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There was silence for a moment.

Mark stared at his lover, lips parted. “If we weren’t sitting in a pub right now, Sam Prince, I would kiss you
so
hard.” Sam’s cheeks were flushed.

Paul regarded Sam fondly. “You make a lot of sense, you know that?” He turned to Mark. “But as it happens, you’re both wrong. I’m going to say something now to put you straight, and then that will be an end to it. I meant it when I said I’m not a virgin. I’ve had sex, okay? I’ve bottomed—twice, actually.
Not
that it’s any of your business.” He glared at Mark.

That was as far as he was prepared to go. He’d long ago concluded that if his friends could see what
really
went on inside his head, they’d look at him differently. It was easier to say nothing. Because if Mark got so much as a sniff of Paul’s tastes, he’d be like a terrier trying to get at a rat: he wouldn’t leave it alone until he had the full story, and Paul couldn’t handle that. Besides, right then his new job took precedence.

He folded his arms across his chest and met Mark’s gaze. “And if
I’m
happy, then we have nothing further to discuss. End of conversation.” When Mark opened his mouth to protest, Paul held up his hand. “I mean it. Okay?”

Mark’s gaze met his. “Okay,” he said at last. He drained the rest of his beer. “It’s your round anyway.” He grinned. “Off you go.”

Shaking his head, Paul rose and headed toward the bar, his heart pounding. He hated it when his friends brought up his sex life. Ever since he’d first set foot in that club…

Paul closed his eyes and stood frozen for a second. Scenes flashed behind his closed lids, and he recalled grunts and groans, the smell of sex filling the air. Slaps and cries from the men who were doing unspeakable things to each other…

It had completely altered his view of sex. Not that he could share that with his friends. They wouldn’t understand. Mark and Sam, Taylor and David, they all seemed so… normal, compared to what lurked in the recesses of Paul’s mind. He knew he wouldn’t find what he was looking for on the island, so he’d have to make do with a paler imitation. But the price he paid for compromise was a sex life that didn’t fulfil him. More than that, it left him starving. His first couple of experiences of sex had been… disappointing. There’d been no connection, not like Sam had spoken about. Paul had come to the conclusion that there was a lot of hype about sex, and it hadn’t lived up to his expectations.

It’s just not for me
. He’d make do with his hand, and maybe an amenable, enthusiastic mouth now and again.

Of course, he might be willing to change his mind, if the right guy came along. Someone good looking and sexy, who made Paul ache in all the right places. Someone who wanted to be a permanent fixture in his life. Someone with the same dark hunger inside them.

For some reason, his mind went to Adam Kent. Then he dismissed the thought.

Someone who wants to know me,
he amended.

* * * * * *

Paul sat on the rocks, the afternoon sun drying his hair, his wetsuit rolled down to bare his chest. The waves had been tremendous and riding them had been one exhilarating moment after another. He closed his eyes and listened to the surf crashing onto the rocks just below him, the incoming tide at its highest. That sound always made him feel so alive.

“Wasn’t it great out there?”

He looked up to see Taylor standing beside him, his own wetsuit gone, a pair of shorts and a T-shirt in its place. Paul let out a sigh of contentment. “Perfect.” He glanced around. “Where’s David?” The café had closed at four as usual and Paul had thought he’d spied Taylor’s husband sitting in front of their house, West View. There was no sight of the author, however.

“He’s just gone to grab a shower. He’s told me he’s taking me out for dinner tonight.” Taylor smiled. “I’ll get changed when he’s done.”

“Anywhere special?”

“We’re going to walk into Ventnor. There’s a restaurant on the sea front, the Ale and Oyster. The food’s terrific, but better still, it’s run by a gay couple.” Taylor’s eyes twinkled. “So we can hold hands and stuff.”

“And stuff?” Paul chuckled. “God, you sound like you’re a pair of teenagers, and here’s you, only a couple of years off being thirty. Don’t go scaring the straight customers away, will you?”

Taylor laughed. “We won’t, I promise. Sean and Jimmy are okay. Sean makes the most wicked cocktails.”

“Sounds like a good thing you’re not driving there,” Paul said with a smile. He twisted around and glanced up to his left, to where Cliffside sat above them, high on the cliff. A thought crossed his mind.
What does Adam do, now that he can’t write?
It had to be a very solitary existence, living up there alone. Not to mention heartbreaking. To live where he could hear the waves below, but not be able to enjoy the beautiful scenery.

Sounds like torture.

“Hey, where did
you
just go?”

Paul gave a start. “Sorry, I was miles away. I was thinking about a job interview I had yesterday, up there at Cliffside.”

Taylor’s eyes grew wider. “Oh, the blind guy?”

Paul stared. “How do you know about him?” Then he laughed. “Stupid question.” He laughed even harder when he and Taylor said simultaneously, “it’s a small island.” It was something of a saying among the island’s inhabitants.

“What was the job?” Taylor joined Paul on the rocks, their surfaces warmed by the sun. “Did you get it?”

Paul told him about it, Taylor listening intently. “He seems to feel he doesn’t need a companion. Maybe he’s right.”

“And maybe it’s all bluff.” Paul tilted his head to one side and Taylor smiled. “He’s, what, forty? So the last thing he wants is for some young guy to see that he’s not coping. Three months ago, this man was healthy, he had a career, and three weeks later, his whole world turns upside-down.” He leaned back, letting his arms take his weight, and turned his face toward the afternoon sun. “
I
think this guy is not coping well at all, but he’s bloody proud, by the sound of it. He’d rather soldier on, muddle through, whatever, than let people see just how badly he’s dealing with being blind.” He squinted at Paul. “Did he look like he had any cuts or bruises?”

Paul frowned. “I can’t remember. To be fair, I was so nervous, I didn’t take it all in. Why’d you ask?”

Taylor gave him a knowing smile. “Dad has a friend, Marcus, who’s blind. He has this saying: ‘you can’t be blind and good looking.’ He said when he first became blind, there were always obstacles where he least expected them. Like lampposts.”

Paul winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. But Marcus wasn’t one for hiding away from the world. He says in the early days when he first lost his sight, that because he had the balls to get out into the world, life wasn’t so bad.” Taylor peered at Paul. “Maybe you need to find out if your Adam has balls.”

“He’s not
my
Adam.” Paul stared out at the sea, watching the waves rolling in and hitting the rocks at the far end of the bay. “I’m just not sure if I’m making a mistake.”

Taylor sat up and patted his back. “Give it a while. See how things go, yeah? Don’t quit because you think it might be tough. You’re better than that. Just go in there determined to give it all you’ve got.”

He smiled. “That’s what Mark said last night.”

Taylor beamed. “See? Us gay guys make a lot of sense.”

A loud snort from behind them had both Paul and Taylor twisting around to look. David stood there, arms folded across his chest. “Taylor making sense? That’ll be the day.” He winked at Paul.

Taylor clambered to his feet and lunged toward his husband, arm raised as if to strike him. David laughed and caught him around the wrist. “You’re not too old to get your ass paddled, you know.”

The word conjured up an instant image in Paul’s mind of a black leather paddle biting into an already red arse. He shuddered. Dark desire filled him, whispered in his ear, coaxing him to take just one step closer… closer…

Taylor’s snort was as loud as David’s, pulling Paul right back into the light. “I’d like to see you try.” But the next minute David’s arms surrounded him and Taylor leaned into him with a sigh of contentment. David pressed his lips to Taylor’s unruly hair and kissed him.

Paul rose to his feet. “Okay, if you two are going to get all smoochy on me, I’m out of here.” He’d had his weekly dose of saccharine the previous night with Mark and Sam. And he certainly didn’t want any more reminders of the club.

“Before you go,” Taylor said, David’s arms still encircling him, “let me send you a few links to stuff you might wanna read.”

“Huh?” Paul had lost the thread of their conversation completely.

Taylor gave a patient smile. “It’s just a few sites on how people deal with loss of vision. It might help you understand your new employer a little better. It will certainly give you some insight into what he’s going through, ’cause I don’t think it’s stuff he’d want to share with anyone.”

“That’s a really good idea. I’d actually planned on doing that, but thank you.” Paul returned Taylor’s smile, thinking not for the first time that he was so lucky. He had some great friends.

David released Taylor and turned to Paul. “Listen, our dinner reservation isn’t for another hour. Why don’t you use our shower instead of the beach one? I hate using that thing. The water’s always freezing. And Taylor’s already had his.”

“Aw, thanks.” He stared at them intently. “As long as I don’t have to listen to you two again while I’m in the bathroom.” The last time he’d showered after surfing with Taylor, the sounds coming from their bedroom had made it very clear what was taking place behind the closed door. When they’d emerged, both slightly out of breath with pink cheeks, Paul hadn’t known where to look.

“You’re just jealous ’cause you’re not getting any,” Taylor said with a grin, before sprinting up the boat ramp toward West View, out of the reach of Paul’s hands. David shook his head and followed his husband, chuckling to himself.

Paul trudged up the ramp after them, carrying his surfboard.
Does
everyone
know about my non-existent sex life?
The next time he saw Mark, he was going to kill the little shit. When Paul reached the blue front door of Taylor and David’s home, he paused at the threshold.

Maybe the only way to shut them up is to get laid.

Then he thought about it.
Sam’s right. It’s
my
decision,
my
choice. And
my
timing.

Paul smiled to himself.
Besides, it takes two, right?
No point even thinking about it when so far there wasn’t anyone in his life who appealed to him. Not in the way
he
wanted, anyway.

Certainly not a black-haired man with dark glasses, long legs and toned arms.

Paul ignored the shiver that trickled down his spine.
Not going there.

Chapter Three

Paul stopped his little Ford Fiesta at the top of Love Lane. The engine still running, he got out and opened the gate to Cliffside, then got back in. The gate closed once again behind him, he drove carefully down the winding driveway to the house nestled half way up the hillside. He locked the car and gazed at the gardens that surrounded the house. Someone had obviously taken a lot of care to lay out the flowerbeds and plant shrubs and trees at one time, but there was an air of neglect about the place.

He picked up the plastic shopping bag he’d brought along with his backpack and fumbled in his jeans pocket for the keys. Inside the house was cool and quiet. He stood in the hallway and listened for any sign of Adam. The door to the room where Adam had been was closed, but Paul trusted his senses: Adam was in there. Paul had spent Sunday researching his new employer and reading through the documents to which Taylor had directed him. Adam wrote books about political history, which wasn’t surprising considering his background. According to his bio, after gaining a degree in political history, he’d joined the Marines and had been deployed to Afghanistan when in his mid-twenties. When he’d gotten out, he’d had several jobs including doing private security work and crewing yachts across the Atlantic, delivering them to their new owners. His books were incredibly popular and highly regarded, and had gained him a significant following.

The photo on Google had shown Adam to have blue eyes, his hair much shorter and neater, and a creamy complexion. There was no sign of the thick beard Paul had seen. There were several photos of him: appearing casual at a book signing in London; dressed in a smart suit, in what seemed to be an interview; and the ones that struck Paul the most—on board sailing boats in all kinds of weather, smiling.

Something else he’s lost
—
that smile and the opportunity to skipper a boat
. Paul’s heart had gone out to him. The man had lost so much more than his sight.

By the time Sunday evening had come, Paul was feeling wrung out. It was clear from what he’d read that reactions to becoming blind tended to be similar to bereavement. The range of emotions that people went through were all part of a process, and like any dramatic change in circumstances, there was a period of adjustment to go through. Paul couldn’t help but wonder, based on Adam’s behavior the previous Friday, just how far along the process he’d come.

This is what I need to figure out if I’m to help him.

Paul had reflected long and hard about his new employer. His training would be useful to deal with any physical issues, if any existed: what concerned him more at this stage was the state of Adam’s mind. He knew this was above and beyond his remit, but something about Adam’s state had touched him deeply. The one thing he had to do, however, was tread gently. Going in there, all guns blazing, would probably result in getting Adam’s back up. No, what would be needed for this was subtlety—and manipulation. And Paul could be a manipulative bitch when he put his mind to it.

He stood in the hallway, contemplating his first challenge—to get Adam to open that door.

Paul carried his bag through into the kitchen and dumped it onto the worktop. He spent five minutes familiarizing himself with the contents of the cabinets, making a list of what was needed. What disturbed him was the lack of good nutrition.