"Time to live dangerously. We're having pancakes." Tyler poured more mixture into the pan, and by accident onto the halogen hob, filling the kitchen with the smell of burning. He flipped the pan and Wilson ducked.

"Oh well done. One that didn't hit me or go onto the floor," Wilson said.

"The floor's clean. If you're worried, I'll eat those." He tipped another pancake onto a plate, popped it in the oven and poured in more mixture.

Haris smiled and took his usual seat at the table.

"Coffee, sir." Wilson put the cup in front of him. "I apologize if the taste is not quite up to standard. Your guest insisted on helping."

The emphasis Wilson placed on the last word made it clear what he thought about that. Tyler dropped a handful of cutlery onto the table and Wilson shuddered.

"Draw up a chair, Wilson," Tyler said. "There's plenty."

"That would be most inappropriate. I always have my breakfast after-"

"Sit," Haris said.

Tyler carried over three plates, balancing one on his forearm, and Wilson gave a quiet whimper as he sat down. The plates had cost a fortune but Haris liked their clean simplicity. Haris looked from Wilson's unhappy face to Tyler's happy one, now with flour smudging his cheeks, and sighed. They were just going to have to get used to each other. It was only four months after all.

Haris poured a tablespoon of maple syrup onto his pancakes and handed the bottle to Wilson who took about the same. Tyler upended the bottle over his plate and let the liquid ooze out until his three pancakes almost floated in a light brown viscous sea.

"Sure you have enough?" Haris asked.

"I can always add more." Tyler grinned.

The pancakes weren't bad and Haris was touched Tyler had bothered. He hid his smile when he saw how quickly Wilson ate his.

"Want some more?" Tyler asked. "There's plenty of flour and eggs."

"Really? I'm most surprised." Wilson stared pointedly at the floor.

"I'll clean up."

"No, no, no. It will be my absolute delight to return the kitchen to its usual pristine state. It should only take me about five hours, a.s.suming my back doesn't seize up which it is p.r.o.ne to do, but every moment spent cleaning I'll be remembering the wonder of these most excellent pancakes and the taste of the...er...coffee, and making a note that I need to buy more eggs, flour and maple syrup at the supermarket. Perhaps two bottles of the syrup."

Tyler laughed. "Sorry I made a mess. I'll sort it out."

"Really I must insist I be allowed to do it on my own."

"But I'd feel terrible leaving you to do it all."

Wilson cast Haris a despairing look.

"Wilson will enjoy doing it, Tyler. Let it go."

"Okay, okay. Thank you," Tyler said. "Can you both shut your eyes a minute?"

"Why?" Haris asked.

"I want to lick my plate. I've never had real maple syrup. I don't want to waste a drop."

Wilson's mouth fell open again.

Haris smiled. "If you want to lick your plate, lick your plate."

Tyler stared straight at him as he put out his tongue and lapped up the smears of syrup. Haris's c.o.c.k decided it needed to watch too and pressed against his zipper. Oh Christ.

Wilson began to clear the table. "May I enquire about your plans for the day, sir?"

I'm going to take Tyler straight back to bed. "We're going shopping. We'll travel by Tube and you can collect us later."

"As you wish, sir. Umm, there's something I need to bring to your attention. The unusual situation we seem to have recently found ourselves in on a number of occasions whilst out in the car, even though you and I are not of the same mind about the veracity of the incidents, occurred again last night."

Sometimes he didn't understand Wilson at all.

"I'll need more detail," Haris said. "Alternatively, go for a maximum of five words." Not that he thought that possible.

Wilson glanced at Tyler.

"Tyler, you want to go and wash the flour off your face?"

"Sure." He pushed back from the table and left the kitchen.

Wilson fidgeted. "I didn't want to say in front of the young man, sir, but I believe we were followed again last night. The white Fiat."

Haris frowned. Curious. Wilson's clear concern made him wonder if he should have taken this more seriously.

"Do we need to inform the authorities?" Wilson asked.

And have them laugh in his face? "We have no proof, no license plate, no motive."

Although coming up with a motive wouldn't be difficult. An investor who'd lost money and blamed him, someone sent by his father or one of his brothers to check up on him, some random guy he'd p.i.s.sed off without realizing. Though it was crazy to be going for the unlikely when there were at least two people who hated him. Haris swallowed hard. Or it could be no one at all. Just Wilson's James Bond complex.

"Tell me if you spot the car again."

"Of course, sir."

"Tyler will be moving in."

Wilson didn't blink.

"I'll ask him not to cook," Haris added.

"Thank you, sir. As always, you are a paragon of wisdom."

No, he wasn't. If he had been, he'd have stayed as far away from Tyler as he could. As it was, the guy lay naked on the bed when he got upstairs and their shopping trip was a little delayed.

Shopping for clothes for Tyler was supposed to have been a pleasurable experience but it quickly became clear Tyler was not enjoying himself. Haris sat in a comfortable chair in the men's department of Harrods, trying not to drool at a man who looked drop-dead gorgeous in everything he tried on, particularly the tux. The fantasy of dragging Tyler into the changing room and f.u.c.king him kept his c.o.c.k entertained for quite a while. The a.s.sistant had fallen into l.u.s.t with Tyler as well and asked him if he was a model. Tyler had rolled his eyes, but why not? Tall and slender with a bad-boy sultry look on his face, he'd grace the pages of any fashion magazine.

"Shoes now," Haris said after he'd received back his black Amex card and a curt "thanks" from Tyler.

Tyler trudged after him, wearing a new dark blue pea coat, a blue Fair Isle sweater and gray jeans, his own clothes in bags.

Finally, Haris could stand it no longer. He spun round and Tyler walked into him.

"What the h.e.l.l's the matter?" Haris snapped.

"Nothing."

He raised one eyebrow.

Tyler squirmed. "I don't feel comfortable."

"Really?" He bit back the comment that he'd just spent a couple of thousand pounds buying him something decent to wear and he ought to be b.l.o.o.d.y grateful.

"I could have gone to Top Shop or Primark and picked up some new gear," Tyler said.

"I don't want you in clothes from there. This is part of the arrangement, remember?"

Tyler's mouth tightened into a thin line. "Yes. Sorry. Thanks very much."

How to say thank you and not mean it. Haris chewed the inside of his cheeks and carried on walking. "We'll get you a few pairs of shoes, then I'll call Wilson and we can go to your flat and pick up your things."

"Oh f.u.c.k."

"What now?" he snapped and turned to see Tyler staring at a good-looking blond guy hurrying toward them, a big smile on his face. The a.s.sistant flung his arms around Tyler which didn't please Haris and didn't appear to please Tyler either who wriggled out of his grasp.

"What are you doing in here?" asked the blond. "Wow, you look great. I like your coat and your sweater. Don't tell me you bought them in Harrods? I could have got you a discount. No wonder you've got no m-"

"Shut up, Jeremy." Tyler sighed and turned. "This is my...friend Jeremy. Jeremy this is Haris."

Jeremy offered his hand and Haris didn't feel the slightest bit guilty when he squeezed too hard. Jeremy flinched and edged closer to Tyler.

"Are you okay?" the blond whispered but not so quietly that Haris didn't hear.

"Fine. I need shoes. Apparently."

"I know exactly what would suit you."

Did he indeed? What the h.e.l.l was that niggle in his gut? Jealousy? More likely to be the effects of those pancakes. He sat and watched Jeremy fawn over Tyler. Tyler was perfectly ent.i.tled to have friends, but he couldn't help wondering exactly what sort of friend Jeremy was. An ex? A not so ex? Tyler had told him he wasn't involved with anyone but Jeremy looked as though he wanted to be involved. Did he really need to hold Tyler's foot like that? Was he stroking his calf? f.u.c.k. He didn't want to be jealous.

Haris sprang to his feet. "We need to go."

"Which ones do you want to take?" Jeremy stood up in a sea of open boxes and tissue paper waves.

"Those, those and those." Haris pointed them out and headed for the till.

"See you tonight," Jeremy whispered and Haris almost tripped.

"I'm not going."

"Really? Does Prescott know?"

"Not yet. I'll call him. You shouldn't go either."

What the h.e.l.l were they talking about?

"We've already had this discussion. So what changed?"

"Me. I changed." Tyler sighed. "If you do go, be careful of Gerald. Don't catch his eye."

"What? Not even if he throws it?"

"I'm serious, and don't tell Prescott you've seen me since Wednesday."

"Okay. Maybe you could come round to my place tomorrow. I could cook breakfast again."

Haris heard the hope in the guy's voice and ice formed in his lungs. So they had been a pair.

"No, I can't do that. I'm...busy. Don't take any chances. Remember what I said."

Haris was desperate to know what they were talking about but he refused to ask. He paid for the shoes and then took out his phone. "Wilson."

"Your timing is impeccable as always, sir. I had just finished cleaning the kitchen, feeling quite amazed how flour manages to get into so many places and had finally found a moment to rest my weary limbs and drink a cup of tea. I a.s.sume you require me to collect you?"

"One hour, outside Harrods." He turned to Tyler. "Follow me."

d.a.m.n, I snapped that.

"Yes, master," Tyler said and Haris winced.

He thought about leading Tyler to the champagne bar on the first floor but the mood they were in, it would be a waste. Instead he took him to Caffe Florian on the third floor. He kept telling himself not to ask about Jeremy, though the question bubbled in his head.

Tyler stacked the bags under their stools. "I'm just going to nip to the loo."

"What do you want to eat?"

"You choose. I don't mind."

As Tyler walked away, Haris wondered if he'd come back.

The moment he was out of sight, Tyler took out his phone. He scrolled for Prescott's number and then hesitated. He didn't want to go tonight, but did he want to stay with Haris? The guy had given him one night to make up his mind, but he'd just a.s.sumed Tyler would go along with it and bought him all this expensive gear. And I let him. He'd tried to point out he could have gone somewhere cheaper and Haris bulldozed over him. It wasn't that he didn't like the clothes, he did, it was just that the more expensive they were, the cheaper they made him feel. How crazy was that?

Four months wasn't a lifetime and it didn't look like Haris even expected him to spend the night in his bed. I'm not good enough for that? Did it have anything to do with those scars on his back? Someone had obviously hurt him. Maybe this all came down to trust. Tyler knew how that felt. The bottom line was where would he rather be? With moody, damaged Haris or in Prescott's talon-like clutches?

He made the call. Before it went through, he cancelled it and texted.

Won't be coming tonight or ever again. We're done.