He scowled. "I know what exclusively means. That apply to you too?"

Haris nodded. "Yes, of course."

"What else?"

"You live with me, eat with me, spend your evenings with me. You can have your own room. Unless you have college commitments, I expect you to be available to accompany me to business events and take occasional trips abroad. We'll spend Christmas and New Year together."

Tyler leaned back in his chair and laughed. "You want to skip the going out on dates, getting to know you bit and move straight into living together?"

"Yes." Because I have to have you now and one night won't be enough.

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."

Not as crazy as I feel about you. I can't let you go. I have to tie you to me.

Tyler's lips curved in a smile and Haris understood he couldn't keep a guy like him. Tyler was wild and beautiful, and he'd get bored and want to leave, unless Haris made him an offer he couldn't refuse.

"I'm prepared to pay you twenty thousand pounds to be mine for four months."

Tyler's chair banged on the floor and his hand clattered onto the edge of his plate almost knocking it off the table. "That's a business deal, not a relationship."

Haris wet his lips. He was glad Tyler had grasped that. "Exactly. I'll provide another ten to buy clothes and shoes. You'll need a few smart suits, a tux, ski gear."

He could have sworn Tyler's eyes darkened.

"You want to pay me to have s.e.x with you."

Yes. No. Oh G.o.d. "I want to pay you to live with me for four months."

"And have s.e.x."

"Yes." His c.o.c.k was about to break his zipper.

"What sort of s.e.x?" Tyler furrowed his brow.

"You want me to detail it?" Haris swallowed hard.

"I won't do anything I don't want to," Tyler said.

"Okay."

"You haven't even asked me what that is."

"I don't need to. I don't want to do anything to you that you don't want. That's not my thing."

"But complete control is?"

I'm paying you so that I can trust you. "I want someone to come home to, someone to have fun with, someone who likes me back. I thought that might be you."

"You want to pay to f.u.c.k me."

"If that was true, why would I ask you to live with me? I could just arrange to meet you and pay you to stick your a.r.s.e in the air."

"If I live with you, I'm conveniently available when you're h.o.r.n.y. Saves you having to leave the house."

This wasn't going right but Tyler had neither stormed out, nor refused, only argued. Haris took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "It's a simple arrangement from which we both benefit. My lawyer can draw up a contract. It's better like that so we both know exactly where we stand."

Tyler snapped his finger against his wrist. "I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered."

Haris pulled out a business card and set it on the table. "You don't need to be either." Yet it was true. He was both insulting and flattering Tyler. This was the worst idea in the world.

"I don't expect you to answer now." Because I can't sit here and listen to you say no. "Think about it. I'll be at the OXO Tower restaurant tomorrow night. Seven thirty."

"What makes you think I'm the sort of guy who'd f.u.c.k someone for money?" Tyler's jaw twitched.

"That's not the way I see you." Liar. "That's not what I want." More lies?

"But you're offering to pay me. What do you get out of it?"

"I'm paying for your time, your exclusivity, your undivided attention. I'm a busy guy. I know what I want and I want you. Though I'm prepared to share you with your music."

His attempt at a joke fell flat.

"Four months." Tyler chewed his lip and Haris longed to soothe it with his tongue.

"Then we walk away from each other." By then, he'd have worked Tyler out of his system. By then, he'd know whether he could sustain a relationship. By then, he'd know if something was permanently broken inside him.

"You don't even know me," Tyler whispered. "I don't understand. Why so much money? Why four months? Why me?"

Haris could only answer the last. "Because you make me feel..." Oh G.o.d, add a word other than desperate or protective, "...irresponsible. If you want to earn twenty thousand, meet me tomorrow."

He tossed a twenty-pound note on the table and left before Tyler could turn him down or he kept talking and made matters worse. He didn't think about which direction he was heading, he just didn't want to stop walking because if he did, his brain might catch up with his mouth and he'd wonder what the h.e.l.l he'd just done.

Too late. Christ.

He knew what he'd done and why he'd done it. He wanted to make Tyler an offer he couldn't afford to turn down. He wanted to save Tyler because he hadn't saved Karl. It didn't matter that Tyler wasn't into the BDSM scene. Last night, he had been and if he was desperate for money, he'd get sucked in. But he didn't just want to save Tyler, he wanted him in his bed.

When he took in the glazed dome that sat above the foot tunnel running under the Thames, Haris ignored the lift and walked down the hundred or so steps that led him fifty feet beneath the river. He made his way along the tiled tunnel, up the stairs on the other side, and emerged into the Isle of Dogs. Ten minutes later he was in his office with a list of calls he needed to make, a list of people he needed to see and enough work to stop him thinking about what a fool he'd just made of himself.

Almost, but not quite. Not so easy to get Tyler out of his head. But the more he thought about what he'd done, the more sense it made. They'd both get exactly what they needed.

Tyler wasn't easily shocked but f.u.c.king h.e.l.l. He stared at the door of the cafe and watched Haris walk away. Thirty thousand pounds? Minus the cost of a few items of clothing. He didn't need to spend ten thousand on clothes. He picked up the brownie Haris hadn't touched and bit into it. Tyler had a vague feeling he ought to be p.i.s.sed off by the offer, but since he was already accepting money for guys to do more or less what they wanted to his body, acting annoyed would be a touch hypocritical. What he found insulting was Haris thinking him that sort of guy, someone who could be bought.

Though...I am. Maybe Haris could see that, maybe it was written all over him. Was it really a straight forward business deal or something else? Tyler sagged. What else could it be? Haris had offered to pay him to be his f.u.c.k buddy and in doing so, had solved most of his problems. The thirty thousand would eat up a huge chunk of his debt and leave a manageable amount by the time he graduated. There was no need to go anywhere near Prescott ever again. A thought that made him feel happier than he had in a long time. No more sucking off guys he didn't know. No more threesomes, foursomes. No more Gerald.

But he knew nothing about Haris. At least he knew Prescott was an a.s.shole and Gerald was a s.a.d.i.s.t. What if Haris was worse? What if he had some weird kink and was into p.e.n.i.s plugs or sounds or fisting? One ray of light was that Haris had only been at the BDSM event because he'd followed him, unless he'd lied, and he might have. Although, if he hadn't been there and Lu had left that ball gag in place... The brownie stuck in his throat and he took the final mouthful of coffee to wash it down.

What was the risk? Haris was offering a business deal, not undying love. A contract for four months and he could walk away with almost all the money he needed. One man to please. A man who already pleased him. How could he turn it down? Tyler twisted Haris's card in his fingers all the way back to college.

Chapter Six.

Tyler had taken a lot of pains with his appearance, though he'd not made a good job of getting the creases out of his shirt. Before he left his room, he planted himself in front of the mirror and practiced his smile. He was so pale he looked like a vampire. s.h.i.t. But maybe that was what Haris liked about him.

He tugged at the bright red tie around his neck most of the way to the OXO tower. He wasn't used to wearing one. He'd bought it for fifty pence from a charity shop. Maybe the restaurant didn't require diners to wear a tie but he didn't want to take the chance.

Now he stood at the foot of the building, wondering if Haris would change his mind once they'd f.u.c.ked. Tyler wasn't a thirty thousand pound lay. Not that anyone had ever complained but... Oh Christ. Four months, around sixteen weeks, f.u.c.king maybe six times a week-and did it count how many times a night they came? Whether he f.u.c.ked Haris or the other way around?-so almost a hundred times over the four months would make it three hundred quid a f.u.c.k. If his math was right. Was he a three hundred pound lay? He could be.

He took the elevator to the restaurant before he could change his mind, wondering if Haris was even there, if this was some whacked joke. Tyler suspected the restaurant staff would spot he was an intruder the moment he walked in-penniless Joe alert-but they took his scuffed leather jacket and showed him to a table by the window where Haris sat staring out at the city. The instant ache in Tyler's gut almost alarmed him. Haris turned before Tyler reached him, maybe he'd seen his reflection, and as he stood, his face lit in a smile that uncurled Tyler's c.o.c.k.

"Are you staying?" Haris asked quietly.

An image of wild horses trying to drag him out filled his head. "Depends. Is the food any good?"

He chuckled. "Why don't you try it and tell me what you think?"

Tyler sat down. As Haris dropped back into his seat, their legs touched under the table. A flash of heat shot to Tyler's groin and set fire to his hardening d.i.c.k. No point denying he really fancied the man. Maybe it would have been easier if he was less attracted.

"I like the tie," Haris said.

Haris wore an open necked white shirt. Tyler sighed and pulled at the knot on his stupid cheap red piece of c.r.a.p.

"Leave it," Haris said. "It's s.e.xy. Particularly part undone like that." He grinned. "What do you want to drink? Champagne?"

Tyler had been hoping for beer. "Okay."

Haris lifted his hand and like a magician's trick, a waiter appeared with a bottle, an ice bucket on a stand and two gla.s.ses.

"What would you have done if I hadn't come?" Tyler asked.

"Drunk the bottle on my own, ended up with a vile hangover and wondered if there was a way to turn back time."

Tyler buried his face in the menu and smiled.

"Is there anything you can't eat?" Haris asked.

"Not much. I had that kicked out of me when I was a kid. If I didn't eat the slop de jour, it turned up on the plate at the next meal, and the next, until I did eat it. I once went three days without food." Oh d.a.m.n. Too much information.

"What was it you wouldn't eat?"

"Liver. Can you imagine what that was like after three days? Shoe leather. After I'd finally given in, I put my fingers down my throat and threw up all over the carpet. Then the dog ate it." He sn.i.g.g.e.red.

Haris smiled. "Want a starter?"

Tyler tried not to gulp at the prices. He could feed himself for a week on the cost of one dish. "Not really. Not that hungry." Which was a lie. He closed the menu. "I'd like the fillet steak with the gnocchi and whatever the h.e.l.l Scottish girolles are."

"Mushrooms," Haris said.

Of course he f.u.c.king knew. Tyler tucked his feet under his chair. The chasm between them yawned wider.

"How would you like the steak cooked, sir?" asked the hovering waiter.

"Burned."

Haris raised his eyebrows. "I'll have the sea ba.s.s. Not burned."

Tyler glanced around. "Nice place. Great view."

Haris stared straight at him. "Yep, the view's great. So were your parents strict?"

"No." He curled his fingers around the stem of his champagne flute and felt a familiar lump forming in his throat. He'd only been making conversation, but he should have never opened that particular door.

"Who made you clean your plate?"

"People who weren't my parents."

"Who then?"

"Not my mum and dad." Don't push me.

Haris sighed. "Can't we talk about you?"

Tyler leaned forward and kept his voice low. "You're buying my body, not my f.u.c.king personal life."

"I've touched a nerve. I'm sorry." Haris didn't take his gaze off him. "I don't want you to do anything or tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable. I just...I thought... I wanted to get to know you."

And for some unaccountable reason, Tyler now wanted to talk to him, to tell him some of it at least, to make him see why he was the way he was, p.r.i.c.kly and awkward and f.u.c.ked up. If he was going to live with Haris for four months, he had to open up a little. "My parents died when I was seven."

"Oh G.o.d. I'm sorry. That must have been hard."

"Yeah, well, I went into care, lived with a lot of other f.u.c.ked up little kids, and we f.u.c.ked up each other even more."

"You weren't fostered or put up for adoption?"

"I was fostered a few times but it never lasted long."

"Why not?"

Tyler swallowed hard. He had to be careful not to let everything spill into the light. "I didn't want it to. Couples picked me because I looked cuter than the other boys, but it didn't take long before they saw what was under the surface and sent me back. They wanted a boy who didn't wet the bed, did as he was told, spoke to them politely, ate what he was given and didn't puke it up for the dog."

"I hope you don't still wet the bed."

Tyler gaped at him and then laughed. "Yeah, I do but not like that."