try it and tell me what you think?”

Tyler sat down. As Haris dropped back into his seat, their legs touched under the table. A flash of heat shot to Tyler’s groin and set fire to his hardening dick. No point denying he really fancied the man. Maybe it would have been easier if he was less attracted.

“I like the tie,” Haris said.

Haris wore an open necked white shirt. Tyler sighed and pulled at the knot on his stupid cheap red piece of crap.

“Leave it,” Haris said. “It’s sexy. Particularly part undone like that.” He grinned. “What do you want to drink? Champagne?”

Tyler had been hoping for beer. “Okay.”

Haris lifted his hand and like a magician’s trick, a waiter appeared with a bottle, an ice bucket on a stand and two glasses.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t come?” Tyler asked.

“Drunk the bottle on my own, ended up with a vile hangover and wondered if there was a way to turn back time.”

Tyler buried his face in the menu and smiled.

“Is there anything you can’t eat?” Haris asked.

“Not much. I had that kicked out of me when I was a kid. If I didn’t eat the slop
de jour
, it turned up on the plate at the next meal, and the next, until I did eat it. I once went three days without food.”
Oh damn. Too much information.

“What was it you wouldn’t eat?”

“Liver. Can you imagine what that was like after three days? Shoe leather. After I’d finally given in, I put my fingers down my throat and threw up all over the carpet. Then the dog ate it.” He sniggered.

Haris smiled. “Want a starter?”

Tyler tried not to gulp at the prices. He could feed himself for a week on the cost of one dish. “Not really. Not that hungry.” Which was a lie. He closed the menu. “I’d like the fillet steak with the gnocchi and whatever the hell Scottish girolles are.”

“Mushrooms,” Haris said.

Of course he fucking knew. Tyler tucked his feet under his chair. The chasm between them yawned wider.

“How would you like the steak cooked, sir?” asked the hovering waiter.

“Burned.”

Haris raised his eyebrows. “I’ll have the sea bass. Not burned.”

Tyler glanced around. “Nice place. Great view.”

Haris stared straight at him. “Yep, the view’s great. So were your parents strict?”

“No.” He curled his fingers around the stem of his champagne flute and felt a familiar lump forming in his throat. He’d only been making conversation, but he should have never opened that particular door.

“Who made you clean your plate?”

“People who weren’t my parents.”

“Who then?”

“Not my mum and dad.”
Don’t push me.

Haris sighed. “Can’t we talk about you?”

Tyler leaned forward and kept his voice low. “You’re buying my body, not my fucking personal life.”

“I’ve touched a nerve. I’m sorry.” Haris didn’t take his gaze off him. “I don’t want you to do anything or tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable. I just…I thought… I wanted to get to know you.”

And for some unaccountable reason, Tyler now wanted to talk to him, to tell him some of it at least, to make him see why he was the way he was, prickly and awkward and fucked up. If he was going to live with Haris for four months, he had to open up a little. “My parents died when I was seven.”

“Oh God. I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”

“Yeah, well, I went into care, lived with a lot of other fucked up little kids, and we fucked up each other even more.”

“You weren’t fostered or put up for adoption?”

“I was fostered a few times but it never lasted long.”

“Why not?”

Tyler swallowed hard. He had to be careful not to let everything spill into the light. “I didn’t want it to. Couples picked me because I looked cuter than the other boys, but it didn’t take long before they saw what was under the surface and sent me back. They wanted a boy who didn’t wet the bed, did as he was told, spoke to them politely, ate what he was given and didn’t puke it up for the dog.”

“I hope you don’t still wet the bed.”

Tyler gaped at him and then laughed. “Yeah, I do but not like that.”

Haris’s lips curled in a bright smile, and Tyler thought how beautiful he was with his brilliant green eyes, silky dark hair and sharp cheekbones.
Exotic. Not English?

“Where do you come from?” Tyler asked.

“London.”

“Originally?”

“The Middle East, Saudi Arabia, but I’ve spent more time in the UK than I have in the country of my birth.”

“Is your name really Evans?”

“My mother’s maiden name. Easier for Brits to handle.”

“Are your parents still alive?” Tyler asked.

“My mother died when I was eighteen. As far as I know, my father’s still living.”

Ah right.
You have issues too.

“Brothers and sisters?” Haris asked.

Tyler shook his head and thought about the final time he’d seen his brother, Noel, and his sister, Claire. He couldn’t remember what they looked like now and that hurt. “How about you?”

“Two brothers. Still living, last I knew.”

Last he knew?
Had Haris turned his back on his family or was it the other way round?

“Not my choice,” Haris said quietly, reading his mind. “I didn’t fit in with what was required of me.”

“That might be the only thing we have in common.”

Haris huffed. “I think we have more in common than that.” He topped up Tyler’s champagne. “How did you develop an interest in music?”

“My mother. She played the piano and I begged her to teach me. She started when I was four. Called me her little Mozart. After she died, I had no piano to play on so I made one.” He swallowed as he recalled what he’d done. “I peeled away a long strip of wallpaper below where my bed sat against the wall, thinking no one would notice. I weighed it down and drew the keys exactly the right size and when I ran my fingers over the paper, I could play in my head. I kept my paper piano rolled up and hidden but eventually the bed was moved and I got found out. That was the end of that foster home. ‘Destructive tendencies’ was written on my notes. I’m an expert at reading upside down. I never read anything good.”

Their food arrived and his stomach rumbled.

“That was very inventive,” Haris said. “When did you get to play the real thing again?”

“Once I started high school. I asked the music teacher if I could go in early to practice. He must have seen some spark of talent because he arranged free lessons and gave me his old acoustic guitar. Music was the only thing I loved—apart from wanking.”

Haris laughed.

Tyler rarely got to eat steak. In fact he’d only ever eaten it when someone had bought it for him which wasn’t often. This was perfect. The chargrilled outside dark and crispy, the inside so soft he hardly had to use his knife. But most importantly there was no blood. He wasn’t good with blood. He had a habit of vomiting when he saw it. And fainting. Which made him feel an idiot.

“Are you musical?” he asked.

“No, but I like listening to music.”

“What sort?”

“Depends on my state of mind or the one I’d like to be in.”

Tyler appreciated that answer. “How did listening to me play make you feel?”

Haris laughed. “Horny.”

A shiver of lust trickled down his spine. It grew easier and easier to imagine himself with this man.

“What are your plans when you graduate?”

“Get a job.” No point tormenting himself with thoughts about making it in the music world. He was neither lucky nor talented enough, nor was he good at arse-licking, well not in that way.

“What sort of job?”

“I plan to find a position in a call center persuading people they’ve overpaid on their mortgage payment protection policy.”

Haris almost spat his champagne back into his glass as he laughed. “Alternatively?”

“Land a contract with a music mogul.” Tyler shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m hoping inspiration strikes before I’m forced to resort to telephone selling. What do you do?”

“I’m a venture capitalist.”

“With your money or someone else’s?”

“Mixture of the two.”

“That’s lucky.” Tyler leaned forward. “I have a brilliant idea for a business that involves a man, a guitar and a piano. I don’t want to say anymore at the moment in case someone steals the concept but it’s out of this world.”

Haris took a sip of his champagne. “I specialize in green energy companies.”

“I could paint myself green if that helps, and the piano and guitar for that matter. Well, if I had a piano.”

He smiled. “I need a bit more to go on than that.”

“Damn. I’ll have to think about it. What made you go into venture capitalism?”

“I wanted to make a lot of money. More than a lot. I suppose to prove a point to my father.”

Oh fuck, maybe that’s something I wish we didn’t have in common.

“I studied economics at university,” Haris said, “and went straight into a big investment company. When I’d learned enough, I branched out on my own.”

“I have to assume you’ve been successful if you can afford to throw thirty thousand at me.”

Haris put down his champagne. “Very successful. I’m rarely wrong in my assessment of whether something will work or not, whether I’ve reached the decision after careful research or through a gut instinct.”

Tyler got the message. Haris seemed different tonight, more in control, far more confident. Tyler sagged. The guy already knew he’d say yes to just about anything.

He took a drink of champagne. “Isn’t it risky, putting money into something unproven? Things could go tits up very fast.”

“I told you, I’m rarely wrong.”

Guess the Rolex on his wrist is real and not some attempt to fool me into sex for four months with nothing at the end of it.

“What exactly do you do all day?” Tyler asked.

“Interact with clients, bankers, financial analysts and entrepreneurs. The job’s about networking, a combination of people skills and playing the market. Everyone wants something different and I have to make sure all those needs are met.” Haris twisted his fork in his fingers. “I spend hours on the phone and the Internet evaluating investment opportunities, figuring out whether the company will fly, what the level of interest will be, how much I’m likely to make, who to share the risk with if I need to. It’s high octane, intensive and stressful but I love it. What I don’t like to do is to make mistakes once I’ve found something I’m interested in, and consequently I need to know every tiny detail. There’s always something to occupy me. I’m not good at relaxing.”

And you’re lonely.
He hadn’t said it, but Tyler felt it.
And I’m lonely too.

“Why me?” Tyler had asked before but he needed to ask again. “Why did you think you needed to pay me?” He pushed his empty plate away. He could have eaten that meal all over again.

“Because this way we both know exactly what we’re getting into. Money’s not an issue for me. I’m happy to pay for four months of exclusivity and I’m guessing after nearly three years at college you’ll have racked up a fair amount of debt.”

Tyler tried not to stiffen but he couldn’t help it. No way could Haris know the real reason behind his need to pay off what he owed. The guy might be an expert on researching investment opportunities, but Tyler didn’t want to be subject to that sort of scrutiny. There was too much in his past that could come back and bite him.

Haris put a folded sheet of paper on the table between them. When Tyler picked it up he saw there were two pages with dotted lines at the bottom for their signatures. He read carefully.

A confidentiality clause.
Right, as if he were likely to blab about this.

Place of employment.
Haris’s address in Holland Park. Though he’d still need to keep his flat. There had to be somewhere to come back to after they were done.

Exclusively Haris’s for four months
. He’d never been with anyone for that long.

For a sum of twenty thousand pounds.
An amount that stole his breath.

Plus ten thousand for clothes, shoes, sundries.
No breath left to steal.