Double Act Read online

  Emerson cut off as the ship gave a lurch. He dropped his fork and it fell to the table, spraying bits of garlic and cheese along the pristine tablecloth.

  “The boat’s leaving the dock,” Sean explained. “It goes down the river so you can see the city from all angles.”

  Emerson swallowed. After the initial bump, it felt like a soft vibration now.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just…” The dizziness increased.

  “Drink a bit of your water,” Sean suggested.

  Nodding, Emerson grabbed the other glass and took a few sips. It helped.

  “It won’t be bumpy, will it?” Emerson asked.

  “No. Ocean water gets choppy, but the river is smooth.”

  That calmed him somewhat. God, this was turning into a disaster. Sean had to think he was an idiot.

  Emerson drank more water.

  The boat honked a loud horn and it began to move. The earlier motions must have been the engine getting ready. Now it was setting downstream, pulling away from the dock. It was gentle, but Emerson could sense the rocking, back and forth, up and down.

  “Emerson?”

  He stood from the table and rushed to the balcony. The night air—thick with the scent of fish and salt—struck him like a physical blow. He leaned over the rail and threw up.

  * * * *

  Emerson curled up in a ball in the passenger seat of Sean’s Mustang. Sean’s cardigan sat on Emerson’s shoulders, helping to drive away the chills that wracked his body. His stomach, though empty, felt sick. Not from seasickness this time. No, it was pure humiliation.

  A damp cloth touched his forehead and he jumped.

  “Easy,” Sean said softly, his voice calm and soothing. “Just relax.”

  The cloth dabbed gently and felt good against his clammy skin.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “The server gave it to me. They were happy to help.” The pressure of the cloth increased. “Feeling better now?”

  “A little.”

  “Sorry I made you discover you get seasick. I bet you knew instinctively, which is why you’ve never been on a boat.”

  “Wasn’t your fault.”

  “I brought you here.”

  “You offered to take me somewhere else. I insisted we stay.” His stomach lurched unpleasantly. “Can we stop talking about it?”

  “Guess you’re not up for a nightcap.”

  “I just want to go home.”

  Sean clasped Emerson’s hand and led it up to the damp cloth. “Hold this here.”

  Sean let go and turned to the steering wheel. He started the engine and drove off.

  Emerson kept his eyes out the window, too afraid to look over and see the disappointment on Sean’s face.

  When they pulled up to Emerson’s building, Sean parked the car. He got out and walked to Emerson’s side and opened the door.

  “Let me help you.” Sean held onto Emerson’s shoulder, steadying him, as he climbed from the car.

  “Thanks.” He felt unbalanced, and he ears rang from unheard sirens.

  “Can I walk you inside?”

  Emerson paused. “You want to?”

  Sean looked at Emerson and raised his eyebrow. “Of course I do. You think I’d just dump you on the doorstep?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if you did. I completely fucked up our night.”

  Sean’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t fuck up anything. I don’t want you to think something like this would send me running. Remember how you followed me—a complete stranger—to the ER?”

  “It’s not just that, Sean. I mean, how much money did I waste? The wine? The food? The reservation alone probably cost a couple hundred dollars. On top of that, we didn’t even get to eat it all.”

  Sean’s tone was surprisingly light when he said, “Oh, now I see. Since you skipped out on dinner, it means I still owe you.”

  Emerson gasped at that, his eyes widening, then he saw Sean was laughing.

  “Come on,” Sean said, slipping his arm around Emerson’s waist. “Give me your keys.”

  They entered the building after Sean unlocked the door. The elevator was still broken, so it meant Sean lugging Emerson up five flights of stairs. The excursion made Emerson’s head spin. Goddamn elevator.

  Outside his door, Ninotchka was already barking. Sean wiggled the key inside, then once it clicked, pushed the door in. Ninotchka was out the door in a flash, running around their legs. When Emerson and Sean made it inside, she followed them.

  Sean flipped on the light and shut the door.

  A warning alarm went off in Emerson’s head. Honestly, Sean was little more than a stranger. He could be a murderer. A psychopath.

  Yeah, a murderer with three Grammys?

  “Let’s get your shoes off.” He guided Emerson to the couch then removed his shoes.

  Ninotchka jumped up beside Emerson and licked his cheeks. He absently patted her back.

  “There we go. Now, let’s get you to bed.” Sean’s eyes took in the tiny studio, but there was no judgement on his face. Only determination. He gripped Emerson’s arm and helped him back onto his feet. They hobbled over to the bed in the corner.

  At the edge of the bed, Sean pushed Emerson down. Emerson stiffened, in more ways than one, wondering if Sean planned on following him into the bed.

  He didn’t.

  He unbuttoned Emerson’s shirt and pulled it off him. Emerson felt Sean’s eyes on his naked chest, but his hands didn’t follow the gaze. He only folded the shirt and placed it on the dresser. Next, he unbuttoned Emerson’s pants. There was nothing sexual about it. Not that Emerson’s body understood that. He fought down his rising desire. That was the last thing he needed to add to his embarrassment tonight. Sean slipped the pants off Emerson’s legs and folded them, too.

  Then Sean applied a firm pressure on Emerson’s shoulder, pushing him into a laying position.

  Emerson gulped. He was completely defenseless, nearly naked and vulnerable. That oddly turned him on.

  But Sean only lifted the blanket and pulled it up to Emerson’s chin. He bent down and picked up Ninotchka and placed her in the crook of Emerson’s arm.

  “Get some rest,” Sean said, bending down to brush his lips against Emerson’s forehead. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He turned off the lights on his way out. The click of the lock echoed through the quiet apartment, followed by the sound of the door closing.

  Emerson shut his eyes and sighed. He fell asleep almost instantly.

  Chapter 10

  When Emerson woke the next morning, he felt hungover. He was dehydrated. He should have had a few more glasses of water before bed. Why hadn’t he downed one or two before…? Then he remembered the events of last night. Throwing up expensive wine and mushrooms. Sean tucking him in bed. He hadn’t even showered or brushed his teeth.

  Emerson groaned and Ninotchka jumped onto his chest, trying to kiss him good morning. As much as he loved her, his head hurt too bad to snuggle right now.

  He got out of bed and stumbled into his tiny bathroom. He turned on the shower and let the water heat up as he brushed his teeth. Behind him, Ninotchka barked repeatedly. He usually fed her first and he was screwing up their schedule. But he couldn’t function until he showered.

  “Be patient,” he told her, then moved under the weak stream of water that trickled from the tap. The square stall was barely big enough for him to turn around in. He kept his elbows tucked or else he would bang into the built-in shelf where his shampoo and soap sat. At least the hot water felt remarkably good. It helped his headache, too.

  When he climbed out, Ninotchka looked depressed, but he was doing better.

  With the towel wrapped around his waist, he went to the kitchen and grabbed her dish. That perked her up instantly. He spooned the food into the bowl and laid it on the floor. She was on it like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. With her taken care of, Emerson hit the switch on his coffee pot, then return
ed to the bathroom to shave.

  Afterward, he dressed in jeans and a shirt, and sat down to finally have his coffee. The black liquid chased away what remained of his headache. He flipped on the TV out of habit.

  He didn’t listen to the news report, only let the voices wash over him. Instead, his mind dwelled on Sean and their date last night. It had been sweet, romantic. And then he’d ruined it all. So fucking stupid. He didn’t get motion sickness in cars, or taxis, or the subway. So why seasickness?

  That brought his mind to Sean’s tender treatment of him. That has been reckless, too. While Sean might not be a murderer, he could have very easily taken advantage of Emerson’s compromised state. Once again, Sean showed the caliber of the man he was. Honest, though flirty, tender, but determined. He was an amazing person.

  Emerson needed something to distract him, so he grabbed his guitar from where it sat on the corner of the couch. He strummed a few chords, not really paying attention to what he played. The simple up and down motion calmed his mind, and the aching fingers gave him something to focus on.

  When his phone rang, the unexpected noise jarred with the ones issuing from the guitar. It was an awful combination.

  He picked up his phone off the couch’s arm and saw it was Sean. Emerson answered immediately.

  “Hello?”

  “I wondered if it was too early to call.”

  “No, we’re awake.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  Emerson shifted the guitar so it lay flat on his lap, then reclined against the back of the couch. “Okay, but not fantastic.”

  “Let me apologize again for—”

  “No, it wasn’t your fault. I’m not going to listen to you say you’re sorry again.”

  Sean’s voice had a hint of laughter in it. “All right. Do you feel like coming over for dinner? Or are you too tired?”

  “I’d love to.” The more he dwelled on it, the more he wanted to get to know Sean. Delve deeper. Find out his likes and dislikes. He was so down-to-earth, so easy to talk to. “You sure it’s okay? You’ll have time to squeeze me in?”

  “Don’t you worry about that, too. I get it enough from Macie. Come over around six?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there. Anything I can bring?”

  “No, I’ll take care of everything. I’ll see you then.”

  “Bye, Sean.”

  Emerson’s heart felt lighter. So his mishap last night hadn’t ruined his chances.

  Don’t get too used to this, he warned himself. You won’t hold Sean’s interest for long.

  * * * *

  Emerson adjusted his tie as he rode the elevator up to Sean’s floor. Getting here had been relatively easy—a thirty-minute subway ride for being only three miles away—but gaining entry had been harder. The swanky apartment complex across from Central Park gave access to authorized people only. Of course, Emerson had been on the list, but he’d felt nervous under the eyes of the security guard who stopped him.

  He switched the bouquet of roses to his other hand. It was nowhere near as elaborate as the one Sean sent him, but it was pretty and fragrant. Hopefully, Sean would agree it was the thought that counted.

  As he exited the third floor, he looked down the long hallway, trying to spy the numbers. He spotted Sean’s on the left. Even here, the building was extravagant, with fancy carpets and runners, and delicate wallpaper and woodwork. He wondered how much Sean paid for an apartment here. The idea made Emerson nauseous. It was probably more money than he’d ever see in his lifetime.

  He approached the door and knocked. It flew open immediately.

  Sean stood there, in tight fitting jeans and a gray T-shirt, which showed off his lean body. The sight alone was enough to make Emerson’s mouth go dry.

  “Right on time,” Sean said, stepping back to allow Emerson to enter.

  Belatedly, Emerson held out the roses.

  “For me?” Sean took the flowers and held them up to his nose. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

  Then Pip came lumbering up, barking, playful, full of energy—just like his master. Emerson bent over so Pip could sniff him, and received a whip from Pip’s tail as the dog spun around in excitement.

  “He likes you,” Sean said, walking farther into the room.

  “He’s a labradoodle. He likes everyone.”

  Sean lifted a finger to his chin. “True. Here, let me have your jacket.”

  Emerson shrugged the garment off his shoulders at Sean’s insistence.

  “You look nice,” Sean said as he hung the jacket up on a peg beside the door. “But why so dressed up? It’s just an evening in.”

  “I didn’t think it would be smart to show up in casual clothes. Not in this fancy a place.”

  A snort from Sean, followed by, “You worry over things like that too much.” Then he grabbed Emerson’s hand gently and led him forward.

  It was a beautiful space. To the left was the living room, a large, sunken rectangle area with couch cushions all along the perimeter. A place to entertain twenty people at once. To the right, a spacious open kitchen, with marble countertops and black cabinetry. An island separated the kitchen from the foyer, and an eating nook sat at the closer end.

  At the far wall were tall windows which gave an amazing view of Central Park.

  “Want to see the view?” Sean gave his hand a tug.

  Emerson stared out the window, awed by the sight. They were only three stories up, but it gave them the advantage of height over the trees. When they were in full bloom, it would be breathtaking.

  Sean wrapped his arms around Emerson’s waist and moved in close. His lips gently touched the back of Emerson’s neck. Emerson leaned into the kiss.

  “Are you hungry?” Sean whispered, his breath hot on Emerson’s skin.

  Emerson tilted his head and Sean’s lips traveled to the side, right below Emerson’s ear.

  “Starving.”

  “I’ll get dinner started. You can sit and relax.”

  Sean’s warmth and pressure retreated.

  Emerson turned from the window. “I can help. What are you making?”

  “Spaghetti. A simple recipe but delicious. How are you with cutting up vegetables?”

  They worked in tandem in the kitchen, Sean getting the water boiling while Emerson sliced up tomatoes, a green pepper, and an onion. Once diced to specification, Sean took the veggies and tossed them into a pot. He added seasoning, and a shit ton of garlic.

  “Smells good already.”

  Sean made a noise of agreement. “Can you get the butter from the fridge?”

  While everything cooked, Sean cut French bread into thin slices and topped them with garlic butter and mozzarella. It did seem easy, but the presentation looked amazing.

  As Sean plated the meal, Emerson opened a bottle of red wine—likely as expensive at the one they’d had on the boat. He poured it into glasses, then joined Sean at the barstools at the end of the island. There was no formal dining room.

  Pip sat quietly beneath them, not begging or whining, like Ninotchka would have. He didn’t need the attention, just sitting near his human seemed to be enough.

  “So,” Emerson said after a few bites of the delicious meal. “Are you going to play this new song for me?”

  “It’s not perfect yet. Still needs some work. But I’ll sing it for you.”

  Emerson shivered slightly. Knowing that this song was inspired by him gave him a weird feeling in his stomach, like the initial drop on a roller coaster.

  “But,” Sean continued, “that means you have to play something for me, too.”

  Emerson nearly choked on his bite of spaghetti. When he swallowed, he said, “Sean, I can’t do that. I’m not comfortable with my skills. It’s been too long since I played.”

  Sean’s grin was mischievous and a light danced in his eyes. “Well, that’s my price.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Stirling.”

  Once they were finished eating, and the dishes had been depo
sited into the sink, Sean led him to the living room. “Have a seat, I’ll go grab Tally.”

  “Tally?”

  Sean laughed. “My acoustic guitar I use to practice.” Then he disappeared down the hallway beside the kitchen.

  Left on his own, Emerson peered more closely at the room. There was a large television mounted to the side wall. Watching movies on its screen would be amazing. He’d have to show Sean a few of his favorites. The soft couch would be perfect for snuggling close.

  Sean returned carrying a Fender Parlor guitar. Its beautiful, dark color reflected the overhead lights. Sean noticed Emerson’s stare and handed the guitar out to him.

  Emerson took it gently. It was an expensive piece of equipment. The frame was smaller than his Yamaha at home, but it would look nice perched on Sean’s lap. He experimentally strummed the strings and its rich sound echoed through the room.

  “It’s wonderful,” Emerson said.

  “Give it a try. You have to play first.”

  Emerson’s face darkened with a blush. Actually playing in front of a world-famous musician? How could he live with the shame?

  “Em,” Sean said, and Emerson started slightly at the nickname. “I don’t know why you’re so afraid.”

  “You’re a professional. I was never more than an amateur.”

  “With you, I’m not a professional. I’m just me. And I want to listen to someone who loves to play guitar as much as I do.”

  It was so easy to forget who Sean was. When the two of them were together, this comfortable feeling forced out the anxiety of knowing Sean was famous.

  “This is a safe place,” Sean added. “You and me.”

  Emerson nodded and swallowed hard. He shifted the guitar on his thighs, getting it in an easy position. He couldn’t look at Sean, so he focused on his fingers, making the first chords in Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down.” He voice was shaky as he started, too much adrenaline. But by the second verse, he had calmed somewhat and his tone became clearer and more rhythmic. The feelings of the song took over, how he used to play it to give himself courage. It had been his mantra throughout college.

  When he strummed the last chord and held it, he risked a glance at Sean.

  Emerson nearly dropped the guitar when he saw there were the beginning of tears in Sean’s eyes.