Jennifer Labrecque - Daring in the Dark

It had been the photo shoot, the day he’d spent photographing Tawny, at Elliott’s request, that he knew he was deeply, irrevocably in love with her. He gripped the windowsill and rocked on the balls of his feet, looking inward instead of at the busy street outside. It was the only time he’d ever spent alone with her and he’d glimpsed something so sweet, so elusive, that to end that day had bordered on physical pain.

And she’d been a bloody cure for Elliott. He turned around to face Elliott, struggling for an even tone. “And was asking her to marry you part of the cure or did you consider yourself cured at that juncture? I’m a bit confused. Is this a twelve-step program?”

“Does it make you feel good to be such a sarcastic bastard?”

“Not particularly.” Simon felt a foreign urge to pound Elliott’s head against the cinnamon-colored wall. “You asked her to marry you when you knew you felt this way? When you knew you were attracted to men?”

Elliott colored at Simon’s censure. “But I’m also attracted to her. I thought if I threw myself into the relationship enough these feelings would go away.” He stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. He began to pace the room.

“But they didn’t and you cheated on Tawny?”

Elliott squared his shoulders defensively. “Just once. Last night. You know Richard, the acrylics painter we’re featuring? I’ve caught him looking at me, watching me a couple of times. Anyway, we were working late last night, shared a bottle of wine and one thing led to another.”

Perhaps this was one big mistake Elliott was blowing out of proportion through guilt. Elliott was also a bit of a dramatist, and guilt distorted the clearest picture, as Simon well knew. “Did you have too much wine? Were you drunk?”

His blue eyes solemn, Elliott shook his head. “No. That’d be an easy excuse. I wasn’t drunk. I was intrigued. I thought I’d try it and know for sure, one way or the other.” He scrubbed his hand over his forehead. “I liked it. I have feelings for Richard.”

Simon squelched a frown of distaste. This shouldn’t be any different than listening to Elliott talk about a woman. But it was. Vastly different. Simon held up a staying hand. “I neither want nor need details.”

“I wasn’t offering them. That was merely by way of clarification,” Elliott said, clearly put out. “I’ve got to tell Tawny. She deserves to know.”

“Bloody right she deserves to know.” The risks associated with homosexuality slammed him in the gut. Concern for both Tawny and Elliott sharpened his tone. “I hope you used a rubber.”

“Of course I did.” Elliott slumped into a chair and dropped his head onto the back. “That’s just one of the reasons I need to tell her. If we stay together—” that knife twisted in Simon’s gut “—she has to make an informed decision.”

“You like sex with Richard but you’re going to sleep with Tawny?” Simon said.

Elliott creased a sheet of paper between his fingers. “I love her. What’s not to love? She’s sexy, smart, warm and generous. But we’re not setting off any fireworks in the bedroom. I’m attracted to her, but it’s not as exciting as it is with Richard.”

Elliott had just handed him far more information on several fronts than he’d ever wanted. And he was driving Simon mad, fidgeting with that piece of paper. “Would you put the paper down?” Elliott shot him a look but tossed it onto the desk. “So you don’t want to break off the engagement?” Simon asked, his head beginning to throb from tension.

“I don’t know. She’s a great woman. I need some time to think. I guess whether we break off the engagement is up to her.” He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “This is going to be a hell of a conversation.” Elliott drew a deep breath and whooshed it out. “Come with me to tell her.”

“No.” This was between Elliott and Tawny. And talk about a conflict of interest. Simon wanted her, but not with a broken heart or as a rebound lover. However, she would be available if this went down the way he thought it would.

Elliott braced his hands on the desk and leaned toward Simon. “Please. I need you for moral support. This is going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

Elliott hated facing unpleasant tasks alone. From the time they’d met and become fast friends, he’d dragged Simon along to face teachers, professors, his parents. He’d always maintained Simon was stronger than he was. But for once Simon wasn’t being dragged into Elliott’s mess. This time his friend was flying solo.

He shook his head. “It’s private, Elliott.”

“You were there when I proposed,” Elliott argued.

Simon crossed his arms over his chest. “And if I had known you were going to propose, I wouldn’t have been.” Outgoing, give-me-an-audience Elliott had chosen a double date to propose. Simon recalled the agony that had ripped through him when Elliott had presented Tawny with a yellow-diamond engagement ring over dessert. Simon’s date, Lenore, had thought it quite romantic.

“This is a mess. I need you there when I tell her. I called her and asked to come over tonight after the gallery closes.” He stopped pacing and faced Simon, the length of the room separating them. “I told her you were coming, too.”

Simon squashed the adolescent urge to ask Elliott what she’d said about him coming round. He and Elliott had always supported each other. They’d always watched one another’s back. But he wasn’t sure if he could bear to see the hurt and betrayal on Tawny’s face. Nor did he have the right to witness that. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Please, Simon.”

But he hadn’t exactly been coming through for Elliott all the nights Simon had lain in his lonely bed and made love to Tawny in his head. His conscience smote him. He had no business going. He didn’t want to go. But he owed Elliott, whether Elliott knew it or not, for every licentious thought he’d ever had about Tawny. For all the times and all the ways he’d had her in his head.

Guilt did crazy things to men—left them agreeing to things they would otherwise run away from.

“Okay, I’ll go. But I’ll have to meet you there,” Simon said. He stood and picked up his equipment bag.

Elliott dropped into his chair, his relief evident. “Nine o’clock. Her place. Do you remember the way?”

He’d dropped her off once with Elliott. “Sure.” He shifted the camera bag to his shoulder and turned for the door.

“Simon…” Elliott said.

He turned again to face Elliott.

“You’re a good friend.”

Righto. He was a good friend to be obsessively, compulsively in love with his best friend’s woman.

TAWNY GLANCED AT THE CLOCK on her dresser. Fifteen minutes until Elliott and Simon arrived. She discarded her skirt on the closet floor and defiantly pulled on a pair of shorts. She’d gotten home from running errands and had plenty of time to shower and shave her legs. And now she was dithering about what to wear. As if it mattered.

Her fiancé and his best friend, the guy who disliked her intensely, were coming over with take-out Thai. After a year of living here, one of the things she still loved about New York was the variety of fabulous food within blocks, even if a Southern-girl transplant couldn’t find grits or sweet tea.

She looked over the clothes in her closet. It wasn’t as if they were going anywhere or she was looking to impress anyone. She picked up a faded T-shirt from her very first 5K run and promptly discarded it. Nah, Elliott had a thing about her dressing up, even if they were staying in. And even though she wasn’t entering a beauty contest, her Southern upbringing drew the line at having anyone over and wearing that.