“You don’t look like you’re from ‘ere,” the youth remarked in a thick Cockney accent.
Gavin straightened his spine, then turned to face them fully. “And what makes you say that?” he returned icily.
“Lucky guess. That’s a nice suit. Armani?”
“No, Luciano Abruzzi. He used to tailor for the King of Jordan.” As soon as he said the words, he regretted them. While he was sure that this idiot wouldn’t be able to point out Jordan on a map, the goal of his little excursion was to blend in. Nobody needed to know that a rich, half-Jordanian was lurking about in London. However, it was always important to put people in their place. His father, Tariq, had drilled that into him since day one.
“You are of royal Hashemite blood, Gavin,” Tariq would always say. “You do not tolerate disrespect to your name under any circumstances. Disrespect to you is disrespect to the family and me.”
While most of his father's notions about pride belonged in the dark ages, Gavin could not deny that they sometimes came in handy. He told the faux leather-clad man-child, “You must have me mistaken for somebody else, lad.” He turned back to his coffee. The man muttered something inaudible, and Gavin was glad for it. Seconds later, they all ambled out of their booth and exited, shooting dirty looks at him.
Gavin was set to breathe a sigh of relief when something in his periphery caught his eye. Through the wall-length window of the diner, he could see the man-child and his cronies were gathered around a younger, much smaller boy. The boy had hair that caught the light, the same shade as his, and he was letting fly a stream of colorful curses that made Gavin smile.
“I ought to just walk away right now,” he muttered to himself, even though he knew he would do the opposite. Sighing, he paid for his coffee and headed out.
“Why don’t you do something about it?” The man was taunting the boy.
Gavin glared and felt his blood boiling. He detested bullies.
Marching over to them, he shoved the ringleader away roughly. “Get away from him!” he ordered sharply. “What are you, five?”
“You should mind your business, Goldilocks,” their leader hissed at Gavin. “Otherwise, I’ll—”
He never got the chance to finish; Gavin slapped him cleanly across the face.
“You slapped me?” The bully held his reddening cheek, a look of confusion and humiliation on his features.
Gavin grinned. “Ja, I did. One more word and I’ll slap you again.”
“I’m go—” Gavin slapped him, harder this time.
“Just w—” Gavin slapped him a third time, sending him against the wall. A small crowd was fast gathering.
A punch would have been more painful, and certainly knocked him to the ground, but it was the shame, Gavin knew, that would sting more. “Say another word,” he taunted. “I dare you, lad. Do it.”
The man-child looked as though he might, but quickly hung his head and slunk off, friends in tow.
“Whoa, sir!” the young blond boy exclaimed, eyes agog. “That was amazing! I’ve never seen anyone do that to Cain before!”
Gavin regarded the smart-mouthed child. “Word of advice, ja? Never insult anyone you can’t out-fight or outrun.”
“Then I’d never get to insult anyone,” he retorted. Gavin arched an eyebrow, and the boy hung his head. “Um…sorry. Thanks, by the way.”
“No problem. Us blonds need to stick together. Where do you live? I’ll drop you home.” He sauntered to this car, with the boy hot on his heels, chattering happily.
“Not too far from here. My name’s Roy, by the way. Roy Thomas Christie. I live with my Auntie Reina. She’s great. She makes the best chocolate cake ever. You should stay—she won’t mind at all… Whoa! Your car is amazing! This is a Lexus, right? I bet it’s super-fast. I saw one…”
Gavin started his car and stifled the smile on his face. Roy Christie had jabbered away throughout the drive to his aunt’s boarding house located in the city, narrating his life experiences. He was an orphan, his aunt took care of him, “and she was the best person ever,” he wanted to be a NASCAR driver when he grew up, and he thought kangaroos were funny.
Gavin had developed a small headache and fully intended to drop the talkative blond child off with his aunt. Whatever notions he expected of Roy’s Auntie Reina, he had been sorely disappointed. She was no aged crone past her prime, oh no. She was a young woman who exuded some sort of subtle sex appeal. With her heart-shaped face, cupid bow lips, dark hair that screamed “grab me” at every sight, Reina Gardener captivated him at first glance.
When she had offered him a meal in exchange for looking after her nephew, Gavin hadn’t been able to refuse, even if he had wanted to. Somehow, a meal progressed into a stay at Gardener’s Inn, one that he had indeed overstayed because it had been a month now. Gavin kept telling himself that he wanted to keep a closer eye on London's assets, but he just wanted to be near Reina in truth.
Gavin exhaled again as he got out of bed and headed for the shower, his arousal proud and dripping. This was the longest he had ever gone without pursuing the object of his fixation, or even sexual relief, he mused as he turned on the cold water. His brothers would surely laugh their heads off if they could see him, as would most who knew him.
What exactly is stopping you from going to Reina and having her? he thought. Because, in the end, it wasn’t just about the sex; he could get that from anywhere and anyone. It was about Reina. Her careful grace, the way she took pride in running her business, the attentive and loving way she cared for Roy. While Gavin’s parents had both loved him, they had been a little short on attention.
Reina was good. Pure. Innocent. Too innocent for the likes of him, a jaded cavalier.
He wrapped his hand around his stiffness and groaned. “Get used to it,” he muttered to himself, summoning the sexy memories of Dream Reina to his mind. “This is as close to Miss Gardener as you’re going to get.”
Reina heard the water above her in Gavin’s room start and felt her cheeks bloom. What did Gavin look like naked, with all that water sluicing off his beefy muscles, she wondered. Reina caught a glimpse of him by accident as he worked out the week before, his muscles glistened with sweat as he hoisted himself up in a set of pull-ups. She thought about the thick bands of muscle on his arms, wondering how they would feel wrapped around her. Would he squeeze too tight, or would he be gentle with her?
Reina squeezed her eyes shut and drove the raucous images from her head. She had a strict no-fraternizing rule with the guests. And besides, it was not like a man as traveled, with tastes as exotic as Gavin Binyamin’s, would ever look at her in that way. She had guiltily perused the gossip blogs and sites to find a plethora of pictures of Gavin with several people from all walks of life, enjoying experiences she could only fantasize about.