FoR Love 77
and get it.”
Would he find similar pictures of Michael in this folder?
As much as he’d like to get the man naked, he hoped to hell not.
And he didn’t. In fact the entire folder contained nothing but pictures of the young blond Adonis in varying stages of undress and engaged in various erotic activities. Like these particular pictures had been deliberately kept separate. Segregated. Hidden.
But why, if Michael knew the blond kid, would Phillip have had to conceal the pics?
Not his issue, Alan reminded himself. Though if the subject of the pics came up when he next saw Michael it might not hurt to do some careful poking around to determine just what the relationship had been among the three men.
It was possible that there was a perfectly innocent explanation.
Sure it was. Anything was possible.
ChAPteR eiGht
The scent of Dijon steak filled the house and Michael inhaled deeply as he came downstairs and made his way to the kitchen.
Alan would be here any time now and he didn’t want to be still screwing around with dinner while his guest twiddled his thumbs.
Checking once more to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, he was satisfied that all was as ready as he could make it.
Meat was in the Crock-Pot, rice in the steamer and frozen veggies ready for nuking at the last minute. He would have preferred a salad along with a nice multigrain baguette from the bakery, but given his current prisoner of the manor status, he had to make do with what was in the house.
He’d set the table in the breakfast room instead of in the dining room, and used the everyday dishes instead of the fancy stuff. It was less formal and less formal was exactly what he was going for. Since Phillip’s death, he rarely sat at the table anyway.
Too depressing, sitting there all alone. Instead he took most of his meals either sitting in front of the computer or standing up at the kitchen counter, a thing he would totally deny if anyone asked. At least he hadn’t reached the point of leaning over the kitchen sink while he ate, though that day might not be so far off.
Opening the cabinet above the sink, he took down two wineglasses and set them next to the open bottle of red he’d left breathing on the counter. It was a cabernet if his taste buds could be trusted, and a pretty good one at that. Beyond that he had no clue what wine he’d chosen to go with the meal.
They had converted a large closet in the basement to store wine--whites on the upper racks and reds on the lower. But beyond that, it was a crap shoot.
When he found himself humming tunelessly, he realized what was missing. Music. He hurried from the kitchen to the living room, pausing in front of the wall of CDs. What kind of music did Alan like? In the car the night of the game, he’d settled 80 Kimberly Gardner
on some bluesy sax, Michael recalled, and with that in mind, he skimmed his fingers along the shelves until he reached the Ds.
He chose Miles Davis and slipped several discs into the changer.
The music began just as the doorbell rang.
Michael’s heartbeat kicked up a notch as he hurried to answer the summons.
“Hey, Michael. I know I’m a little early. But I honestly can’t help myself. It’s a character flaw. Everyone in my family suffers from it.”
Michael could hear the smile in Alan’s voice. It warmed him down to his toes and he couldn’t help smiling in return. “Nah, you’re just in time. C’mon in.”
Alan stepped into the foyer bringing with him the February chill. “Wow, something smells great. But I didn’t expect you to cook for me. I figured we’d go out or maybe order in pizza.”
“I like to cook, and I hardly ever do it anymore.” Michael took the other man’s jacket and hung it on the coat-tree. “Besides, it’s the least I can do, considering that I’m going to have you reading legalese all evening.”
Dinner wasn’t the only thing smelling good, Michael thought, leading the way into the study. Alan was
and get it.”
Would he find similar pictures of Michael in this folder?
As much as he’d like to get the man naked, he hoped to hell not.
And he didn’t. In fact the entire folder contained nothing but pictures of the young blond Adonis in varying stages of undress and engaged in various erotic activities. Like these particular pictures had been deliberately kept separate. Segregated. Hidden.
But why, if Michael knew the blond kid, would Phillip have had to conceal the pics?
Not his issue, Alan reminded himself. Though if the subject of the pics came up when he next saw Michael it might not hurt to do some careful poking around to determine just what the relationship had been among the three men.
It was possible that there was a perfectly innocent explanation.
Sure it was. Anything was possible.
ChAPteR eiGht
The scent of Dijon steak filled the house and Michael inhaled deeply as he came downstairs and made his way to the kitchen.
Alan would be here any time now and he didn’t want to be still screwing around with dinner while his guest twiddled his thumbs.
Checking once more to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, he was satisfied that all was as ready as he could make it.
Meat was in the Crock-Pot, rice in the steamer and frozen veggies ready for nuking at the last minute. He would have preferred a salad along with a nice multigrain baguette from the bakery, but given his current prisoner of the manor status, he had to make do with what was in the house.
He’d set the table in the breakfast room instead of in the dining room, and used the everyday dishes instead of the fancy stuff. It was less formal and less formal was exactly what he was going for. Since Phillip’s death, he rarely sat at the table anyway.
Too depressing, sitting there all alone. Instead he took most of his meals either sitting in front of the computer or standing up at the kitchen counter, a thing he would totally deny if anyone asked. At least he hadn’t reached the point of leaning over the kitchen sink while he ate, though that day might not be so far off.
Opening the cabinet above the sink, he took down two wineglasses and set them next to the open bottle of red he’d left breathing on the counter. It was a cabernet if his taste buds could be trusted, and a pretty good one at that. Beyond that he had no clue what wine he’d chosen to go with the meal.
They had converted a large closet in the basement to store wine--whites on the upper racks and reds on the lower. But beyond that, it was a crap shoot.
When he found himself humming tunelessly, he realized what was missing. Music. He hurried from the kitchen to the living room, pausing in front of the wall of CDs. What kind of music did Alan like? In the car the night of the game, he’d settled 80 Kimberly Gardner
on some bluesy sax, Michael recalled, and with that in mind, he skimmed his fingers along the shelves until he reached the Ds.
He chose Miles Davis and slipped several discs into the changer.
The music began just as the doorbell rang.
Michael’s heartbeat kicked up a notch as he hurried to answer the summons.
“Hey, Michael. I know I’m a little early. But I honestly can’t help myself. It’s a character flaw. Everyone in my family suffers from it.”
Michael could hear the smile in Alan’s voice. It warmed him down to his toes and he couldn’t help smiling in return. “Nah, you’re just in time. C’mon in.”
Alan stepped into the foyer bringing with him the February chill. “Wow, something smells great. But I didn’t expect you to cook for me. I figured we’d go out or maybe order in pizza.”
“I like to cook, and I hardly ever do it anymore.” Michael took the other man’s jacket and hung it on the coat-tree. “Besides, it’s the least I can do, considering that I’m going to have you reading legalese all evening.”
Dinner wasn’t the only thing smelling good, Michael thought, leading the way into the study. Alan was
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