and he had allowed himself to be taken in by a teenage rent boy. If the press found out, theyâd have a field day. There had already been several stories in the papers about his relationship with a man half his age. He would be a public laughingstock and Erica would probably disown him altogether. Promising himself that, this time, it was really over and Jesse was out of his life for good, he started the engine and eased back into the late-afternoon traffic.
Chapter Eight
A FORTNIGHT passed, filled with working late, microwave dinners for one, and sleepless nights. Two weeks of wondering where Jesse was, if he was okay. Fourteen days of resisting the urge to pick up the phone and ask. At least Erica was keeping her distance for the time being, no doubt still sulking over their argument. To begin with Antonio had tried calling, and even turned up at the office one lunchtime, but he had finally gotten the message and was giving Devon time and space to get his head straight.
Actually, Devon wasnât sure his head would ever be straight again. The truth was, he missed having Jesse around so much the pain was unbearable. He hadnât realized how much the damn kid had gotten under his skin until he wasnât there anymore. Part of him hoped Jesse was missing him, too, proving their relationship had been more than a convenient source of cash.
His big bed was suddenly a cold and lonely place. Devon lay there at night, his hand sneaking beneath the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, eyes closed, pretending it was Jesseâs fingers wrapped around his cock rather than his own. His hips lifted from the mattress as he thrust into the palm of his own hand, his breath coming in ragged gasps. In his mind, he could see Jesse rising above him, could
feel
his tightness, smell his cum.
On the bedside cabinet, Devonâs phone rang, the shrill tone interrupting his momentum. He managed a couple more strokes, but his need to climax had gone, along with his concentration. Cursing, he pulled his hand free and rolled over, reaching for the phone. The callerâs name flashed on the screen and he frowned. Why would Antonio be calling at two in the morning?
âWhat do you want, Antonio?â he asked gruffly, hoping Antonio would put his breathlessness down to being woken in the middle of the night rather than a desperate bout of masturbation.
âYour boyâs here. Come and get him or Iâm calling the police.â
Devon stared blankly at the phone as Antonio abruptly rang off. What the hell? It came to him in a flash of blinding clarity and he rolled out of bed in a panic. Antonio was talking about Jesse. His mind raced as he pulled on a pair of loose-fitting sweats over his pyjama pants and slipped trainers onto his bare feet. It made no sense for Jesse to be at Antonioâs house. Devon tugged a T-shirt over his head and headed for the door, grabbing his car keys from the top of the dresser. What the hell had happened to make Antonio even think about involving the police?
âEverything okay, Mr. Alexander?â the night security guard called out as he hurried through the foyer of the building.
Devon shook his head, not trusting himself to answer. He broke into a run as he crossed the underground garage to his car. Was he more worried about Jesse or Antonio? Damn it, Antonio, would it have been too much to take a minute to explain what was going on?
Twenty minutes later, he screeched to a halt in the photographerâs driveway and leapt from his car. Antonio met him at the door, wearing black silk pyjamas and a lurid red robe. He stepped back to allow Devon into the house and Devonâs eyes swept the marble-floored entrance hall before turning to Antonio with a scowl.
âWhat the fuck is going on?â he demanded. âWhere is he?â
âLittle shit showed up here drunk,â Antonio told him. âShouting and swearing at me for cancelling his shoot.â
âRight. And why did