Author: Tiffany Reisz

“‘The Prince of Kentucky compares racing forms with a Prince of England,’” Kingsley finished for her as he flipped open the file to the last page and showed her that very photograph. “I’m quite familiar with it.”

“Goddammit. You knew. You knew who he was and you didn’t tell me. How could you do that?”

“He never told you. It was his choice. It was not my place to tell.”

“It is now. Tell me who my intern is.”

Kingsley walked to the desk and sat at the edge.

“First, tell me why you want to know. You sent him away. He’s gone.”

Nora laid her hand against her chest over her heart.

“Not here. He’s not gone here.”

“He deserves better than this, le  prêtre does.”

Nora couldn’t argue with that. “I know. I know he does. You wanted me back with Søren.”

“I wanted le prêtre happy again. For some reason, you make him happy. But this…” He raised the file. “This will not make anyone happy.”

Nora sighed. She walked to Kingsley’s desk and collapsed into a chair across from him.

“I was going to go back to him, to Søren.” She stared at Kingsley’s bare feet. So strange to see him not in his signature knee-high riding boots. Only sex got him out of those boots. Somewhere in the town house, Nora knew Juliette was wondering where her master was. But Juliette would have to wait.

Kingsley laughed deeply. “How much have you had to drink tonight, maîtresse? You did go back to him.”

Nora smiled to herself.

“No…I mean I was going to go back to Søren a year and half before I did. It was a Wednesday in September. That whole week…I don’t know why, but for that entire week I could hardly breathe for how much I missed Søren. I had good days and bad days without him. That day started out bad. Bad enough I decided I’d give it up, humble myself, grovel at Søren’s feet until he took me back. But I didn’t. You know why?”

Kingsley didn’t speak at first. After the space of ten heartbeats he finally answered.

“Pourquoi?”

“Because that was the first day I taught that stupid writing class at Yorke, and I went into that classroom and saw these beautiful big brown eyes that looked at me as though they’d never seen anything like me before. I met Wesley. And I just forgot. I forgot I meant to go back to Søren.” Nora swallowed the tears in her throat. “Oops.”

“I will pretend I never heard that.”

Nora laughed miserably.

“I came to you that night. Do you remember, King?” Nora met his eyes and let her mind and body burn up with the memory—racing to Manhattan, running up the stairs…almost like tonight. “You were sound asleep in your bed, and I crawled in, and took you by the wrists while you were sleeping....”

Kingsley inhaled sharply and looked away. They had a rule they never spoke about that side of Kingsley.

“Oui, I remember.”

“I was burning,” she confessed. “For that kid in my class at Yorke. For Wesley. I couldn’t take my frustration out on him obviously. I took it out on you.” Nora met Kingsley’s dark eyes. “That night might have been the first night we ever spent together that you and I weren’t fantasizing about the same person.”

Kingsley didn’t speak. And Nora said nothing else.

“I’ve wondered a time or two if I love le  prêtre more than you do, chérie. Now I know I do.”

“Kingsley…” Nora closed her eyes tight but one mutinous tear escaped. “I know you know how it feels to love someone so much and not have him. Please…it’s me doing the begging tonight.”

“If you use any of this information to hurt le prêtre…” Kingsley’s voice trailed off and the threat was left unsaid. He didn’t have to say it. She and Kingsley were not friends, and never had been. They had been Jacob and Esau to Søren. At least in Kingsley’s mind. And now if she hurt Søren…it wouldn’t be a rivalry between them anymore. It would be war.

So be it.

Kingsley gave her one last look. He picked up a pair of elegant wire-framed glasses off his desk, put them on and opened the file.

He read. Nora listened. And by dawn she knew one thing.

Wesley had lied.

15

Michael and Griffin didn’t linger long at Sin Tax after Nora ran off to do whatever it was she did—Michael still wasn’t quite sure. Together he and Griffin watched the rest of the pony show. When it ended, Michael leaned forward in anticipation of the next act but froze when he felt fingers on the back of his neck.

Every muscle in his body tensed, every nerve tingled as Michael slowly turned his head to face Griffin, who watched him with hooded eyes.

“Let’s go.” Griffin gave Michael’s neck a gentle squeeze and Michael had to concentrate extremely hard not to enjoy it as much as his body wanted to. “Our bird’s here.”

Michael nodded slowly, not wanting to dislodge Griffin’s hand. But sadly Griffin left the booth and took his hand with him. Michael followed closely behind as they made their way through the crowded club toward the back exit. So intent on watching Griffin walk, Michael didn’t notice the foot in his path until he’d accidentally kicked it.

Spinning around to apologize, Michael came face-to-face with a pale and handsome man in his mid-twenties with curling blond hair and smiling, empty eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Michael stammered as the man took a step forward.

“I’m not.” The man looked Michael up and down. “What’s your name?”

“Um…” Michael looked around for Griffin but had seemingly lost him in the crowd. “Michael. I need—”

“Here, Michael,” the man said, pulling a chair out with his foot. “You kicked my leg and scuffed my shoe. The least you can do to make it up to me is to sit down and have a drink with me. Then we’ll talk about the most you can do to make it up to me.”

Michael’s heart raced. Where the hell had Griffin gone?

“I can’t. I have to find—”

“You can. You should.” The man smiled. “You will.”

“He won’t.”

Michael heaved a sigh of relief as Griffin appeared at his shoulder.

The young man’s eyes lit up in recognition.

“Griffin Fiske…what the hell are you doing here?” the blond man said, giving Griffin a wide and obviously fake smile. “Shouldn’t you be sucking Kingsley Edge’s cock?”

“I get Friday nights off,” Griffin said.

“I get every night off. No, wait. I get off every night. That was it. So you’re sort of interrupting here, Griff. I was making a new friend.”

“Your new friend is my old friend, Jackal.” Griffin edged in closer to Michael.

“Can’t we all be friends?”

Griffin smiled. “No. We’re leaving.”

“You’re leaving. He’s staying. He’s my date.” Jackal grinned and reached out as if to pat Michael’s face. Griffin’s hand snaked out and grasped Jackal’s wrist with such a display of lightning speed that Michael flinched.

“Don’t touch my property, Jack. Not with any part of you that you wanna keep.”

Michael could only stare at Jackal’s fingers hanging impotently in the air inches from his face, Griffin’s hand clasped around his wrist in a viselike grip. Even in the low light of the club Michael could discern the barely concealed pain on Jackal’s face and the color draining from his hand.

Jackal’s jaw clenched.

“Sorry, Griff. Didn’t know he was yours.”

Griffin raised his chin and stared Jackal down. “Well, he is.”

“Honest mistake.”

Nodding, Griffin let Jackal’s hand go. “Of course. Could happen to anyone. Ready, Mick?”

Michael looked at Griffin. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed half the club now watching them. With such attention, Michael knew he should have felt humiliated. But to be publicly called the property of Griffin Fiske, even as a lie, made his heart, and another part of him, swell with pride.

“Yes, sir.”

At the “sir,” Griffin’s eyes widened slightly before he quickly recovered. With an air of casual dominance, Griffin put his hand on Michael’s lower back and steered him away from Jackal toward the back exit.

“Who is that guy?” Michael whispered when they got to the exit.

“Jack Albrect.”

“Ex-friend?”

Griffin didn’t meet his eyes as he opened the back door. “Ex-dealer. Not a fan of me now that I’m not his best customer anymore.”

“Oh.” Michael couldn’t think of anything else to say to that. They took the stairs to the roof, and Michael already missed Griffin’s hand on his lower back. “Well, thanks for getting me away from him. You know…pretending we were together. I mean, we’re together but we’re not…I’m not…”

Griffin turned around and looked at him. He started to say something but the helicopter blades drowned out all sound. In silence, they flew all the way back to Griffin’s estate. Now night, Michael couldn’t see much below them so he merely stared into the darkness and remembered the burning look of fury in Griffin’s eyes when Jackal had tried to touch him and the incredibly comforting sensation of Griffin’s fingers on his back guiding him through the crowd. Don’t touch my property, Jack.... Even Nora’s books and the erotic orders she whispered in his ears at night hadn’t aroused him as much as those five words of Griffin’s had. My  property.

If only.

In silence they walked back into the house. Michael wanted to say something more to Griffin but once more couldn’t find the words. Or maybe he had the words but didn’t have the balls to say them.

At the top of the steps they started to go their separate ways. But Griffin stopped him with a word.

“Just a sec, Mick. I forgot I had something for you. It’s in my room.”

“Really? What is it?” Michael nervously followed Griffin into his massive bedroom. Michael had only peeked his head in the room once or twice but never actually crossed the threshold. It seemed like hallowed ground to him. He didn’t feel quite worthy to be in the presence of the bed Griffin slept in, the sheets he fucked on.

“What is it?” Griffin repeated. “Nothing. Just a line to get you in my room.”

Michael froze. Griffin laughed and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Don’t look so terrified. Everybody who comes into my bedroom leaves it smiling. Except for Alfred, but that’s only because he hates being the bottom.”

Michael burst into laughter as they entered Griffin’s room.

“Nora says it’s not for everybody,” Michael said as Griffin started digging through drawers.

“Next butler I hire, I’ll make sure to ask his positions preferences first. You know, it’s a good thing I’ll never have to get a real job. I’m a sexual-harassment lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“Nora said she put ‘being sexually harassed’ in her old intern’s job description.”

“She’s a smart lady. Could have been a lawyer but wasn’t enough of a sadist.”

Griffin pulled a bag out from under his bed and handed it to Michael.

Michael stared at it a moment before opening the bag. From it he pulled out something square and wrapped in linen. He pulled off the linen wrap and found a large black book covered in the softest, supplest leather he’d ever touched.

“It’s just a new sketchbook,” Griffin said as he started to unbutton his shirt. “I saw you’d nearly filled up your other one.”