Love Beyond Words (City Lights, #1)(25)

The bedroom was brighter but no less elegant. The hardwood floors were dark, the walls pale, the furniture modern Italian with asymmetrical designs in beige and gray. David thought it all beautiful and perfect, but then he had been in charge of the design renovation while Julian had been working on a book, so of course it was beautiful. He made certain Julian had only the best.

David turned next to the walk-in closet. Usually on the rare occasions he indulged in one of these covert excursions into Julian’s private chambers, he saved the closet for last. But there was bathroom towel on the bed…

The closet doors glided soundlessly open and the feather duster fell from David’s fingers. There was nothing to dust here. If Julian caught him, he’d make up a story about wanting to take inventory before making a new purchase. It was one of his favorite tasks—ordering Julian’s clothes. Julian cared little for styles or labels, so long as he appeared neat and comfortable. David took that indifference and made the most of it, dressing Julian as if he were a doll, taking great pains to see that his clothes were elegant and tailored to his body. David had his measurements memorized, and he delighted in finding expensive clothes from Milan or New York and imagining how the rich fabric would lie against Julian’s dusky skin, or how they would accentuate his fit frame.

David went to the hanging shirts and coats, embraced them, inhaling deeply. L’eau Serge Lutins, Julian’s preferred cologne, filled his nose with its clean, crisp scent. David would have preferred something with more personality, but Julian never wore anything else. It was his signature scent, and now David appreciated it for how it immediately conjured Julian in his mind.

The third wall, the wall opposite the door, was his favorite. A mahogany dresser held socks and underwear in the bottom three drawers. Stored on the top: cufflinks, tie pins, watches, and other personal treasures from his past, such as foreign coins and photos. David never touched the items in the top drawer. He was not a thief by nature, no matter that those horrible men forced him to be one. He respected Julian’s privacy and only opened the drawer, never touching what lay inside.

Someday, he thought, he would be in the top-drawer of Julian’s life, loved and protected just as David loved and protected him. And he was close—so close—to that love. He was sure of it. Julian trusted him completely, had handed him the greatest secret of his life and asked him to guard it with his own. The sting of his one little failure bit at him, but he brushed it aside. It was minor and he had it under control. He would never let anyone hurt Julian. Never.

David took a deep breath that quavered when he exhaled, and left the closet. On the bed, the towel was waiting for him. It was still damp.

He sat on the bed, holding the cloth to him, inhaling its scent and touching its softness to his cheek. It had touched Julian’s wet skin, kissed it and left it dry and warm. Julian had held it in his hands and used it over every part of his body, and then discarded it without a thought. David shuddered. To be used so…

He squeezed his eyes shut and hugged the towel to him, curling his legs around it. He let his imagination go, and it began with soft, loving caresses and long, lingering kisses that he could feel in the pit of his stomach.

He pressed the towel between his legs, inhaling its scent again and again. His body rocked and he moaned. The phantom of Julian’s body was over his, his tanned skin taut with lean muscle. His hands, long-fingered and deft, touched David—he reached his hand under his waistband—with strong, hard strokes.

“Yes…”

He was writhing now, the towel clenched between his teeth and Julian was riding him mercilessly, driving into him with hard, impassioned thrusts. David cried out, a half-laugh, half-sob, and his hand was full of his own sticky wetness. He buried his face in the towel. “I love you.”

It was dangerous to forget himself like that, but sometimes the desire was too much. The constant, day-in, day-out of it granted him no peace or rest. If he didn’t indulge from time to time, he thought he’d go mad from the sheer relentlessness of it. He closed his eyes and as his breath became deep and even, it drew him into a relaxation made all the more wondrously heavy and deep by his pleasure.

He started drifting toward sleep, hoping to dream of impossible blue eyes and whispered promises that he would never be alone when the alarm panel by the bedroom door beeped. Panic pierced his heart. Julian was home.

David jumped to his feet and smoothed his rumpled clothing. He didn’t think Julian would remember what he’d done with his towel that morning; he wiped his hand on it and tossed the towel into the clothes hamper. He could hear Julian moving about in the living room.

David rumpled his hair up on one side and walked into the living area, stretching and pretending to yawn. “Oh, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came in to do some year-end account clean-up.” He offered a sheepish smile. “A good excuse anyway, for escaping the terminal dysfunction of my family around the holidays. I must have fallen asleep at my desk. What time is it?”

Julian said nothing; his gorgeous eyes were on the cityscape around him. He looked extremely displeased. Did my phone call do that? He thought it just might have. Julian stood in his customary stance that meant he was trying to regain control of his fiery temper: stiff and still, like a statue. David knew it well. Julian was a passionate, emotional man. He had to be, David supposed, to write as well as he did. His temper was slow to burn but when it flared, he used his talent with words to cut the object of his anger to ribbons. He struggled painfully with it, and, David was pleased to note, he was struggling now.