Bad Attitude (13 page)

“I have no fucking idea what you just said, but it sounds like agreement.” Jamie stretched up and kissed him hard. “I’ll call you.” He stepped back.

“Oh, no. Not this time.” Gavin dragged him past the gates, down the drive and through the spring-pale feathery leaves of a willow.

Jamie grinned. “It wasn’t a yes?”

“It was a yes to later and a no to you walking away this time.”

Gavin leaned against the trunk and dragged Jamie onto his mouth. Gavin could have kissed him for hours, feeding off the intensity of the way Jamie kissed, the way he pushed that heat into Gavin with his tongue, then drew it back out. It didn’t only get Gavin’s dick and balls humming, his whole body wanted in on that kiss. Wanted to sink into the way Jamie made him feel, as if the tree could crash down around them and they’d still be kissing. Gavin didn’t know how long they’d been locked together like that, but in the space of one breath it went from merely an enjoyable kiss to a desperate need to get skin, mouth, anything on his cock to relieve the pressure in his balls. He reached between them and found Jamie’s hand doing the same. Gavin might have laughed, except it didn’t feel funny, only right to have it hit them both at the same time.

They tore at each other’s flies, freeing their cocks, then it was a filthy, urgent tangle of rough skin and smooth, hot precome and a little cool mist. Gavin spread his legs so Jamie could press their dicks together, grind tight and close to block out that morning air. Gavin needed more breath, wanted to throw his head back against the tree trunk and gasp, but Jamie held on to Gavin’s hair and kept him locked in that kiss that was now more grunts and moans than tongue and lips.

Gavin’s hips stuttered, cock seeking perfect friction, need clamping down on him like an ache in his thighs and ass because every time Jamie’s calloused hand hit the skin of his glans it was too much sensation. Without a word, Jamie pulled his hand away and Gavin took over the stroke, holding their cocks to rub against each other, adjusting his rhythm so their cocks dragged and tugged on the tight skin and silky heads.

When Jamie’s finger slid into Gavin’s mouth, bringing the taste of come and sweat into the kiss, he knew the plan, wanted to grunt a
thank you
, a
yeah, that
, but he didn’t have oxygen to spare, and Jamie seemed to be doing just fine without the encouragement.

Gavin shifted his stance a little wider, pulling his ass away from the tree as Jamie slid his hand into the back of Gavin’s jeans and under the waistband of his briefs, slick finger pressing, rubbing, dipping inside.

Gavin shuddered, his grip tightened and they both groaned into that messy kiss, nothing left of it but the press of wet panting mouths, the vibration of sound another way to make skin tingle and pleasure pulse sweet through his body. Jamie pushed his finger deeper and Gavin sped up his thrusts, Jamie right behind him. They were both slick, the glide easy, the tug of Jamie’s tight hard skin on Gavin’s the right touch to drive him to the edge. He was right there, hanging, the rush flooding him, drowning him as his body strained for it.

Jamie’s hand yanked at Gavin’s hair, and the kiss wasn’t sloppy anymore. It was deliberate, concentrated, dragging Gavin back in to sharp focus. Jamie drove his finger in hard, and all those sensations gathered at the base of Gavin’s cock. Jamie’s mouth was there to swallow the cry Gavin made as it shot through him, violently sweet, so consuming it was as if the other two rounds were rebounding to make this better, longer, from someplace so far down inside he’d never stop.

He realized he’d let go of Jamie’s cock, but before he could do anything about it, Jamie released his hold on Gavin’s hair and humped against him, tight, controlled thrusts, mouth moving to Gavin’s neck as he gasped almost silently.

Gavin was still getting the lion’s share of his balance from the tree as Jamie stepped back to zip up. Most of the mess was on Gavin’s jeans, he noticed with a rueful grimace. He tucked himself away.

“So then,” Jamie said. “Sex. I’ll call you.” With an infuriating smile, he leaned in and brushed a quick kiss across Gavin’s mouth.

Jamie was a few steps away when he said, “Hey, change your mind about the ride up to the house?”

Smug bastard. Gavin pushed away from the tree. “No thanks. I like the walk.”

Gavin was a moron. Pride offered no comfort in the face of the chafing muscle exhaustion in his thighs and twinge in his ass that plagued him with every step. Every single step, and there seemed to be thousands of steps between him and what his British-born mother had called the garden door, but at least that entrance was quiet and closest to the back stairs where he could disappear into his room.

Annabelle greeted him at the door, an energetic wave in her tail and a needy look in her pansy-brown eyes.

She was Taisy’s dog. His sister had researched the most visually appealing, high-polling breeds, settling on Cavalier King Charles Spaniel as the perfect canine accessory. But Taisy had left Annabelle behind as Taisy settled into the Governor’s Mansion. She would reclaim her furry prop if she needed one, but in the meantime, Annabelle drifted around the manor, eager to offer her devotion to anyone who would accept it.

Gavin held the door open for her, but she only sniffed the air briefly before turning back to sit on his shoes. Gavin scooped her up and carried her to his room, scratching her head before bending to turn her loose again. She followed as he dragged himself into the adjoining bathroom. Chip’s room was on the other side, but though Chip still kept the manor as his main address, he had an apartment a five-minute walk from the hospital.

Gavin had thought about getting an apartment for himself for years, he’d really fallen in love with a condo in Federal Hill, but then Lily became pregnant. It only took a glance at Annabelle who kept propping her paws on the tub rim to remember that everyone in this family had an agenda that had more to do with how things looked than what was actually right.

He thought he’d drop off to sleep as soon as he finished his shower, but his eyes felt blazed open, body full of energy. He hadn’t been to see Beach in a few days. Now was as good a time as any. He could be back before anyone noticed he wasn’t around—as if anyone but Annabelle would notice anyway. As he dressed, she brushed the rug with her tufted tail and cocked her head.

“I’d love to take you, sweetheart, but you’d be stuck in the car. A box of patisserie from Le Vol-au-Vent might encourage the nurses to overlook the stringency of visiting hours, but dogs are a different matter.”

She drooped but followed him back downstairs, taking advantage of his departure to venture into the yard, trotting down a path before sitting down and watching some industrious spring bumblebees at work on an azalea. Gavin wished his own dissatisfactions could be so easily mutated into fascination.

Rather than deal with the hospital shift change, he drove the loop around the city. Even over the bridge, just to prove he could, sparing a glance for the Fort Carroll Island that had Beach so riled up that night. A box of pastry in one hand and coffee in the other, Gavin stopped at the nurses’ station on 5C for an update.

Melinda had been on every day Gavin had been by, and she shook her head before he could ask if there was any change. “Family’s talking about moving him to long-term care in another week or so.”

Gavin nodded. The Beauchamps owned shares in the biggest healthcare corporation in the South. As disinterested as Beach’s aunt and uncle were, Gavin didn’t believe they’d put him anywhere but the best, but it felt like giving up. The swelling had gone down and they’d stopped inducing his coma last week, but Beach still hadn’t woken up.

Simply because the longer he was out, the less likely he was to come back didn’t mean it was over.

Gavin squeezed Beach’s limp, dry hand. “Hang in there, Beach. You always did like your sleep. Maybe you just need longer than they think.” He’d apologized in the beginning for not getting to him in time, but without a response from Beach that turned depressing in a hurry.

He took the chair next to the bed and leaned down as he spoke. “Went to one of Soren’s things last night. Mostly the same cast. And way better than that repressed bunch of desperate idiots you call friends.

“New entry, though. The cop who found us under the bridge. Mouth like—I can’t describe this side of heaven on him. And damn, can the man fuck. Even Tommy was impressed.”

Gavin watched Beach’s face. Were his eyes moving a fraction under the thin lids? Gavin stared so hard he could see the tiny capillaries threading the surface. But nothing else moved.

Gavin made up Beach’s contribution to the conversation.
Like you weren’t impressed?

“Trust me. I was.” Gavin leaned closer. “We are talking nine by three, baby. I’m still feeling him. Still better, I’m going to be feeling that again soon.”

Always were a cock slut. I suppose he’s older as usual.

Gavin sat back. “I suppose he is. Didn’t think to ask.”

A cop? Really? On top of everything else, your dad is going to have a major cow.

“I’m not dating him. We’re just fucking.”

All the more reason.

Gavin knew that. Even in the face of flak from the church which was such a huge part of his father’s life, gay and lesbian equality mattered. It wasn’t something he said for expedience or to make an impression. He believed in it. But that also meant that Fortescue Quincy Montgomery, III believed in being equally responsible for not fucking around and having appropriate monogamous relationships.

Come to think of it, Jamie’s whole black-and-white world view would probably mesh well with that of Fortescue Q. Montgomery, III.

“Like I said,” Gavin muttered, though he was no longer talking to Beach, “we’re just fucking.”

Honey was sprawled over one of the chairs in the sunroom as Gavin came in through the garden door, Annabelle at his heels. He wondered if she’d been left out there the whole time. Taisy’s focus now was on Lee running for congress, at which point they were scheduled to purchase property and produce offspring, according to her calendar. Annabelle might come in handy for photo ops before the human children were available. She sat down and looked up at him. The long fur on her ankles and belly was matted with dirt. Gavin scooped her up and tried to comb it out with his fingers.

Honey swung one yoga-panted leg as she read on her iPad. “You should call Taisy and make her do it. Not our fault her sister-in-law has allergies. Taisy could at least get her shaved.”

“Or you could display some of the compassion for animals you pretend to espouse at your protests and take care of her once in a while.”

“She’s not a companion, she’s a captive,” Honey said. “All dog breeders—”

“Do you know where the brush is?” Gavin cut off her memorized proselytization.

“You passed it hanging up on the way in. Oh, and Father wants to see you in his study.”

Although it was probably nothing, Gavin couldn’t stop the habitual reflection on any potential misbehavior his father might want to point out. More often than not, being summoned meant his father wanted to know if Gavin could escort Lily somewhere while her husband bowed out to attend to an important golf game or whatever else placed such demands on his time. But Honey had relayed the information that special way only a sibling could employ to insinuate trouble. And as the baby by a dozen years, she was really good at that sort of instigation.

The condo in Federal Hill was long gone. But there’d be something else. After Lily had the baby and they were both, by the grace of God, healthy, Gavin could move out. He carried Annabelle into the back hall, grabbed the brush from its hook and settled her between his legs as he sat on the floor.

Annabelle wiggled toward the brush, her tail wagging in anticipation. Poor girl, she craved any attention. She’d been too well-trained in obedience classes to get it by chewing up furniture or jumping on people. Maybe their cook, Erica, who seemed fond enough of Annabelle to slip her treats, would take her home one day.

Gavin’s phone chimed with a text. Giving Annabelle a final pat, he pulled it out of his pocket. It was from his father.
Didn’t your sister tell you I wanted to see you?

Definitely trouble. Gavin supposed he could have fallen into the role of bad boy easily enough, but he hadn’t had the heart or the energy for that level of rebellion. Like Annabelle, he’d been too well-schooled to demand that level of attention. He was careful about what after-hours activities filled his time, and was prompt and courteous on all his social assignments. The trip over the Key Bridge barricades had been the first negative publicity Gavin had garnered since his adolescent predilection for getting photographed at clubs or raves that the police decided to raid.

But that didn’t stop the coil of dread from tightening in his stomach as he approached his father’s study door.

A gleaming Ultrabook was open on his desk, the bare mahogany expanse polished enough to reflect the silver from both computer and his father’s hair.

No greeting, no invitation to sit in one of the leather chairs. No preamble.

“I want you to look at this.” His father spun the computer so that the screen faced Gavin.

The video was grainy, black and white, but after a second Gavin recognized Jamie’s truck, the camera zooming to the license plate for a brief moment before panning back out. The coil of dread became a nest of writhing snakes.

“It records every vehicle.”

Gavin watched himself get out of the truck and walk toward the gate post. Jamie followed. Then they disappeared. The camera panned the driveway, back to the truck, then along the fence, pausing when it picked up Gavin and Jamie moving under the willow branches. The light green leaves didn’t provide as much cover as Gavin had thought. Despite the tree and the faint light, with the night vision of the camera, the motion of their figures was obvious, even if the details were hidden by the closeness of their bodies.

Gavin swallowed once, then imagined the blood and nerves retreating inward under his skin, until his face was deprived of the ability to make a betraying sign of guilt or shame. He buried the snakes in ice, managing to control the flash of satisfaction as he watched Jamie collapse against him for an instant, turning back the heat that wanted to stir in his cock as he remembered Jamie’s breath through Gavin’s hair. He knew he had complete control when he was able to note with detached amusement the time stamp as Jamie emerged from the willow, and inwardly rolled his eyes at his hair trigger.