For the Love of Luke by David C. Dawson

Author:David C. Dawson [Dawson, David C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-64080-780-8
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2018-10-08T16:00:00+00:00

THE SCREAM of a police siren and the insistent hammer of a pneumatic drill hit Rupert’s ears when he walked out of the BBC’s news headquarters in Upper Regent Street that lunchtime. London was packed with summer tourists, and noise was all around him. He paused at the side of the street, waiting for the traffic to clear so he could cross to the middle where the taxis waited.

“Mr. Pendley-Evans! Mr. Pendley-Evans!”

Rupert avoided looking behind to see who was calling him. From time to time, fans would stop him in the street. Usually, the attention flattered his ego. But today he was late for his meeting with Rosalind, and he knew she would seize the opportunity to pour scorn on his timekeeping. Rupert stared at the faces of the drivers in the cars, willing them to stop. As he spotted a gap in the traffic, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see a man, out of breath, standing at his side.

“Mr. Pendley-Evans,” said the man. “I need a few minutes of your time.”

“I’m sorry,” said Rupert, irritated when the man continued to rest his hand on Rupert’s shoulder. “I’m late for a meeting. You can write to me at the BBC if you want.”

“It’s about Luke.”

Rupert turned. The man was as tall as Rupert, well-built and smartly dressed in a dark suit and crimson tie. He spoke with an American accent.

“What about Luke?” asked Rupert.

“Can we go for a coffee somewhere?” asked the man. “I need to explain some things to you.”

“I told you. I’m going to be late for an appointment. What about Luke?”

The man’s grasp on Rupert’s shoulder tightened. “I want you to stop seeing him. You’ll damage him if you don’t.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” asked Rupert angrily. He pushed the hand from his shoulder and stared at the man as recognition dawned. “Hey. You were at the apartment the other morning. I saw you try to break in.”

The crowd around them surged forward as the traffic cleared, and a stream of people pushed in front of Rupert. When the wave of bodies finally thinned, the man had gone. Rupert stood at the side of the street for a few moments longer and scanned the sea of faces around him. At last, irritated and confused, he looked back at the clock on the front of Broadcasting House. Half past one. He was going to be very late.

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