Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Then I’ll go.” Dash couldn’t say no. He’d gone to plenty of similar affairs as an escort: sometimes men—or women—hired him solely for that purpose with no sex after. Except, when he thought about pretending to be Thorne’s date, his pulse sped up so fast he wondered if his heart would give out. “Is this a black-tie affair? Should I rent a tux?”
“I’ll get you one. Don’t worry,” Thorne said. His enigmatic smile unsettled Dash.
“Won’t I need to be fitted?”
Thorne shook his head. “I know your size.”
“Is that some secret hidden talent? You look at a man and instantly know his measurements?”
Thorne laughed. “Hardly, though my tailor apparently has superpowers.”
“You actually have a fucking tailor?” Of course he did.
“I do.” Obviously unwilling to reveal more, Thorne pulled Dash to him for a kiss, one that was soft, sweet, and filled with emotion.
Dash needed to get out of there. He pulled away and slid from the bed.
“Do you really have to go?” Thorne asked.
Don’t give in. Don’t let him seduce you. “I do.”
“So next Friday then. You’ll need to come a few hours earlier than usual.”
***
THORNE REMOVED THE garment bag protecting the tux he’d had altered for Dash. He’d simply shown Darius, his tailor, a picture of Dash and described him, but he was confident it would fit. The man was fucking brilliant.
Thorne hung the tux next to his own and wondered for at least the tenth time that day if he’d lost his mind asking Dash to the opening. No way in hell could he go the whole night without touching Dash, and he doubted he’d be able to take his eyes off Dash for more than a few seconds at a time. It wasn’t just that he was relentlessly horny around Dash, now he could feel himself go all moony when he looked at him. How could Dash not see it? Maybe he did and was ignoring it. Clients probably fell for him all the time.
He looks at you the same way.
No, that’s just wishful thinking.
Thorne ran his hand down the tux, imagining Dash in it. He was going to look so fucking perfect. Everyone at the museum would watch him when he walked by, admiring how he was well-spoken, soft, and boyish, and yet strong and in control. They’d be drawn by his beautiful skin, twinkling eyes, plump lips. Men and women would attempt to coax him into their beds. Thorne always had known how to hire the best.
Dash was his hired companion, nothing more. That thought had him reaching for some antacids. How had he gotten so screwed up when it came to his personal life?
You lost the only other man you’ve cared for, and no one even knew it.
Other people lose things and don’t…
No. Thorne had to shut down this line of thinking if he were going to make it through the night.
Dash arrived a few minutes later, looking less confident than usual. No self-assured seductive swagger. No sense that he might order Thorne to his knees or tell him to bend over the back of the couch. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous about tonight.”
Dash scowled at him. “How well do you know the people who will be there?”
Thorne considered the guest list. “Some of them I don’t know at all, but several people from my office will be there and others who are business connections of one type or another. I know all the museum board members since I’ve served on it, off and on, for years.”
“And you told me all you did was work,” Dash scoffed.
“Work and the occasional charitable activity. I admitted to that.”
Dash smiled. “You did, but I still don’t think this is a good idea.”
Thorne waved away his concern. “I don’t care.”
“About what I think?”
Thorne shook his head. “About what anyone thinks.”
Dash started to say something, but he froze. Thorne realized he was staring at the tuxes hanging from Thorne’s closet door. His eyes widened as he approached the garments. “Those don’t look like any tuxes I’ve ever rented.”
Thorne smiled. “That’s because they aren’t made of ill-fitting polyester.”
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?