Worth Keeping (28 page)

Nick’s chest tightened, the wrench of shame inside like a living thing.

Owen shifted next to him, moving onto one elbow, brushing damp, sweat-soaked hair from Nick’s face. “Stop it. You’re thinking again. I knew what I was getting into when I signed on. This doesn’t make you any less of a man, Nick. In my eyes, it makes you more of one because you care about what it means to me.”

Nick studied Owen’s face, the loving eyes, and the handsome contours of his face. He reached up and caressed Owen’s cheek.

“I know. I just wish—”

Owen silenced him with a kiss. “
You
are all I need. All I want. And as long as I have that I can put up with anything.” He lay down and snuggled into Nick’s side. “Now go to sleep. I’m bloody knackered. I don’t even have the energy to clean up. We’ll change the bedding in the morning. Sod the wet spots.”

There was a gentle quiet in the room, broken only by the call of an owl outside the window.

“I love you, Owen,” Nick whispered into the darkness. The words had been a long time coming but tonight Nick wanted them to be the last ones he spoke before falling asleep. The level of intimacy they’d reached tonight necessitated it. Owen’s breathing stopped then started again as he snuggled closer.

“I know. I love you too.” Soft lips kissed the scar on Nick’s side and he thought his heart would break with the comfort of those words and the tenderness of the man lying beside him. He wrapped an arm tighter around Owen as he closed his eyes.

Owen gave a satisfied sigh. “I didn’t think I’d hear those words from you yet,” he whispered softly, his voice choked. “But you need to know they mean the world to me.”

Nick stroked his lover’s hair then kissed Owen’s forehead. “I know it hasn’t been long, but I know I mean it.” His chest tightened. “You make me feel things, things I never thought I would. As if I
do
have something to give.”

Owen sat up, the covers falling to his waist as he in turn pulled Nick into his side, strong arms securing Nick in a cocoon of warmth and masculine scent. “You have a lot to give, Nick,” he said roughly. “Never doubt that. What you went through made you unique and I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Nick burrowed into Owen’s arms, draping a leg over Owen’s, grimacing when he found a cold and sticky wet spot on Owen’s leg. “Ugh. We will definitely need to change these sheets tomorrow. It smells like a posse of tomcats has been in here.”

“A posse of tomcats?” Owen’s low chuckle reverberated in his chest. “I thought it was a clowder of cats?”

Nick nipped Owen’s shoulder with his teeth and his lover hissed like a cat. Nick grinned. “Stop being bloody clever and go to sleep, tiger. That’s an order.”

He settled into the comfort of his man’s body with a smile and a possessive arm across Owen’s stomach. Owen wriggled as he got comfortable and it wasn’t long before soft snores echoed in the darkness of the room.

Chapter 18

Owen tapped his fingers impatiently against his thighs. It was his official lunchtime and he was seated in a coffee bar waiting for a call from someone who wanted to see Nick’s paintings. He’d just picked up another package of sex toys; the last dildo had finally breathed its last gasp through overuse and exuberance. In the last two weeks, Nick had taken to using the implement with gusto despite his earlier misgivings. Owen grinned wryly.

I don’t think my arse can take much more. I’ve created a fucking monster.

The man Lindy Vermeer had referred him to was called Cole Porter, like the songwriter, and he’d assured Owen with amusement in his voice that yes, it really was his real name. He was an art dealer and go-between in London and apparently had a very large clientele, one of who was very interested in Nick’s art. Cole had also assured him that he could get a number of galleries to display Nick’s work, and that it could be a very lucrative partnership.

Owen hadn’t been one hundred percent sure what he’d actually wanted to achieve and he was starting to regret the whole thing.

What if Nick really didn’t want his art to be publicised? What if he thinks I’m an interfering bastard and gets into one of his dark moods?

Owen wasn’t sure he wanted to be responsible for a grumpy Nick. Their relationship was getting stronger each day and he was now worried he might ruin it with his good intentions.

I guess I can always tell this guy that Nick’s changed his mind and there are no paintings. Maybe that he went crazy and burnt them all, because he couldn’t get them right. Weird artistic temperament, right?

He took a slurp of his coffee and jumped half a foot when his phone finally rang.

“Owen Butler.”

“Owen. Cole here. Sorry about fobbing you off earlier, I had an emergency to deal with. But now you have my full attention.”

“No problem, thanks for calling back.” Now that he had the man on the other end of the line, Owen wasn’t quite sure what to say. “So, erm, do you like the pictures then? Is that type of painting one that you can sell or your clients will go for?”

“Oh, absolutely. But obviously I’ll need to see them firsthand before I can recommend them. The gallery owner didn’t tell me who the artist was. I’d very much like to meet him. Perhaps see what else he has?”

Owen winced. The brash, confident voice down the phone jarred Owen a little. He had a feeling this man was never at a loss for words. “Um, that won’t be possible at the moment. The name or the face to face. I’ll need to talk to him first and perhaps get him to give me a couple of the canvases to bring up to you. He’s pretty private and he wouldn’t want me letting strangers into his studio, not even if they were potential buyers.”

Cole’s voice was chillier when he next spoke. “Oh. I see. That’s a little unfortunate. I normally don’t take on clients without meeting them face to face first. I’d suggest you arrange with him to get a couple of the paintings together and then contact me again when I
can
view them and meet the artist in person.” Cole’s voice was put out. “I’m going out of the country for a few days but you can leave a message and I’ll respond.”

Owen tried to reassure the man. “It’s not that he’s being difficult or anything, but he doesn’t know I’m doing this and I want to forewarn him first.”

“I understand. It’s just on these things, interest wanes very quickly and I had hoped to get in while the interest is there and make a quick decision. Are you sure I can’t come to where you are and view them personally?” There was greed and something else in the man’s voice and Owen felt a flicker of impatience.

Christ, couldn’t the man take no for an answer?
He obviously saw a cash cow in Nick’s paintings from the sound of it.

He was beginning to regret the whole thing. “Not possible, I’m afraid,” he said coolly. “I’ll see what I can do to get them to you and then give you a ring to make a suitable time and place to meet up. I’m sorry but this is just the way it has to be.”

“Very well then.” Cole’s vice was tight with annoyance and Owen thought something else too, something that simmered on the surface, like repressed anger. He shivered and gripped his mobile tighter.

Cole’s voice was distinctly irritated when he spoke next. “I have to go now. Let me know when you have them, Owen and we can make a plan to meet up. Goodbye.” The phone disconnected in his ear and Owen put his mobile back in his pocket with a sense of unease.

Was he interfering in Nick’s business? This Porter chap sounded damn pushy and it might be hard to get rid of him if Owen changed his mind.

There was something about that man that made him feel uncomfortable. A sense that he was hiding something. But that was just stupid. He didn’t even know the man. Owen shrugged off his worries. He was being too sensitive.

What artist wouldn’t want their work shown off and showcased?

But now that Owen had committed himself, the whole idea didn’t seem as attractive as it had before.

***

Brad Mayhew slammed his phone down on his bedside table with a curse and a snarl.

“Fucking retard. I thought he might have at least told me where he is and save me the trouble of finding out but now I have to use the fucking fallback plan.”

He stood up from where he’d been sitting on his bed and stalked through to the bathroom, running cold water over his face in an effort to calm down.

He’d have to revert to Plan B now and sweet-talk Lindy into giving him everything she knew about this fucking Owen Butler and where he might be. She’d said her best friend was his aunt so no doubt she’d have an idea. And if not, well, he’d find someone in the family who could. He was a master at sweet-talking people into things.

Brad grinned at himself in the mirror, liking what he saw. A craggy, handsome face stared out at him, dark blond, short-cut tousled hair and blue eyes slightly red rimmed from the boozing he’d done last night. All the sex hadn’t helped either.

Bet the young man whose arse I pounded last night isn’t sitting down today either.
Brad had resisted the urge for violence last night in favour of fucking Thomas’ brains out and being given one of the best blow jobs of his life.

He picked up his phone to call Lindy and make a lunch date. No time like the present when you were hunting. And knowing that his prey wasn’t too far away from him gave Brad a shiver of anticipation and made him hard enough to come right there.

Nick, I’m right on your sexy arse. And then you will be mine once and for all.

***

Owen stormed into the cottage, slamming the door behind him. Socks gave a startled squawk, jumping up onto the curtain railing. The monkey had a good sense of self-preservation and Owen reflected mutinously than in the last week he’d had more than one occasion to use it. This last week had been the nightmare from hell.

The television had been filled with a constant barrage of articles and interviews concerning the current child sex ring scandal and the death of eleven-year-old Alan Parker. Two men had now been arrested—a twenty-eight-year-old man called Curtis Fowler and a man in his early fifties called Lance Sutton, both Nottingham locals. There were a few former Nottingham residents living in the village who were vociferous in their desire to impart local Nottingham scandal and rumours. It brought it all that much closer to home despite taking place over a hundred miles away.

Owen had got to the stage where he didn’t turn the damn TV on anymore, preferring to watch films on his laptop. He couldn’t abide the constant media coverage, the disturbing visual images and pictures of young children being flashed with monotonous regularity on the HD screen. He felt for the children involved, but enough was enough.

Nick wouldn’t go near the telly or the village, especially when the gossipy inhabitants had found that not only was Justin Cranbourne being consulted on the case and had made a number of very intelligent and thought-provoking appearances on the news, but that Don MacKenzie was also involved. And, by default, people thought Nick knew more than he did about the whole thing.

It didn’t seem to matter that Nick hadn’t even spoken to Don about the case after the conversation with Justin at their home. He’d said quietly he really didn’t want to know too much about Don’s part in the affair and Owen had to agree. The more Nick knew, the more he’d think about it, stew about it and that would have done no good for his mental health. But it seemed that even with that decision taken, Nick was being made to suffer, memories tormenting him, bringing the whole sordid affair of his childhood back into play.

They could go nowhere in town that didn’t lead to people wanting to talk about it, find out what Nick thought, what Don’s role was and what having a wonderful friend like Justin felt like.

Such a clever young man, you must be so thrilled to be friends with him.

Honestly, who could do that to a child? Where are their parents, aren’t they supposed to be watching them?

Probably all kinds of benefits claimants; you know what that lot is like.

What kind of man can do that to a child—rape and sodomise them, it’s too disgusting to even think about.

Owen was sick of the vapid comments, the opinions, the constant hands on his arm as people stopped them, trying to satisfy their own vicarious curiosity. Owen knew that both Daniel and Justin had taken to hibernating at home and going into the nearby city of Norwich when they wanted to get away from the constant interest in the case.

Justin had been matter-of-fact about it, saying the novelty would wear off as the news got bored with the story. Daniel was less lenient, not being the type to have constant people attention. He and Owen were managing the landscaping and handyman business but all customers were categorically advised not to ask about the case if they valued their good health. They’d even lost a couple of customers when Daniel had exploded at the ceaseless questioning about Justin, their sex life and as gay men, how they felt about little boys being sodomised. His salty invective would have put a sailor to shame.

Nick’s nightmares had returned; he had flashbacks and panic attacks and didn’t venture into town. Heather had taken to coming to the cottage to conduct her therapy sessions, as Nick had refused to go and see her. His mood was bleak and dark and Owen was scared for him. He hadn’t even managed to speak to Nick about a possible showing of any of his paintings yet for fear of having a shovel thwacked across his head one dark night by a vengeful Nick. He picked up his mobile and dialled a number, staring out the kitchen window.

“Owen, everything okay?” Don’s gruff voice calmed Owen and he took a deep breath.

“No. Nick’s a basket case, Don. He’s a grumpy, miserable git and I don’t know how much more I can take of his constant bad moods.” He heard the hitch in his voice and hated that he felt so damn vulnerable and useless.

“Owen, calm down, lad.” Don’s soothing tone echoed in Owen’s ear. “I had no idea when I agreed to help on this case that things would escalate the way they have. The media frenzy has been even way above what I’d anticipated for this. It’s because Curtis Fowler is the adored grandson of Harrison Fowler that all this hype is happening.”