pockets of his jeans. “A special gallery,” the man murmured.
“Would you like to see? I think you’d rather like it.”
“Uh—okay,” Beau said, and walked toward him. He was pretty
certain he shouldn’t, and absolutely certain he didn’t care. The man
was ridiculously posh-looking, in a suit that Beau suspected cost more
than his monthly rent. He had long dark brown hair pulled back and
tied with a ribbon, of all things. His eyes were the most brilliant green
Beau had ever seen. “My name is Beau,” he said, and extended a
hand.
Smiling warmly, the man shook it. “My name is Silenus.
Everyone calls me Sil.”
Beau looked at him in surprise. “As in the king of the satyr?”
“That’s right,” Sil, looking pleased. “But I suppose a muse would
know the name.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Technically, I
suppose you must be half-muse.”
“I’m just Beau, though I get called ‘muse’ a lot,” Beau admitted,
disconcerted by the man’s gaze, the way he seemed to completely
understand what Beau was saying. “How did you know?”
Sil smiled, and of all things, reached out to ruffle Beau’s dark hair.
“Muses energize the rooms they’re in, those who fill that room. That
aside, your scent gives you away. Your mother was a muse, I would
wager, of an amorous sort.”
“She was definitely not the settling down type, if that’s what you
mean,” Beau said, frowning, automatically defensive. No one insulted
his mother. He started to draw back, but Sil only smiled warmly and
beckoned him close.
“I meant no insult, quite the contrary. Come along, I think you
should see my special collection.”
Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 80
Beau meant to refuse, meant to leave, but instead his feet only
followed Sil from the front room and down a long hallway. They
stopped in front of a set of double doors, and Sil withdrew a ring of
keys. The sign on the door said Permanent Collection. “This way; I
think you’ll like what you see.”
What he saw made Beau’s mouth drop open. Painting after
painting of men and woman in poses that were anything but innocent.
A cluster of naked people tangled together on the bank of a river, the
way they touched one another making it clear why they had fallen
asleep. A man will brilliant red hair lying on his stomach on a bed of
black silk, his skin tanned gold, his eyes smoldering. Two men with
middle-eastern coloring, exact duplicates of one another, laying
together on a bed, fisting their hard cocks, clearly waiting for a third
to join them.
On and on the paintings went, each more stunning—shocking—
than that last. “What the hell kind of gallery is this?” Beau asked,
curious and more than a little turned on. How could anyone not be?
He paused as he saw a painting of a young man sitting in a window
seat, sunshine bathing his naked body, head tilted as if to invite
someone to kiss his throat, slide a hand along all that sun-warmed
skin.
“My personal favorite,” Sil murmured, “but I think your favorite is
a bit further on.” He lightly touched Beau’s back, and too bemused to
protest, Beau allowed Sil to lead him deeper into the gallery. They
walked through several more rooms, the contents of which made Beau
hot and flushed and wish he could open his jeans. “You must make a
mint on these paintings,” he said.
Sil laughed. “Money is not the point, though it’s true I’ve had
impressive offers from time to time. Here we go.” He led Beau
through a doorway surmounted by a gold sign that read The Armory .
Inside the room there was, of course, more paintings—a fierce
looking man in nothing but a kilt, his eyes daring someone to step up
with a challenge. Another image of four knights in gleaming armor.
Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 81
Yet another of a man in Chinese-looking robes, standing by a temple,
staring off into the distance. Beau glanced around at what must be
“Would you like to see? I think you’d rather like it.”
“Uh—okay,” Beau said, and walked toward him. He was pretty
certain he shouldn’t, and absolutely certain he didn’t care. The man
was ridiculously posh-looking, in a suit that Beau suspected cost more
than his monthly rent. He had long dark brown hair pulled back and
tied with a ribbon, of all things. His eyes were the most brilliant green
Beau had ever seen. “My name is Beau,” he said, and extended a
hand.
Smiling warmly, the man shook it. “My name is Silenus.
Everyone calls me Sil.”
Beau looked at him in surprise. “As in the king of the satyr?”
“That’s right,” Sil, looking pleased. “But I suppose a muse would
know the name.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Technically, I
suppose you must be half-muse.”
“I’m just Beau, though I get called ‘muse’ a lot,” Beau admitted,
disconcerted by the man’s gaze, the way he seemed to completely
understand what Beau was saying. “How did you know?”
Sil smiled, and of all things, reached out to ruffle Beau’s dark hair.
“Muses energize the rooms they’re in, those who fill that room. That
aside, your scent gives you away. Your mother was a muse, I would
wager, of an amorous sort.”
“She was definitely not the settling down type, if that’s what you
mean,” Beau said, frowning, automatically defensive. No one insulted
his mother. He started to draw back, but Sil only smiled warmly and
beckoned him close.
“I meant no insult, quite the contrary. Come along, I think you
should see my special collection.”
Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 80
Beau meant to refuse, meant to leave, but instead his feet only
followed Sil from the front room and down a long hallway. They
stopped in front of a set of double doors, and Sil withdrew a ring of
keys. The sign on the door said Permanent Collection. “This way; I
think you’ll like what you see.”
What he saw made Beau’s mouth drop open. Painting after
painting of men and woman in poses that were anything but innocent.
A cluster of naked people tangled together on the bank of a river, the
way they touched one another making it clear why they had fallen
asleep. A man will brilliant red hair lying on his stomach on a bed of
black silk, his skin tanned gold, his eyes smoldering. Two men with
middle-eastern coloring, exact duplicates of one another, laying
together on a bed, fisting their hard cocks, clearly waiting for a third
to join them.
On and on the paintings went, each more stunning—shocking—
than that last. “What the hell kind of gallery is this?” Beau asked,
curious and more than a little turned on. How could anyone not be?
He paused as he saw a painting of a young man sitting in a window
seat, sunshine bathing his naked body, head tilted as if to invite
someone to kiss his throat, slide a hand along all that sun-warmed
skin.
“My personal favorite,” Sil murmured, “but I think your favorite is
a bit further on.” He lightly touched Beau’s back, and too bemused to
protest, Beau allowed Sil to lead him deeper into the gallery. They
walked through several more rooms, the contents of which made Beau
hot and flushed and wish he could open his jeans. “You must make a
mint on these paintings,” he said.
Sil laughed. “Money is not the point, though it’s true I’ve had
impressive offers from time to time. Here we go.” He led Beau
through a doorway surmounted by a gold sign that read The Armory .
Inside the room there was, of course, more paintings—a fierce
looking man in nothing but a kilt, his eyes daring someone to step up
with a challenge. Another image of four knights in gleaming armor.
Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 81
Yet another of a man in Chinese-looking robes, standing by a temple,
staring off into the distance. Beau glanced around at what must be
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