Complications (10 page)

“Your assistant said I could wait for you.” Nick stared down at his clasped hands. “Guess she didn’t get the memo about me being persona non grata around here.”

“I don’t normally inform my staff about changes in my personal life.”

“Well, I’m not here because I want to be. This is a business call.” Nick pulled a mini-cassette recorder from his pocket and set it on the table in front of him. “My editor wants an interview about the wedding. He assigned it to me because we’re such good friends from college and all.” He rolled his eyes.

“If you think I’m giving you an interview, dream on.” Eric sprang from his chair and crossed the room in four long strides. “In fact, you’ve got some nerve showing your face here.”

“Don’t talk to me about nerve,” Nick snapped, jerking to his feet. “How’s Ally, by the way? Did you have to bribe her to marry you like you did Barbara, waving your credit cards and your fancy private jet in front of her face?”

That stung—but then, Nick had always known exactly how to hurt him. “No, actually, I didn’t. Believe it or not, there’s one person in the world who can stand to be around me longer than five minutes.”

“Oh, fuck this,” Nick muttered. “And fuck you too. I’m out of here.” He grabbed his recorder and headed for the door.

Then Eric realized something that should have dawned on him when Nick mentioned the interview. “How did you find out about the wedding? We haven’t released an announcement to the press yet.”

Nick froze with his hand on the door handle, then swung around with a sheepish shrug. “I was having lunch with Holly about a week or so before the ceremony, and she sort of…let it slip.”

“You, you…” The world tilted, the floor threatening to drop out from under him. Eric had to grab hold of a nearby chair to steady himself. “That really was you I saw at the reception. I didn’t imagine it.”

“I snuck in behind the banquet workers. I didn’t think you’d see me. I didn’t even want you to. I just needed to know for sure.”

“Needed to know what?”

“That you really were gone. That I’d never get you back.”

Oh Jesus Christ.
Eric’s legs buckled, and he crumpled into the chair, face buried in his hands. But when Nick knelt by his side and slid a gentle hand onto his shoulder, Eric shook him off. “Stop it. Get the hell out of here.”

“You don’t want that any more than I do.” Nick’s sigh sounded more like a ragged sob. “God, Eric, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you. Not a day goes by when I don’t wish I could take back that afternoon at the restaurant.”

“There is this invention called the telephone.”

“Would you have listened to me? I doubt it.”

Eric was about to contradict him, but bit it back. No point splitting hairs over past regrets. “For what it’s worth, I did wait for you to call. For four months, I waited. Then, when Christmas came and went without a word, I figured that was my final answer.”

“I, I didn’t marry Laura.”

If the world had tilted before, now it came hurtling down in sharp, tiny shards. “
What?
”

“I called it off a couple weeks beforehand. I couldn’t go through with it, not feeling the way I still feel about you.” Swallowing hard, he reached up to cradle Eric’s face in his hands. “I never stopped loving you, even when I thought I hated you. How crazy is that?”

I can think of something crazier
. A moment’s hesitation, then he leaned forward and captured Nick’s mouth in a deep kiss. The feel of Nick’s warm, soft lips and the tentative flick of his tongue sliced through Eric like a blade. It was wrong, being with him like this when Allison was waiting for him at home, but suddenly none of that mattered. He couldn’t let this moment pass, couldn’t risk Nick slipping through his fingers again. He simply couldn’t.

They stumbled to the couch, tearing at each other’s clothes, drinking each other down like two men dying of thirst. Naked at last, they stretched out side by side, warm skin to warm skin. Eric endured the exquisite torture as long as he could before reaching down to grasp their cocks. Nick came first, mouth falling open in a silent scream as warm ribbons of semen coated Eric’s fingers.

Then Nick slid to his knees on the floor and sucked Eric’s cock between his lips. Already hovering on the edge, Eric gritted his teeth and buried his fingers in Nick’s curls, urging him on while at the same time trying to stave off the inevitable. But the warm, wet paradise of Nick’s mouth proved too great, and when their gazes locked, that was it. Eric’s last scrap of restraint crumpled like tissue paper, and so did he, orgasm crashing over him, sending him tumbling forward into Nick’s waiting arms.

There were a few moments of lingering bliss before guilt rained down on him in all its annihilating glory. Nick was obviously feeling it too, because now he couldn’t even look at him.

“I should go,” Nick mumbled, pulling his own clothes from the haphazard pile on the floor. “I’ll make up some lame story about the interview, tell my editor you refused to talk to me. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they don’t send anybody else.”

“Thank you,” Eric replied numbly. He moved back up to the couch and perched on the edge while he watched Nick get dressed. Every moment felt like another job from a hot knife. “I suppose I won’t be seeing you again.”

“Do you really think that’s such a great idea?”

“It’s never stopped us before.” They laughed awkwardly, until Eric added, “You’re right. We can’t keep on doing this to Allison.”

“I don’t think it’ll matter to her if we’ve done it once, or a hundred times.”

Right again. Betrayal was still betrayal, no matter the degree. All Eric could do now was stare at the floor while Nick slipped on his shoes, tucked his recorder in his pocket and left.

He took a quick shower in his private bathroom and changed into a clean shirt before heading home. It was almost seven when he arrived at the penthouse. He found Allison lounging on the couch with her laptop, just like every other night. She stopped typing away and jumped up, smiling as she threw her arms around him. Eric pulled her close with one shaky hand and squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to scream.

“God, you’re exhausted.” Her concerned gaze swept him, studying him much too closely. “Why is your hair damp?”

He opened his mouth to answer, then hesitated. Part of him wanted to sit her down and explain, as simply and gently as he could, exactly what had happened between him and Nick. It was an aberration, a momentary lapse in judgment that would never be repeated. But he’d told her that before, and now he’d broken his word. How could he ever expect her to trust him again?

He couldn’t—and she wouldn’t, not if he told her. Their marriage would die, drowning in cold silence, just like his marriage to Barbara had. He couldn’t bear to go through that again, not now. Not when he’d finally found some small measure of happiness.

“I took a run on the treadmill in the executive gym, then grabbed a shower before I left. I got stuck in a hellacious luncheon meeting all afternoon, and I thought some exercise might help me burn off the tension.” Even he was amazed at how smoothly the prevarication rolled off his tongue. Disgust curled in his belly, its sour taste rising at the back of his throat.

“Looks like it did a really great job.” She brushed back a lock of his still-wet hair. “Let’s have some dinner. There’s a Caesar salad in the fridge with your name on it.”

They sat in the kitchen and ate, then retired back to the couch to watch Allison’s latest on-air segment. Nothing earth-shattering, just a three-minute report on a controversial political-thriller author making a stop on his latest book tour, but Eric was impressed enough by both her professional reporting style and bubbly on-air persona to give her a brief round of applause.

She blushed and shrugged it off, then started flipping channels, finally landing on a World War II documentary they’d both wanted to see. But within a few minutes Eric wasn’t paying much attention to anything except his watch.

She flicked off the remote, then turned to look at him. “You really are tired. I thought dinner might perk you up a bit.”

Now he wished she’d left the show on—at least it kept him from having to make inane small talk. “This is what my life’s like most of the time,” he replied, irritation creeping into his tone. “You’d better get used to it.”

Smiling, she stood and held her hand out to him. “Guess it won’t hurt us to hit the sack early for a change.”

He trailed her to the bedroom, put on his pajama bottoms and tumbled face-first into the pillow. She slid under the covers a few minutes later, rolling over next to him. “You’re still so tense,” she whispered, running her fingernails up and down his arm. “I know something that’ll relax you.”

God, no.
Making love to her now would be a whole new level of betrayal. He couldn’t face that, so he turned over to face the wall instead. He could feel her gaze boring into his back before she rolled away with an angry sigh.

Weariness enveloped him, but actual sleep mocked him with its elusiveness. When the clock on the bedside table read two, he threw on his robe and went to the living room to pour himself a scotch. When the clock on the living room wall read three, he reached for the phone.

A half dozen rings later, a sleep-fogged voice answered. “H’lo?”

“It’s me.” Eric swallowed hard. “I need to see you again.”

Silence crackled over the line, followed by a sharp, resigned gust of breath. “Okay,” Nick replied softly. “Just tell me when and where.”

Originally published from 2008-09, the
Courtland Chronicles
was my first series, and frankly, I was still too green back then to realize what a daunting challenge I’d set for myself. Five books—three novellas, two novels—following a m/m/f ménage over the course of twenty years? Yup, I was not only green, but downright crazy.

I’d never intended to start out writing a series, but once
The Arrangement
was published (after two years’ worth of resounding rejection everywhere I sent it), plot bunnies for the three prequels (
Strictly Business, By Chance
and
Complications
) attacked fast and furious. Of course, the plot bunnies couldn’t attack in proper order, which meant all kinds of continuity headaches. (I should’ve written an outline for the rest of the series after I’d finished the second book, but that would’ve been too easy!) In short, I never really felt that the series jelled the way it should have, so when the rights reverted back to me, I jumped at the chance to give these stories a top-to-bottom rewrite.

Along with fixing a plethora of tiny details, this has also allowed me the opportunity to address wider issues readers had with the original versions, mostly centering around my main protagonist, Eric Courtland. Eric’s very near and dear to my heart (in fact, he’s exactly who I’d be if I were a young bisexual man), though he can be quite prickly and difficult to like. I wasn’t a skilled enough writer back then to delve into his mind and make readers empathize with him, but hopefully I am now. I want everyone to feel for Eric as much as I do, and root for him, Nick and Ally to have their happy ending.

And just FYI, the true internal chronology of the series is:

By Chance

Strictly Business

Complications

The Arrangement

Triad

The clock on the living room wall ticked softly in the blessed quiet. Eric loosened his tie and rolled his neck in a vain attempt at easing his knotted muscles, then got up to pour himself another scotch.

He brought the decanter back with him this time and had just resettled on the blue silk couch cushions when he heard the front door snick open and shut. He didn’t turn around, just sipped at his drink, savoring the whiskey’s slow burn all the way down. 

“Hey.” Nick Thompson slipped off his jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair before bending down to give Eric a kiss. “Sorry I’m late. I was up against another killer deadline.”

“Not a problem.” He carded his fingers through Nick’s thick curls. “I was glad to have a few extra minutes to myself. It’s been a hellacious week.”

Nick dropped to his knees between Eric’s splayed legs, green eyes crinkling with concern. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be fine, just give me a couple minutes. With the stockholders’ meeting this week and the campaign gearing up…” He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to banish the insistent throb behind his eyes through sheer force of will. “This is the first chance I’ve had to catch my breath all week.”

“Wish you’d called me sooner. You know how much I love helping you relax.”

Eric laughed. “Then I never would’ve made it to the stockholders’ meeting.”

“And that’s such a bad thing?” Laughing, Nick slid both hands up Eric’s crisp white cotton shirt. “Take it easy. It’s not like you have to run right home.”

For a change
floated to Eric’s lips, but he clamped his mouth shut. He should’ve invited Nick to the penthouse tonight, but he’d grown accustomed to spending their limited time together here, in this tiny apartment he’d come to regard as his refuge. The one place he could truly unwind and be himself, despite the guilt that never stopped needling him. “You mean you don’t want to—”

“Sure I do. But it doesn’t have to be right this minute. C’mon.” Nick stood and held out his hand to him. “Let’s go get comfy.”

Somewhat the worse for scotch, Eric wobbled to his feet and trailed Nick down the hall to the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes and started unbuttoning his shirt, until Nick batted his hands away and took over. “Relax, okay? You’re all mine tonight, and I’m taking advantage.”

Eric chuckled. “Far be it from me to stop you.”

Nick’s eyes flickered with warmth as he leaned in for a kiss, then skimmed Eric’s shirt down and off and unzipped his slacks. A heady euphoria bloomed in Eric’s chest. He let his eyes drift shut, drinking in the faintly scratchy sensation of Nick’s calloused fingers dusting over his skin, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his slacks and boxers, tugging them both off at once. “Sit,” he said, giving Eric a tiny push onto the mattress.