Chapter Four
“Do you intend to make Franklin your mate?”
Cameron jerked his attention away from where he’d been staring blankly into the fireplace for at least the last hour. He seemed to have been spending far too much time doing that over the last few days. “What?”
“I said, are you and Franklin going to be mates?” Blaine repeated.
Cameron hesitated, well aware that the question had caught the attention of all the other lions present, and they were all looking in his direction now, waiting to hear his answer.
“You have to give them time,” a quiet voice advised from the far side of the room. Kefir smiled across at Cameron as their eyes met. “Important decisions take time. There’s no rush.”
“I can speak for myself,” Cameron snapped, turning his attention back to the fire. Silence descended. He was damned if he knew what to say. He and Franklin were… Franklin was… “I’ve no interest in being any rich man’s whore,” he snarled at the world in general.
His grip tightened around the coffee cup one of the other lions had pushed into his hand at some point that afternoon.
He had no idea how long he’d been holding it.
He lifted it to his lips and found the liquid disgustingly cold.
It was all he could do to stop himself from throwing the damn thing into the hearth.
With very forced calm, Cameron set it down on the coffee table next to him, he even managed to put it neatly on the coaster.
“Is that what Franklin wants?” somebody asked, his tone more than a little wary, as if he was talking to a man standing on a high ledge, or perhaps a man with his finger on a detonator.
Cameron didn’t bother to look up and find out who it was. Almost all the lions in the pride were interchangeable in his mind. Many of them might have been older than his own twenty-two years, but they were still just silly little boys who thought they knew what humans were like.
They didn’t have a clue. Their lives were all safety and security—all tea and coasters.
The kind of places Cameron was used to didn’t serve anything that wasn’t cheap alcohol, and water marks from the bottom of a glass were probably the most hygienic stains they got on their tables.
“It’s what all men like him want,” Cameron bit out.
“Men like him?” That was Kefir’s gentle tone again.
Rich men—the kind of men who were happy to visit the kinds of clubs he’d danced in and buy whatever and whoever caught their eye.
The kind of men who went back to their rich wives, or maybe even their rich husbands, but who never stayed around with the whores and dregs once they’d had their bit of rough.
Somehow, those weren’t the words that left his lips. “Humans,” he muttered. “Humans are all the same.”
“I think you’ll find you know far less about the width and breadth of human society than you think you do.”
The deep, serious voice pulled Cameron’s attention away from his study of the blaze once more. He met Ellery’s gaze and held it with feline ease, but Ellery gave no sign of wanting to lower his eyes when challenged by a lion.
“I’m not the kind of lion that would wear a human’s collar,” Cameron spat.
Ellery didn’t like that at all. Cameron saw the way he tensed. He saw the way Kefir’s hand stroked along his arm, silently trying to pacify him, too.
He’d watched so many dancers in the clubs fawn over rich bastards in almost exactly the same way. It turned his stomach to see another lion have to act like that.
“We don’t wear collars,” Luther said.
Cameron glanced at the sofa where he and Blaine were curled up around Marrick. They were little more than cubs playing with a new toy—all three of them. They didn’t really have any idea how things were, how careful a lion had to be when—
Whatever he might have said to the trio died on his lips as Cameron felt a change come over the house. It was the same change he’d felt in a club whenever Franklin arrived. He turned to face the door a moment before it swung open.
Franklin stood in the threshold of the den, a briefcase in one hand, a suit bag and an up-market shopping bag in the other. “Hello.”
Cameron ran his eyes over him, drinking in every single detail. The sight of Franklin rushed to his cock the same way it always had, but Cameron had to bite back a curse as he realised he was also checking to make sure the guy was okay after being away from his side for most of the day.
The world felt like a slightly better place now that Cameron knew Franklin was home safe again. Great. That was just great.
Pointedly turning away from Franklin to stare into the fire once more, Cameron dramatically increased the speed of the curses scrolling through his mind.
Waiting for his master to come back to him like a damn kitten! So bloody pathetic…
“Cameron?”
Lifting his gaze, Cameron glared at Franklin, as if he was the very last person he wanted to see. And Franklin stared back, as if he actually thought he’d win that kind of game.
To hell with that! It was about time the man learned he’d never win a staring contest with a lion.
Finally, Franklin dropped his gaze with a resigned little sigh. “Would you like to eat out tonight?”
Cameron blinked. That was…not what he’d expected. He found himself rising to his feet and approaching Franklin as if the guy was a curiosity that needed to be investigated further.
“Out?”
Franklin smiled slightly. “I’m meeting some of the men I’m doing business with for dinner. I thought you might like to join us.”
The other lions were still watching them. If Franklin didn’t see how stupid that idea was, Cameron was sure they all did.
Striding out of the room without a word, Cameron quickly made his way up the stairs. He’d already thrown himself onto the bed in Franklin’s room and was leaning idly back against the headboard when Franklin caught up with him, weighed down by all his baggage.
“You didn’t say if you’d be joining me,” he said, with what sounded like very strained politeness.
“Depends,” Cameron said. “What are they into?”
Franklin paused halfway through hanging the suit bag on the front of the wardrobe and turned to face him. “What?”
Cameron let his lips twitch into a smile, as if there was anything he could find even remotely funny about the situation. “Are they kinky—that usually costs extra, you know?”
Franklin clenched his jaw. For several seconds, he was silent. Finally, he seemed to find his voice. “I invited you to have dinner with us, not to…”
“Not to whore myself out to make damn well sure you get the deal?” Cameron finished for him. “You wouldn’t be the first man to want to do that. Corporate hospitality, isn’t that what they call it?”
Franklin’s free hand tightened into a fist at his side as he hung up his suit bag. “We need to set some ground rules.”
“Oh?” Cameron arched his back, casually displaying his body for Franklin’s appreciation as he simultaneously made himself a little more comfortable on the bed and made it very clear he was already thoroughly bored with that topic.
Franklin’s eyes lingered on the movement, as if he was helpless to look away. Still, once he’d cleared his throat, he pushed forward with the same bloody stupid topic.
“If we are to have some sort of arrangement with each other, I’ll expect you to refrain from…” He didn’t seem entirely sure what the most suitable term would be. “Dating other men,” he finally finished.
“Unless it’s in your businesses’ best interests, right?” Cameron sneered.
“I’m quite capable of taking care of my business interests without pimping out my boyfriends,” Franklin snapped.
“So what, I just lie naked in your bed every day waiting for the big important businessman to come home?” Cameron jeered, as confusion and uncertainty swirled inside him, faster than ever.
“Thanks, sweetheart, but I’ll decide who I do and don’t screw.
I’m no Kefir to be kept collared by any human.
” Contempt filled every word—Cameron made sure of that.
If Franklin clenched his teeth any harder, he was going to break a couple of molars.
While part of him writhed with anger, Cameron found another side of himself watching Franklin’s actions with interest, wondering how much it would take to make him lose control, wondering what would happen when he did.
“I don’t have time for this,” Franklin ground out. “Are you joining us for dinner or not?”
“Sure,” Cameron jeered. “What shall I wear, the jeans I was wearing when I left the club in or those leather shorts from the first time you saw me dance?”
Franklin stormed over to the wardrobe and snatched the suit bag from the where he’d hung it on the door. Grabbing the shopping bag on the way past, he tossed both on the bed in front of Cameron.
“Payment for services you hope I’ll render after I take them off?” Cameron snapped.
“No.”
“What then?” Cameron demanded.
“A choice.”
“What?”
“I wanted you to have the choice,” Franklin threw at him. “I wanted you to have something suitable to wear, so you could choose to go out to dinner with me if you wanted to, and not have to worry if you’d be able to blend in.”
He turned away and strode into the en-suite bathroom without another word. A moment later, Cameron heard the shower start. The sound wasn’t followed by any sort of invitation for Cameron to join him in there.
Left alone in the bedroom, Cameron reached out and undid the zip on the front of the suit bag without really thinking about what he was doing.
He ran his fingertips down one of the jacket’s lapels but quickly snatched his hand away then, before his claws could ruin it.
It was a good suit—the kind of thing a wealthy man might buy for himself.
It couldn’t have been further from the kind of clothes he’d worn in the clubs. It must have cost Franklin a fortune.