“What? Doing what?”
“Being rude.”
“I wasn’t, was I?” I stared Steven out, willed him to look me in the eyes and cocked my head. Wished the tea was something a bit stronger than even beer. Christ, I need a stiff one.
And I ended up choking on the damn tea.
“Hey. I’m Steven Kenton.” He held out his hand. I guessed I was supposed to shake it or something. Then I wondered what his hand would be like wrapped around my—
“Fuck.”
“What?” Gary frowned. “Something wrong?”
“Tea. Hot.” I cleared my throat. “Nice meeting you, Steven.” I backed off a step but neither of them made a move to shove off.
“Gary’s just been telling me about the spare room.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not this one. You’ll find it just across the hall, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to—”
“Where are the other six?”
“Sorry, what?” The little bastard had interrupted me. Okay, not so little. My height. Bit more slender. Curly black hair I reckoned would look fucking sensational wrapped around my fingers and, oh God, I really needed a date with someone other than Mrs Palmer and her five lovely daughters.
Still, having a housemate that good-looking meant I’d be getting a lot more exercise in the coming— literally—weeks.
Use your left too, Blackman, balance out the muscle definition in your biceps.
“You know. Doc, Happy, Sleepy, Bashful, Sneezy and Dopey.”
“What?” I thought for a moment, went through the list in my head. My mind wandered away from his thick black brows and my speculations on how they’d look knitting together in a frown right before he— “Wait a minute, did you just call me…? You cheeky bastard.”
He burst out laughing, Gary restraining himself to a quiet snigger. Steven’s eyes crinkled up at the corners when he laughed and I hated noticing how gorgeous his mouth was when he smiled. It made me want to stick my cock in it. That’d soon shut up the cheeky fucker.
“Look, I’ve got work to do, so go have a look round the house. If you like it, fine. Sign the lease. I’m more—”
“Don’t you want to check me out?” Steven asked.
I already am. “I beg your pardon?”
“I mean, you don’t know who I am, or anything important, do you?”
“Hasn’t Gary already talked to you about this?”
“Yeah, but both of you guys have to agree, right? I could be a serial killer moving into your house.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Got a good job? Money to pay the rent?”
“Yeah.”
“Criminal record?”
“Does Wham’s Greatest Hits count?”
I blinked. Please, God, let him be gay. No, let him be straight. Then I won’t spend my nights fantasising about what he’s like in bed. Top, I’d put my shirt on it. If I was wearing one.
“As long as you don’t play it too loud when I’m trying to sleep.”
“Or work?” he shot back. “Important job, is it?”
“He’s a computer nerd,” Gary said.
“Programmer.”
“Which means he’s responsible for all the gadgets lying around the house. His dominion. It makes him feel important.”
“You write games, then?”
“I test them sometimes. Mostly it’s boring accounts software and shit like that.” I scowled. Back to being Grumpy, the missing seventh again. “Speaking of which…?”
“Oh. Right.” Steven took a step back, thank God. His proximity wasn’t doing much for my blood pressure and I just hoped the imminent boner wouldn’t show itself until the door was closed and I had my cock in one hand and a bunch of Kleenex in the other.
“Right, thank you for that, Mr Interested. I’ll go give Steven the tour, then, shall I?”
“You do that. Thanks for the tea.” I winked at Gary. “Bring a biscuit next time, though, eh? Bye.” I shut the door, but slowly, and not before noticing the quick down-up sweep of Steven’s eyes.
Their voices faded as they crossed the hall, and I leaned my forehead against the back of my door, clutching the tea mug like it was a lifeline.
Man, I am so fucking screwed.
Chapter Three
“Are we gonna have a housewarming party then, or what?” Steven reached over his head and held onto the settee back with one hand, the other resting in his lap. And I definitely didn't look.
Much.
What I did do was ignore the hint of treasure trail as his waistband shifted and stop halfway across the living room floor, panic flaring in the pit of my stomach like desire gone horribly wrong. I clutched two beer bottles between the fingers of one hand and with the other, held a third halfway to my lips. “What?”
Gary, beside Steven on the settee, shrugged. “I don't see why we can't have a few people round.” He puffed out a breath, ruffling a perspiration-dampened fringe. Steven had had more boxes and bags to bring upstairs than expected. I'd arrived home as the worst of the work was done and for that, had been very grateful. Not out of selfishness—well, not entirely. But it would have been hard to cope with the sight of Steven's arms shifting boxes in that grey vest he wore.
He had tattoos and I was in so, so much trouble.
Avoiding him for an hour or two on moving day had been easy enough—I'd made the excuse that I was going to the local supermarket for supplies. Beer, pizza and the like. I'd have to pull off a monumental anti-social act if I was going to avoid him until my feelings died down. No, not feelings. Painful hard-on. Could take a while. So I'd picked up extra Kleenex while at the shops.
“I was only joking you.” Steven leant forward, the switch from reclining to erect— oh, Goddamn it, Kit, why did you have to think of that word? —lending him a kinetic air, the feel of
