Prologue

“Martin?”

I heard Jeremy’s voice and as usual it lifted something inside me. Something that had lain dormant for years and woken up three years ago when he’d walked into my photo studio.

“Martin? You home?” He said again, and then I heard him bounding up the stairs two at a time.

“In here,” I replied, gazing down at the clothes I’d put out on the bed. I had no idea what to wear. Thank goodness Jeremy was home.

He came into our room and skidded to a halt. You’d never guess he’d needed a cane to walk shortly after I’d met him.

“Hey, guess what?”

He glowed with barely contained excitement as he waited for my answer.

“Um, you found your long lost twin?”

“Eh, no.” He grinned, waiting.

“You finally realized that chocolate is not worth it?”

He looked at me and frowned. “Fuck no.”

“Just tell me. I’ll never guess and you know it.”

His grin returned and he shoved a piece of paper toward me.

I took it from him. “What is this?”

“It’s an invitation to model for Felix Kureck in London, England! He wants me to come to London so he can shoot me.”

I stared at the letter, reading the invitation. I’d heard of the guy of course. Everyone had. He was a famous photographer specializing in artistic photos of sexy men, who had personally requested that Jeremy’s agency send him, all expenses paid, to London England for a photo shoot for Kureck’s upcoming coffee table book, The New Man.

I understood why he was so excited and tried to match it with a similar enthusiasm, even though my stomach sank at the thought of him leaving me for two weeks. We hadn’t been apart for longer than a weekend since we’d met.

“Wow! That’s amazing.”

He sat down on the bed, shaking his head back and forth. “I know, right? I mean, he wants me. Me!”

I looked at Jeremy, once again shocked that this beautiful young man really didn’t appreciate how physically gorgeous he was.

“Everyone wants you, Jeremy. You’re a wet dream. Men and women have your magazine ads pinned to their walls. Trust me.”

He laughed. “Oh come on. You’re a little biased, you know, Martin.”

“Am I?” Sure, I was biased. I also knew what it was like to take his photo. To see him come alive under the lens of my camera. To see his image on my computer screen teasing me with what I thought I couldn’t have. Until he’d let me know in the next session pretty clearly that he wanted me as much as I wanted him.

And I still had a hard time believing it. Even when we were fucking and he was crying out my name, I wondered how I’d gotten this lucky.

“I want you to come,” he said then.

“What?” My mind was still wrapped up in erotic memories and I wasn’t sure what he meant.

“To London. Come to London with me, Martin.”