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Paul had had enough. He wanted out, out of the house, away from Adam, to some place where he could fucking
breathe….

“How much is there left?”

Adam was standing behind him in the doorway to the library.

Paul turned to face him. “Actually, that was the last box.” He paused, hesitant to voice his request.
Fuck it
piped up that voice in his head
. Ask him. I’ve fucking earned it today.
“Would it be okay if I went out for a while? I need some air, to unwind.”

“Of course.” Adam’s response was immediate. “You’ve done more than enough today. Do you want the rest of the day off?”

“No.” It wasn’t that Paul didn’t think his employer capable of feeding himself if he needed to, he just didn’t want to deal with any possible repercussions if anything went wrong. “Grant me a couple of hours, yeah? I’ll be back to make dinner for us.”
And hopefully by then I’ll be feeling better than I do right now.

“That’s fine. Take your time.” Adam left him and walked toward the library. A few minutes later the sound of strings filled the air, peaceful and harmonious.

Paul let out a long sigh. Thank God. He left the dining room and went upstairs to grab a quick shower. A change of clothing and he was ready.

He left the house and climbed the steep driveway to Love Lane. At that point he took a sharp left and paused at the top of the steps that led down to the Lighthouse. The tide was coming in, and the waves rolled and crashed onto the rocks, edging closer to the sea wall. He could see people in the surf: families with children, people in wetsuits on body boards. Paul descended, listening to the glorious sound of that rolling expanse of water. He knew where he was headed: it was too late to go to the Beach Shack café—that closed at four—but he could sit on the low wall and stare out over the English Channel, letting that wonderful soundtrack roll over and around him. An hour or so to decompress, chill, and not think about Adam.

Yeah, right.

By the time he got down to the beach, people had already started to pack up their summer paraphernalia to begin the trek back to hotels and guest houses for their evening meals. The coffee shop had closed, the girl who worked there in the process of taking down signs and storing them inside the wooden hut. The old man who provided deckchairs was slowly folding them up and carrying them to their storage place.

Steephill Cove was closing for the day.

Paul sat on the low wall between the buildings and the sea wall with its black railings, staring out at the scene before him. The algae-covered rocks that made up most of the beach were no longer visible, hidden below the incoming tide. Waves already lapped at the base of the sea wall, occasionally hitting it with such force that they splashed up onto the promenade. The spray hit Paul in the face and on his bare legs and arms, cooling his skin. It was going to be another hot night by the feel of it.

“It’s a pity about all the sand, isn’t it?” Sam joined him on the wall and handed him a bottle of chilled water. He smiled. “Taylor spotted you out here and thought you might want some more hydration.” Sam chuckled. “He said especially if your hangover was anything like his.”

Paul opened the cold bottle and drank half its contents, the water icy and refreshing. He shivered. “Thanks, I needed that.” He looked at the bay. “People keep saying the sand will come back some day, only they have no clue when that might be.” The terrible Valentine’s Day storm of 2014 had left its mark on the horseshoe bay: the sea had ripped all the sand from the beach, taken it with cold, wet fingers, leaving nothing but the rocks that had lain hidden beneath its golden surface. Along the road from Steephill, the road had collapsed, trapping the inhabitants of nine houses. They’d been evacuated by the army, who’d turned up to carry what belongings they could. Eighteen months later, and there was still no news on when—or if—the road would be rebuilt.

“Taylor says he’s had so many tourists this year who’ve come back and wondered where all the sand went. It’s been great for the kids who like digging around in rock pools, but not so good for his business.”

Paul sighed. “Yeah, he said.” Running a hire business for kayaks and water sports accessories was bound to suffer if there weren’t the same number of people coming to the bay. Thankfully Taylor wasn’t about to starve, not when his husband was a bestselling author of both thrillers and gay romance.

“Why didn’t you stay until the end of the party?” Sam asked him, sipping from his own bottle. “We ended up sitting around outside, looking up at the stars. It was such a beautifully clear night.”

“I gather you stayed the night?”

Sam nodded. “Taylor had already asked us, prior to the party.” His cheeks flushed.

Paul tilted his head. “Okay, what did you do? ’Cause you’re looking awfully guilty right now.”

The nervous laugh that followed his words only served to confirm Paul’s suspicions. Sam’s face glowed. “I’d forgotten how horny Mark gets when he drinks. Add to that a warm night where it was too hot to sleep wearing anything, and… ” He took a quick swig of water before continuing. “Let’s just say we were a bit… loud.”

“Loud?” Taylor’s snort came from behind them.

Paul took one look at Sam’s scarlet face and leaped to his friend’s rescue. “Leave him alone, you.” He nudged Sam with his elbow and leaned in to whisper, “Next time, gag Mark,” he said with a chuckle.

Taylor guffawed. “Oops.” He climbed up onto the wall and swung his legs over it, sitting next to Paul. “Good idea, wrong person, eh, Sam?”

Sam exploded into a cough and rose to his feet. “I think I’ll go see what Mark is doing.” He patted Paul on the arm. “See you soon, yeah?”

Paul nodded and watched him walk along the promenade to West View. He shook his head. “You can be an evil bitch sometimes, y’know.”

Taylor chuckled. “Sam’ll forgive me. He knows I love him to bits.” He bumped Paul’s hip with his own. “Anyway, never mind about Sam. What are you doing down here? Has Adam let you off the leash?” He bit his lip, his eyes gleaming. “Oh, sorry, bad choice of words.” He let out a giggle.

Paul sighed, in no mood to laugh at the situation, not when he could still hear Adam’s words, echoing inside his head.

Taylor stared at him, all the humor slipping from his face. “Okay, start talking.”

After another long drink of water, Paul studied the bottle in his hands. “We fucked last night. Well, Adam fucked me, is nearer the truth. And when he was done, he got up and went to bed like I wasn’t even there.” Another sigh. “And then stupid me had to go and say something this morning that made it ten times worse.”

“Shit.” Taylor leaned against him. “I’m not gonna make you feel worse by asking if it was at least good sex.”

Paul laughed at this typical Taylor remark. “Well, that’s good, ’cause it’s not like I’d have told you anyway.” He felt Taylor’s soft chuckle through his arm.

“Do I take it the atmosphere is a bit strained up at Cliffside?”

He emptied the bottle and leaned back to drop it in the bin beside the wall. “To be honest? I’ve kept out of his way today. Once I get started on typing up his books, maybe his mood will improve.” Paul wasn’t going to hold his breath though.

“Look, don’t sit out here on your own,” Taylor said after a moment’s silence. “Come into the house and help me embarrass Sam some more.” He grinned. “It’ll be fun. Besides, I think you could use some company right now. There’s just me, David and those two. Whaddaya say?”

Paul considered the suggestion. Maybe Taylor had a point. Being on his own was only going to make him dwell on what was going on inside his head, and right then, that was the last thing he wanted.

He nodded. “You’re on. Except… No teasing Sam, okay?”

Taylor smiled. “Okay.” There was that wicked gleam in his eyes again. “Besides, it’s much more fun trying to get a rise out of David.” Laughing, he swiveled around and rose to his feet.

Paul followed him along the promenade and up the boat ramp.
Poor David.
After a moment’s reflection he changed his mind.
Never mind poor David. He knew what he was letting himself in for when he married Taylor.

Paul had no sympathy.

Chapter Eleven

“Any sign of it yet?” Adam found it difficult to keep the exasperation from his voice.
How long does it take to find one specific box?

“Not yet.” Paul sounded pissed off. “D’you know how many of these boxes I’ve opened this morning? With the way my luck’s going, it’ll turn out to be the last one.” He ground out a heavy sigh.

Adam gripped the doorjamb, fighting the urge to yell that if it was too much trouble, he’d find someone else to do the bloody job. He took a deep breath. Losing his temper wouldn’t get it done any faster.

“Well, what have you found so far?”

“A whole lotta books. I’m trying to move them all to one side. I’m assuming at some stage you’ll want them to go onto shelves?”

Adam clenched his jaw.
What’s the fucking point? I can’t read them anymore.

“I mean, there are going to be books I’ll need for reference, right?”

Adam couldn’t argue with Paul’s logic. He had a point, after all. “Yes,” he said grudgingly. He listened to the sound of tearing tape, Paul moving around in the dining room, heavy objects being slid across the floor. Adam decided that hovering in the doorway achieved nothing, and turned to leave Paul to it, but the sudden silence halted him. “Paul?”

No answer. All he could hear was Paul’s breathing, no longer regular but erratic.

“Paul, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” His breathing belied his reply, uneven, the word strained.

Adam racked his brains, trying to think what on earth Paul could have found that would have rendered him into silence.

“I’ve found the box with your laptop and digital recorders, by the way.”

Adam thought that was hardly likely to have brought about such a change. His lips twitched, curling into a smile. He licked his lips. “Did you find my box files?” he said, keeping his tone level.

“Yes, found those.” Paul’s voice was quiet.

“And was there a box with all my DVD’s?”

“Yes, those too. And your DVD player.”

Adam grinned. “And what about the box with my leather wrist restraints?” There was a good deal more than those to be found, but he wanted to hear Paul’s response.

What he got was silence.

His grin widened. “Just testing,” he said under his voice. He couldn’t imagine all his BDSM gear fitting into one single box. He’d amassed a great many items over the years.

In that moment he yearned to run his hands over the leather, to smell it, rub a collar between his fingertips and bring them to his nose to inhale its odor, breathe it in once more.

“Bring that box, and any others like it, into the library,” he instructed Paul.

There was a moment’s delay before Paul responded. “Yes, sir.”

Adam walked into the library to wait, seating himself in the armchair by the window. Paul entered the room a few minutes later.

“How many such boxes did you find?”

“Three. Where do you want them?”

Adam tried to visualize the library. It was the room with which he was most familiar. “Put them behind the couch.” They’d be out of the way, but there was enough room for Adam to investigate them without bumping into anything. “And then put the box with the laptop and recorders on the desk in the office. That’s where you’ll be working, once you make a start.”

Paul left the room, doubtless to collect a box.

Adam had expected to feel more upbeat at the thought of Paul working on a book for him, but the elation wasn’t there. Instead, all he could think about was the content of those boxes. Paul’s reaction to them demanded further investigation, but what claimed his attention was the thought of his whole life in the BDSM community, contained in them.

Three boxes that were useless to him, that did nothing but remind him of what he’d lost.

As if he needed reminding. The pain of it cut through him, making it difficult to breathe. His stomach was in knots and there was a dullness in his chest, a feeling of heaviness spreading throughout his whole body.

He waited until Paul had brought the final box. “Go away and close the door after you. I don’t want to hear from you until lunchtime.” Not that he felt like eating. His present mood had robbed him of his appetite.

All he wanted was to be left alone.

When Paul exited the room without a word, closing the door behind him, Adam stood and walked over to the couch. His foot nudged a box, but he didn’t bend over to open it. He didn’t need to. Adam could smell the leather, the scent evoking so many memories. In his mind he gripped the handle of a flogger, heard the hitch in his submissive’s breathing that spoke of anticipation and desire, saw the unmarked skin, waiting for him…

What was I thinking? I knew it would fucking hurt to have all this around me. I’d have been better off if it had stayed where Caroline had stowed it, in the darkest recesses of the attic.

Adam stepped away and sought the comfort of his chair. He curled his legs up under him, removed his glasses and slung them onto the floor, and turned his face toward the wing of the chair. He closed his eyes as if that would shut out the world, and wished he could shut out the sound of the sea. It was something he associated with his childhood, of warm summer nights when he’d lain in his bed, listening to the waves lapping the shore. Fast forward, and it was the sound of waves hitting the hull of a boat as he powered through them, steering expertly, everything under his control.

Control….

Adam filled his lungs with air and expelled it in a scream, howling it out.

“I fucking
hate
this!” His body shook and he hugged his knees, trembling in the wake of his rage, directed at no one, just hurled out there into the ether.

* * * * * *

Paul had never liked Mondays, but this one took the biscuit. After today, he fucking
hated
Mondays.

Adam had been in a foul mood since he’d gotten up that morning. It had begun with him roaring when he couldn’t find his glasses, not that he really needed them in the house. When Paul had located them on the floor, he’d handed them to Adam, who’d snatched them from him. That had set the tone for the day. Adam had sniped and growled, picked holes in everything Paul did, until Paul had gotten to within a second or two of telling him to stick his job.