Nothing came to mind. No words. No thoughts.
None except the stark irony that the only correct assumption he’d made about the man in front of him was the existence of his fucking beard.
3
Sid’s heart was beating too fast. Too hard. Logic told him it was the injection he’d given himself that morning after forgetting to do it the night before so he could sleep through the side effects.Blame the drugs. But the rest of his body was telling a different story, inside and out, from his hyper-awareness of every facet of Dante Pope’s beautiful face to the hot blood in his veins rushing south.
Yeah. It was happening again. One glimpse of this dude and Sid’s unreliable cock was apparently reborn.Yay me.
He stepped back from the tall streak of loveliness in front of him and took stock of his animated form. His messy hair, masculine jaw, and strong shoulders. And those lips. Fuck. The grainy photograph hadn’t even begun to do them justice. Sid’s fingers itched to trace them. Or maybe it was the Copaxone.Blame the drugs, blame the drugs, blame the drugs. Either way, there was no denying the hypnotic quality to Dante Pope’s hazel eyes. They were liquid caramel. Warm honey. And every other ridiculous edible comparison Sid could think of. Because that’s what this man was: edible.
And silent.
Sid cleared his throat. “So... did Benjamin show you the accommodation?”
Dante nodded.
“And you got settled in?”
“Yep.”
“Did he show you around the rest of the grounds?”
“Only the bits I’m allowed in.”
Dante spoke without inflection, unlike Benjamin that morning as he’d read Sid the riot act about keeping an eye on the assistant he’d never fucking asked for. The assistant Sid had somehow found himself defending.
“Don’t judge someone you haven’t met. You don’t know his story, and even if you do, if you can’t see past where he came from, you shouldn’t have brought him here in the first place.”
“I do know his story, Sid. That’s why I’m worried.”
“You don’t know shit except the three paragraphs the prison sent you. That doesn’t make an entire human.”
“You haven’t read those paragraphs. I can—”
“Fuck no. Not unless you’ve given him chapter and verse on everyone else. It’s not fair.”
Or maybe it was. Maybe Dante Pope was a serial killer and he was going to murder Sid with a roll of garden twine. Either way, he was here now, and he belonged to Sid.
Down boy.
In the distance, the bell rang for staff lunch, reminding Sid that the rest of the world existed. He pointed back the way Dante had come. “Come on. Let’s eat. Then I’ll show you around the good bits Benjamin probably missed.”
Dante nodded, adding nothing to the handful of words he’d said so far. Sid waited a beat, then set off for the path back to the greenhouses. Or, at least, he tried. On the first attempt, his left leg didn’t move, caught in a burning spasm that shot from his tingling toes to his irritable sciatic nerve.
Sid cringed, biting back a curse. Low-key pain was his constant companion, but dealing with the violent sparks that hit without warning was still a work in progress.Come on, come on, come on. He bit his lip and forced his delinquent leg forward, dragging his foot through the dirt until his gait returned to something close to normal. The entire process took less than five seconds but was so exquisitely excruciating it was all Sid could do not to cry.
Only Taurean stubbornness kept his eyes dry. That, and his tenuous pride, not that Dante seemed to have noticed the meltdown going on beside him. He kept his gaze ahead and walked slowly, as if he had all the time in the world to reach wherever Sid was taking him and he didn’t much care if they took it all to get there.
Sid pulled himself together and reclaimed his equilibrium. He picked up the pace a little and pointed to the renovated barn that served as the staff area. “We eat in there, breakfast and lunch. Did Benjamin tell you that?”
“Yep.”
“Did he tell you it’s free so you can eat as much as you like?”
“No.”
“Well, it is,” Sid said. “And most of the produce comes from the gardens, so don’t be shy. It’ll be your blood, sweat, and tears that puts it on the plates.”