Dan Sharp Mysteries 3-Book Bundle. Jeffrey Round
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changed from a samba to a slow motion wave. She wrapped herself around him, glass aloft, and drank over his shoulder. Fingers slid between the buttons of his shirt, caressing his chest. She bent her head back and extended a trousered leg, the young Martha Graham impersonating a Joshua Tree. Dan felt more like a piece of sculpture than a dancer.
“Daniella!” Sebastiano gave her a disapproving look.
Her eyes flashed rebellion. She continued to dance only slightly less wildly, then downed her drink and went off for a refill. Dan watched her flit between the tables, a pale drunken butterfly, with everyone’s eyes on her. She seemed to be flirting with the entire room. At one point she nearly stumbled into a table. If not for the quick reflexes of a man standing nearby, she would have fallen. A trio of men became instantly solicitous, but she brushed off their concern.
“You ought not to drink so much,” Dan heard one of the men say. “Especially if you can’t stay on your feet.”
She glared. “I’m not drunk,” she declared then turned away indignantly.
Sebastiano broke off his dance with Thom and went over to her. They exchanged a few heated words in Portuguese. Daniella tossed her head angrily and looked away, but Sebastiano was insistent as he pulled her protesting onto the floor. The music turned from a wave to a shimmer. He tore off his jacket and tossed it aside. His slicked-back hair, sheer cotton shirt, and tightly drawn trousers lent him the contours of a matador. He stood, chest extended, the young Valentino regarding his hermaphroditic self-portrait: Rudy and Judy. They might have been twins. Dan felt a tingling of lust.
Sebastiano came alive, hands whirling overhead. He glowed, a dark angel taking flight. Inspired by the dancers, the band launched into a fiery tango. Daniella unclasped her heels and threw them beneath a chair. The music grew feverish as she moved back and forth, mirroring her brother. Sweat hung in the air. He pulled her so close they seemed to be one body.
The crowd warmed to the tempo, arching themselves into the music, though none could match the Brazilians for ardour and grace. The room broke into spontaneous applause time and again. Even Thom watched them admiringly.
It was midnight. The band had moved on to a more northerly clime, the tempo chilled to the formal rhythms of a Viennese waltz, a confection that might have been popular in Hitler’s time. Older couples dominated the floor, feet shuffling, heels lifting gently as though nostalgia demanded a softer tread. Someone had coaxed Lucille Killingworth up onto the floor. The mother of the groom moved gracefully, scarf twisted lightly about her throat. She danced with a white-haired man who smiled a lot, though he seemed in deadly earnest. He looked down frequently, either worried about stepping on his partner’s feet or following some imaginary numbered dance steps on the tiles. Dan noticed his expression — admiration laced with desire seen through the eyes of a barracuda. This man had designs on the Merry Widow.
Bill and Thom had disappeared in the melee. The minister was chatting with another dykish type over in a corner. Dan saw he’d been right — she laughed and held her drink like a trucker bedding down at a pub for the night, clearly no longer discussing ecumenical concerns.
Sebastiano and Daniella had retrieved their discarded clothing and sat cooing at one of the tables. He pushed her hair from her face with his fingers. Whatever their argument, they seemed to have made up. A candle basked in the glow of Daniella’s pale skin, making her look sad and fragile.
Dan toyed with getting another drink, but decided against it. He felt flushed. He descended to the lower deck for a breath of cool night air. A couple huddled against the railing. It was the giddy dentist with the diamonds and his older boyfriend. They looked up at his approach.
“Cheers!” said the older man, raising a champagne glass and sipping from it before placing it on the railing.
Dan gave a friendly nod and leaned into the opposite corner where the rail curved against the back of the boat. They’d started their return. From above, music and laughter floated out over the water. On either shore, lights from passing houses gleamed like earthbound stars. Now and then, they swept past other vessels manoeuvring their way home.
The boat made a marked shift to the right, following the channel. The forgotten champagne glass inched toward the rail’s outer edge. Dan was about to say something when the boat shifted again. The crystal fell in slow motion, an arc of whiteness hitting the waves with a silent splash before disappearing in the blackness.
Dan left the amorous couple and made his way upstairs. A squadron of servers hoisted trays of hors d’oeuvres, passing him on the way to the ballroom. He felt cooler but his head throbbed. He stopped in the corridor and leaned against a doorway.
A voice came through the wall, the tones low and serious. He couldn’t make out the words. He stood there, not really intending to listen.
“You’ve got to pull yourself together.” It was Thom’s voice, followed by what might have been a stifled sob. “Look, it doesn’t mean anything. Not really.”
“But you’re married!” Bill’s voice rose in pitch, like a child whining about not being given a promised treat.
“It’s only a ceremony, Billy,” Dan heard Thom say in consoling tones. There was a long silence. Dan’s blood jumped with adrenaline as he waited.
“You’re the only one I’ve ever loved,” he heard Bill say. “In my entire fucking life!”
You have no idea how difficult this is for me. Dan felt sickened, torn between leaving and staying to hear more. Curiosity won out.
“It’s okay, Billy. It’s okay,” Thom said soothingly. The talking died to a murmur. Then he heard Bill ask, “Who am I?”
“You’re my hot little cabin boy,” Thom answered.
Dan felt a flash of rage that had preceded some of the stupidest acts he’d ever perpetrated. His fist raised itself of its own accord. He wanted to pound on the door and demand the lovers emerge red-faced, in flagrante. In his mind, he saw himself denting the filing cabinet and remembered how good it had felt. He fought the rage, sucking in air even as his fist resisted.
There are mirrors in junk shops, silvered over with age and mildew, reflecting whatever lies before them pressed against a mottled, timeworn backdrop. Without breaking the glass, they shatter the illusion by giving an image of the outer world while simultaneously revealing the thin edge of reality beneath. This was what Dan felt he was looking at. His hand recoiled with a shiver of recognition; his stomach rebelled.
He lurched down the passage in search of a washroom, barging past startled guests. A changeroom presented itself, the door half open. Inside, Sebastiano stood before a full-length mirror. Dan’s anger bobbed, shifted, and found a new focus. He toed the door open with his foot. The boy looked up.
“Need some help?” Dan said.
Sebastiano watched curiously as Dan tugged at the ends of his bowtie. Next, Dan straightened the suspender straps, smoothing them over Sebastiano’s shoulders as though dressing a child. The boy leaned back with an expression of trust. Muscles strained his shirtfront. Dan knew there’d be no struggle.
“You and your sister dance well together.”
Sebastiano’s chin rose and fell in what might have been agreement. Dan’s move was smooth, unhurried. He knew the hypnotic effect gentleness had on boys like Sebastiano, even the experienced ones. His fingers reached around the back of his neck. He waited till the boy looked him in the eye then pulled their faces together. They kissed more deeply and intimately than Sebastiano had kissed Thom after their vows. The sensation was wet and soft; their teeth clicked together a few times before they got the rhythm. After that, it was simply a matter of closing the door and getting down to business. Sebastiano’s pants slid off easily, as clothes do when worn by men whose bodies fit the cut, with no excess flesh to consider. Dan unzipped his own trousers and let them slide to the floor, pulling his underwear taut across his thighs. Sebastiano turned his broad back to Dan and braced himself against the mirror.
Dan knelt and breathed in the smell of funk. His tongue twitched