halfway through monday, any progress in regards to work was shot. daniel couldn't get what happened with corbyn out of his head.
seven years they'd been friends, and he'd never once suspected. never suspected corbyn's alter ego or his attraction to him. worse, he couldn't decide what to do about friday. should i go to his place?
he remembered when corbyn'd bought the condo, right after his company took off, around the same time daniel started looking into investors for his gallery. daniel hadn't been there since the first walk-through other than a handful of times. corbyn knew daniel preferred the comfort of his own apartment, and rendered his that small vice.
god. he was casey barlow. rich, mysterious, sexy casey barlow.
the man who captured women and men through his lens with innate skill. corbyn had liked photography back in college. he used to carry a camera around wherever he went. it had been years since daniel'd seen him with one. so he could better hide what he was doing? who he is?
the tight ball in his stomach clenched. corbyn'd lied to me. for years. part of him didn't think he'd ever be able to trust him again. corbyn's reasons seemed valid, but he was so vague in responding that daniel couldn't figure out what corbyn was talking about. just what or who haunted his past? and why were they so dangerous he was forced to lie to even me?
he was like two different people. the comfortable best friend who daniel could talk to about anything and the intense artist who showed up to dinner. the things he'd said, the way he'd said them...the letters!
corbyn. all along. his cheeks flamed even now. heat pooled in his belly.
how strange that his mind didn't question the 'shift from hands off' to 'please touch'. daniel didn't even like being touched.
but corbyn'd awakened something daniel thought dormant. and all he did was talk.
typically, any kind of attention made daniel go into a full blown panic attack. when control was out of his hands, he couldn't function. though he was embarrassed, corbyn didn't make him afraid. he made him want. a temptation daniel never once risked.
but for him, with him, could i let go? it had been so very long since sex was enjoyable that daniel'd almost screamed yes when corbyn presented the proposal.
christina strode into his office and set two containers on his desk. "lunch is served." she looked up and did a double take. "what's wrong?"
daniel drew in a much needed breath and waved his hand. "nothing. let's eat. thanks for picking this up. i was going over my notes for my two o'clock."
a new artist on the scene named eben franckewitz had contacted rexhibit out of nowhere and wanted to set up a meeting. daniel had googled him and came across an amateurish website where he claimed to be a photographer for hire.
weddings mostly. they didn't do that kind of thing, but daniel'd give him a chance to show his stuff if he had anything worth viewing. something about him rubbed him the wrong way, but damn if daniel could place what.
probably just my nerves about corbyn, daniel thought. last friday night had thrown his world off its axis.
"are you ever going to tell me how the meeting with casey barlow went? are we doing an exhibit for him?"
