Chapter 1

All I can say is, that Sunday wasn’t a dark and stormy night. Far from it.

In fact, the autumn air was cool and dry, and the wind had settled into a gentle breeze through my bedroom window. It was around midnight, and I’d huddled up in bed after a hot shower, reading what the papers had laughingly called “a good book,” but which was boring me slowly to sleep.

Maybe I should have been out clubbing, visiting friends, going to the movies. Something that twenty-year-old single men like to do, gay or not. After all, I was a sociable guy, right? I joked around at work, I chatted with the girls on reception, I bought cakes on colleagues’ birthdays, I enjoyed the scandals from the latest TV reality shows.

But when I went home to my own place, that was just what it was—mine—and I was happy with that. I liked company and dating, don’t get me wrong. But there wasn’t a hell of a lot of point to it when I hadn’t met anyone I really wanted for a very long time. My recent social life consisted of a few fun parties and a couple of casual relationships. But never anything that lasted.

Did I say I was happy with that? Well, I was, more or lessEnough of the navel-gazing. I yawned and wriggled down in the bed to get even cosier.

And then he was there.

A man, standing at the foot of my bed. Smiling at me.

My heart hammered, and for a second I couldn’t speak past the lump in my throat. I darted a glance at the bedroom door. It was closed. So was the window, apart from the thin opening at the top to let in the fresh air. How the hell had he got into my second-floor flat, let alone my bedroom?

Perhaps I was hallucinating. The cheese on toast I’d had for supper had been pretty pungent. Would pulling the duvet over my head look too weird? Well, no weirder than an uninvited man suddenly invading my personal space. And smiling at me.

“Hi,” he said. He wasn’t flirtatious, like someone trying to pick me up in a bar. His smile wasn’t predatory. It was…warm with familiarity. Had to say, it was having a very warming effect on me. He was tall and lean, his dark hair tousled and his chocolate-brown eyes gazing at me as I clumsily pulled myself to sitting. He was wearing a smart dress shirt with a pale stripe, and suit trousers that were creased at the tops of his legs as if he’d been in them all day at a desk. No necktie, and the top button of his shirt undone. The clothes didn’t hide the shape of a very fit body, or the confident way he held himself. He was good-looking in that haven’t-noticed-it-myself way that some self-assured men have. Supergood-looking. And despite the suddenness of his appearance, he seemed perfectly relaxed, his arms by his sides.

“Hi there, gorgeous,” he said.

I blinked hard. I knew how I must look—tousled hair, hadn’t bothered shaving that second time before bed. I was wearing my favourite “Joe Internet” T-shirt, with ingrained tomato sauce stains on the misshaped hem, over a rather old pair of striped boxers. To say nothing of my Disney sleep socks, which thankfully were hidden under the sheets. “Um…hi.”

His eyes narrowed, though he was still smiling. “What’s up? I know I’m late, but I couldn’t call you.” For a moment, he looked puzzled. “I can’t recall the reason. Anyway, I’m sorry.”

I just stared. I was waiting for the Twilight Zonetheme to stop playing in my head. “Um. It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” He rubbed a hand across his eyes and peered around the room. “I’m not sure what time it is, I’m afraid. Did I wake you?”

I shook my head. This was bizarre, but no point in antagonising him further.

“Good.” He looked reassured. “We both need our sleep, we have a long week ahead of us. There’s a hell of a lot of preparation to do for the Sherringham presentation. Much as I like you bringing me my morning cup of green tea, I’d better pass on it tomorrow. Need to get in early to the office.” He must have noticed my mouth hanging open because he frowned and took a step toward me. “Kevin? Is something else wrong?”

I shook my head again, feeling like one of those dogs on the back shelf of a car. “No. No problem. Um…” Inspired conversationalist, that was me. “‘Night, then.”

He smiled again. “Good night.”

And he came right over to the bed and put his hand on the coverlet, as if to turn it down. On the other side of the bed. The empty side. The one beside me

I think I might have yelped because his head jerked back up. I know I pulled the sheet up to my chest like some virginal heroine in a romance novel.