Temporary Insanity: (Temporary; Paul and Indy #1) Page 11

  Tristan tapped his fingers against the edge of the desk. "While I realize that you're Dominic's friend and therefore concerned about him, you might want to go away and think about your methods for engineering this conversation when you could have picked the phone up. How long have you worked here?"

  I swallowed with difficulty; my mouth suddenly as dry as a desert. "Four years."

  Tristan nodded. "Do you like working here?"

  I knew exactly what he was getting at. I decided I might as well cut to the chase. "Are you going to fire me?"

  "I could."

  I knew he could. That was the problem. My parents might not think that working in a mailroom was the be all and end all, but it suited me down to the ground. It was fairly well paid, especially considering I spent about as much time avoiding work as I did actually doing it—particularly since my line manager had suffered a bout of recent ill health. "When will you... er... decide?"

  "Tomorrow."

  Fuck! I didn't want to lose my job. This day was getting shittier by the second. And that was before the party. I made one last-gasp attempt to claw some favor back with the man I'd just upset. "I'm really sorry for coming in here without even..." I lifted my hand and made a knocking motion. "It won't happen again. Promise."

  Tristan, to give him his due, didn't feel the need to point out that it was rather obvious it wouldn't happen again if I was no longer working there. I made a lunge for the door before I could dig myself an even deeper hole.

  Chapter Nine

  THE PARTY HAD BEEN in full swing for over an hour. After a brief—and unavoidable—round of hellos and how-are-yous, I'd managed to work my way over to the edge of the room, where I'd proceeded to wedge myself in the space between a huge plant and a piano. The plant made for excellent camouflage, meaning I was tucked away out of sight and left to drink my glass of champagne in peace. As for the piano, I had no idea why it was there. The annual Davenport party didn't usually include anything as crass as entertainment. So unless they'd dug Mozart up for a once-in-a-lifetime appearance, it was probably just pretentious decoration—which would go a long way to explaining why it was painted gold.

  I pulled at the collar of my shirt beneath my dinner jacket, wishing I could get away with removing the bow tie. At least then I might feel less as if I was being slowly strangled. But, oh-no, if Paul Davenport was seen at a formal get-together with anything less than a perfect appearance, it might cause some sort of scandal. I laughed at the thought, imagining the expression on the guests' faces if I lost the bow tie and jacket and unbuttoned my shirt to mid-chest. Some of them would probably suffer a bad case of the vapors. God! I hated these parties. Why did I keep doing this to myself year after year? Nothing ever changed, apart from the decorations. Everything else was the same. Same guests. Same food. Same speech. Even the damn venue barely changed from a choice of two or three swanky hotels.

  I took another gulp of my drink as I surveyed the room, searching for my family to check I hadn't been missed yet. My father and brother were over on the far side, networking with an older man who looked vaguely familiar. I searched through my memory banks for a name. Jonathan Rogers-Henderson, that was it. He was the chairman of a huge accounting firm who we'd done business with numerous times over the years.

  I gave myself a mental slap at the use of the pronoun, “we.” What the fuck! This was the kind of thing these parties did to me. They conned me into believing that I was a part of this world. If that was the case, I'd be out there schmoozing with the rest of them instead of hiding away in the corner trying to turn chameleon and blend in with the foliage.

  It took a little longer to locate my mother. She was with Iris Rogers-Henderson, the two of them chatting about God knows what, while their prospective husbands talked shop. My gaze continued to trail around the room. Just as I'd thought, the same old faces: family, employees, investors, members of the board.

  My breath stuttered in my chest as a group moved aside, leaving a clear view of the man stood behind them. There was no way. It couldn't be. I was seeing things. That was the only explanation. Except when I blinked, he was still there. Indigo. In the flesh. Wearing a dinner jacket much like my own. He was a million miles away from the man I was used to seeing over a bar or naked in my bed. Until you took a closer look, that was, and spotted the edge of the tattoo peeking out from the neck of his snow-white shirt, and the facial piercings.

  Oblivious to the fact that he was being watched, Indy was deep in conversation with a woman I recognized as my father's P.A. The most recent one anyway. He tended to go through them fairly quickly because there was usually only so long they tended to put up with his bullshit. And there was Dominic thinking he had it bad with Tristan. Although Tristan had nearly killed him, so I suppose you could argue he had a point.

  Thinking about Tristan served to remind me of the probability of being out of a job the next day. That was tomorrow's problem, though. Right now, I was more interested in finding out what Indigo was doing there. It was way too much of a coincidence, which raised the likelihood that he was there for me. Which if he was, it was really the wrong time and place for his bullshit, and as soon as I could get him alone, I was going to make sure he was fully aware of that fact.

  For the next ten minutes, I observed him like some sort of lurking stalker. Where at first I'd thought he seemed completely at home, the longer I watched him, the more I started to spot the signs of strain: the lines around his eyes, the way he gripped his champagne flute a little too tightly, the laugh that sounded a little too forced. It was miles away from the relaxed Indigo I was used to seeing.

  When he excused himself and headed for the exit that would take him to the restroom, I seized my opportunity. The initial plan had been to drag him behind the plant with me. I deviated at the last moment, realizing that a heated conversation behind a thin layer of greenery was hardly likely to go undetected. My father would never forgive me if I created some sort of scene. I'd probably end up disowned on the spot, and annoying as they might be, I wasn't quite ready to get to that point with my family yet.

  Instead, I followed Indy, waiting until we were out in the corridor with no one around before grabbing his elbow and hustling him into the restroom and straight into one of the stalls. I locked it behind us before turning to face him, my voice a quiet hiss in case the other stalls were occupied. "Are you stalking me?"

  I knew the answer even before he responded, just from the shock on his face. It was clear he hadn't expected to see me there and was still trying to process my presence. I shoved his shoulder, hoping the jolt would get him talking. "Well?"

  He smiled, recovering quickly from his surprise at seeing me. "Yes, Paul. I'm stalking you. I was sitting at home and I thought, what can I do tonight? Then an idea popped into my head, and I thought, I know... I'll get dressed up and I'll go to an exclusive venue which is invitation only, just in case Paul happens to be there. That's exactly how it went." He leaned his head back against the wall, the familiar grin appearing. "And now I've got you exactly where I want you. See how devious I am?"

  I let my gaze flit around the stall. "In a filthy toilet. Great. I didn't realize your fantasies were that twisted."

  Indy's eyebrow arched. "Filthy? Darling, this is the Dorchester. You could probably eat your dinner off the lid of that toilet. I bet someone comes in to clean it to within an inch of its life every thirty minutes." His gaze trailed down over my suited body. "You scrub up well, by the way."

  I returned the scrutiny even though I'd spent the last ten minutes watching him, trying to equate the Indy I was used to seeing with the formally dressed man in front of me. The dinner jacket looked designer, unless it was a good replica. I reached out, running the lapel through my fingers. But there was no mistaking the quality of the material. "You look..."

  He leaned forward as if hanging on my every word.

  I let my hand drop back to my side. "...passable."

  He nodded. "Passable! Rare praise indeed from the ma
n who's so good at pretending he doesn't like me."

  "Pretending!" I laughed loudly, or at least as loudly as I dared when I was hidden away in a stall wanting to remain undiscovered. "No pretense needed." I still hadn't gotten an answer as to what he was doing there if he wasn't following me. If he was trying to derail me from finding out, then he was going to be disappointed. "Why are you here?"

  Indy winked. "Why are you here?"

  I sighed. "Not from my own choice, that's for sure. If I could be anywhere else in the world, I would be. But upsetting my family's not worth it."

  Indy's brow furrowed. "And your family would be?"

  I reached around to massage the back of my neck. If he had a legitimate invite—and I couldn't think how he'd managed to get in if not—then he was going to find out before the evening was over anyway. That being the case I might as well just tell him. "The people throwing the party. That's why I'm forced to be here every year. Whether I like it or not. Because, you know... family scandal if I dared not to show my face."

  Indy's head tipped to the side. "Huh! Well, isn't that interesting."

  "Is it?"

  "Yeah!" His lips curled into a smile. "See! I told you we probably had an awful lot in common. I knew it would only be a matter of time before we discovered what it was. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Paul Davenport. I mean, I'm surprised. I always thought your father only had one son, but there you go."

  I scowled at him for the one-son comment. I was still playing catch-up, though, and I was far more interested in finding out who he was. "And you are?"

  Indy held his hand out with a sheepish expression. "Indigo Rogers-Henderson. Nice to meet you."

  I stared at him, making no move to take his hand. I assumed it was more of an ironic gesture anyway. We'd had our hands and tongues all over each other's bodies. It was a little late for a handshake, rhetorical or otherwise. "Jonathan and Iris Rogers-Henderson are your parents?"

  He nodded.

  "No way! You're making it up. They're old money. There's no way they'd ever call a child Indigo. And if they had, I would have remembered."

  He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression turning belligerent. "It's my middle name if you must know. Apparently, some throwback to a much-loved hippy aunt of my mum's. The best thing I ever did was throw a tantrum when I was six and demand to be called by it. Eventually they gave in and I've been Indigo ever since. And don't even think about asking me what my real first name is. I'm not going to tell you because, knowing you, you'd start calling me by it just to annoy me."

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket with a flourish. "I don't need you to tell me. Your father has a Wikipedia page. All the information I need is in the public domain."

  He made a grab for the phone but I turned around, blocking him with my back as I opened up Google. This evening was proving far more fun than I'd expected.

  "Fine. I'll tell you what it is."

  I turned back around, shaking my head as I continued to type his father's name into the search bar. "You'll probably make something up that's not as bad." Once the page had come up, I scanned the text, searching for the part where it detailed his father's family information, my head lifting to grin at him. "Archibald. Archibald Rogers-Henderson. Oh, that's so not a sexy name. I thought Indigo was a stupid name, but it suits you far more than Archibald. I mean..." I waved a hand at his face meant to illustrate the piercings. "Archibald wouldn't have tattoos and piercings. Speaking of which, and knowing what public figures your parents are, how the hell did you get them to agree to that? I'm surprised your mother's not coming after you with sticking plasters trying to cover them up."

  He shrugged. "It's a long story and one you wouldn't be particularly interested in. Let's just say that I grabbed my opportunity where I could and picked a time where they couldn't really kick up a fuss about it. That's when I managed to extricate myself from the family business as well. How about you? I'm surprised you don't work for your father."

  I rolled my eyes. "So's he. And he never misses an opportunity to tell me just how surprised and disappointed he is."

  "Like that, is it?"

  I nodded.

  Indy smiled. "I get it. They keep trying to pull me back in, but I've gotten good at digging my heels in. Life's too short to be stuck doing something that makes you miserable just because it's what your family wants."

  We really did have something in common. In fact, it was almost spooky how similar our backgrounds were. Both oldest sons according to Wikipedia. Both expected to work in their affluent family businesses. And both of us preferred much simpler lives where money wasn't our primary concern. It made me look at Indy in a completely different light. Which was dangerous. Empathy was all well and good, but I didn't want it clouding my judgement when it came to Indy, or who knew what might happen.

  He reached out, grabbing hold of my lapels, and pulling me toward him. "Come here."

  I let him drag me closer until our bodies were touching. "Why?"

  There'd been a constant stream of people entering and exiting the restroom. If any of them had found it strange that there were two men conversing in the stalls, no one had questioned it aloud. I just hoped that our voices weren't recognizable enough for anyone to report back to my parents.

  Indy lowered his voice. "I want to kiss you." He dragged me closer still, our lips only inches away.

  I leaned in until we were sharing breath, unable to resist teasing. "I've never kissed an Archibald before."

  He shoved me away. "Fuck you! Now you won't get to either."

  Laughing, I stepped forward, crowding him. I shouldn't be doing this. I should go back to the party. Only, that would be deadly boring. And time spent with Indy might be many things but boring wasn't one of them. "Can I call you Archie?"

  He shoved me again, but this time I was ready for it and dug my heels in so that I didn't move so much as an inch. He scowled at me. "No, you fucking can't. I can't even get you to call me Indy, so there's no way you're going to be that much of a dick and shorten that name."

  "Your name."

  His eyes narrowed. "Seriously! I have a complete sense of humor bypass when it comes to the name Archibald. Call me Indigo if you must, but not that." He fluttered his eyelashes, trying another tack. "Please." He leaned close to my ear, his voice husky. "If you promise not to call me Archibald, or Archie, I'll give you a blow job and you can come in my mouth this time."

  The air was suddenly sucked out of the room. We still hadn't gotten around to him fulfilling the promise he'd made on the first night we'd been together. I swallowed, trying to remember all the reasons I should turn him down. This would be the worst possible place. Worst possible time. I needed to say no. Tell him that we could meet after the party. Only, Indy was already dropping to his knees and I couldn't force the words out.

  He knelt in front of me, his fingers reaching for my zipper. The smile on his face grew even wider at the realization that I was already half hard. It probably wasn't going to take much more than him wrapping his hand around me to take me the rest of the way. My dick had zero self-control when it came to the green-eyed demon in front of me. He pulled the zipper down while tilting his head to look up at me. "So what name are you never going to use again?"

  I fumbled with my button, pushing both my trousers and underwear down at the same time to release my throbbing cock. "Archibald. I don't know any Archibalds. I've never met any Archibalds. I doubt I ever will meet any. Even if I do meet any, I'm going to call them something else. The word will never pass my lips again."

  He rose up slightly onto his knees, wrapping his hand around my cock as he brought his mouth to the perfect position and angle to take me in. "And what is my name?"

  "Indigo."

  He gave a visible wince. "I think... given our current position and considering how eager you are, you can do better than that." He blew out, the warm draft feathering over my erection and causing my balls to tighten.

  I slid my fingers into his hai
r, remembering how obliging he'd been last time. Would he let me fuck his mouth again? Logic said yes, seeing as it had only been me that had been drunk that time. The price of a name when you took the reward into consideration suddenly seemed ridiculous. What the hell did it matter? He might believe he'd won some sort of victory, but I was going to be the one who got to come in his mouth. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, concentrating on the sensation of his hand as it gently stroked my dick. "Indy."

  "Pardon."

  I shook my head, even though I had no idea whether he was looking up. He really was an annoying little shit. But that annoying little shit was about two breaths away from blowing me and taking me straight to heaven. He'd put the offer of an orgasm on the table and now it was all I could think about. There was no way I could go back to the party like this. I strained my ears to listen. No one had come in for the last few minutes, the exterior as silent as a grave. Therefore, there was no good reason not to do as he asked besides my own pigheadedness. I tugged on his hair, dragging him closer to my crotch, my hips moving forward. "Indy! Now, suck me."

  His other hand came up, his fingers fastening on my thigh to hold him steady, the other moving to grip the base of my cock. "Certainly, Mr. Davenport. Whatever you say. Any more requests, Mr. Davenport, before I begin and my mouth's too full to answer?"

  I cracked one eye open. "Yeah! My request is that you please don't call me Mr. Davenport. My dad's Mr. Davenport and he's the last person I want to be thinking about in the current situation."

  Indy laughed throatily. "Good point. By the way, I'm really glad you came tonight, and I'm going to be even happier when you come."

  I closed my eyes again. "You and me both." A thread of common sense managed to insert itself into my brain. "We've got to be quiet though. If someone comes in, works out who we are and what we're doing, my life won't be worth living. My dad will go ballistic."

  "Not sure if you're aware of it, but you're talking about your dad again."

  I gave an exasperated sigh. "Shut up and give me a blow job."