Honey Red (21 page)

Without exchanging any more words, she let Jamie pull her away. “Where’s your dad?” she said, when he stopped in front of the giant buffet of beer-friendly finger food.

She saw Gavin’s sons hovering in the corner and took Jamie over to them. They smiled at her and took their cousin over to the chocolate fountain. Hannah resisted the urge to stop them, realizing the kid might as well totally OD on sugar. It was a party after all. She looked around, spotted Alyssa and Gavin chatting with a huge group of beer people. Ian was nowhere in sight. And she had never needed him more.

Ian frowned as a shiver slithered down his spine. He sipped, chatted with the owners of a couple of large Midwest breweries and tried to keep a bead on his kid, his date, and Nick. This whole thing was beyond imagining. He couldn’t wait until it was over. He supposed he’d be taking Hannah home, to his house. Gavin and Alyssa were leaving for their honeymoon in a couple of days—Munich, then Belgium, then France. He shook his head at their beer geekiness. The boys were headed back to the west coast, and Ian felt at loose ends, as if this were the precursor to everything changing.

The band was setting up, ready to launch the mild cocktail party to the next stage. That weird tingly sensation hit him again. He looked around, ignoring the people in front of him seeking the red hair of one and the blond of another. He ended the conversation, wandered back to the bar, and had them pour him another mild lager. He was trying to keep it cool, to be the sober one.

A hand on his waist, that then dropped down to his ass made his cock press against the back of his zipper so fast he gasped, and stepped away from her. “Cut it out,” he muttered into his beer.

“Ian,” Hannah whispered, setting his every nerve ending on edge.  “I need you.”

He gripped her arm, pulled her close. “No you don’t,” but he knew what she meant. He grabbed her hand and tugged her away from the crowd, finding the steps down to the basement underneath the club where Gavin and Alyssa were holding their reception. And his body was crying out, fairly screaming for contact with her. He no longer heard the band, or the conversations, or pretty much anything but her voice in his ear as they found a dark corner. This sex-soaked journey they’d embarked on was alarming to him on some level, as if he had to keep their physical contact to maintain some kind of mild emotional connection that he craved.

“Jesus, Red, what’s gotten into you?” he groaned and shoved her skirt up, needing to touch her, to taste her. She smiled and handed him a condom. Experiencing a half second of frustration at the interruption, Ian wondered just how she would feel without the thin latex between them. But he’d declared this a hard and fast rule. Her adaption to it was admirable.

“You have, Ian. God, help me.” She sighed, as he ran his thumb across her lips and stroked into her warm, welcoming grip, shoving her hard up against the wall. “Yes, oh yes.” She gripped his hair, yanked his face to hers and kissed him as she clenched, pulling him over the orgasmic edge fast.

“Shit,” he grunted, gripping her ass and pumping into her. “You are…ah, god.”

She smiled, threaded her fingers in his hair. “Lucky me. I remembered your condoms.”

“Yeah,” he said, burying his face between her breasts. A sweet scent filled his nose, something he’d noticed before around her but that seemed even more intense right now in this illicit hidden space under his brother’s newly married feet. “Hannah,” he sighed.

“Huh,” she said, lifting herself up and off him, zipping him back up and adjusting her dress. “That’s me.”

He pulled the condom off, his face flushed and his heart pounding. He stopped her from fidgeting around with her hair, held her face and stared into her eyes. “You are going to kill me. Or something.”

She bit his lower lip and slipped out from under his touch, like she always did. “Something, I’d hope. So you’re around for more.” She took a few steps away as he leaned in the doorway to the storage room, trying to recover and get a grip on his roiling emotions. “Oh, uh, hi, Nick.”

Ian tucked his shirt back in, reassembling himself fast, then looked up and saw him, the man he believed he loved, standing with a look of disbelief on his face. Ian tried to process the words he spoke. “You know that honey smell I told you about upstairs? It’s even stronger now,” Nick said, leaning into Hannah but keeping his face turned to Ian. Ian started to say something but the sight of Nick’s strong, firm, uniform clad form close enough to Hannah to reach out and hold her close had rendered him utterly speechless. Nick went on. “Sorry to interrupt. But your son is throwing a fit worthy of a pop star diva up there. I was sent to find you. I guess I can thank my dog that I got to catch the last bit of your quickie.”

He put his lips near Hannah’s neck, and Ian saw her tremble. Nick licked his lips, then turned and walked slowly back up the steps. Ian stood, mouth gaping open. Hannah scratched her nose, fiddled with her hair. “Wow.” She said, not looking at him.

“Yeah,” he said, walking past her. But she put a hand on his arm.

 “You need to clear the air with him.” She said. “For both of your sakes.” Her eyes were sad, and Ian felt all kinds of shitty at that moment.

“Hannah, I….” He tried to summon the guts to say what he was feeling—to be utterly honest, as they had declared they would be. They had no emotional connection, at her insistence. And what was washing through him at that moment was nothing but a raw, aching need to watch as Nick kissed Hannah. But the words required describing that sounded selfish, or depraved.

She touched his cheek then climbed the stairs leaving him alone with his ragged, tumbled thoughts.

Chapter Twenty-One

The band was ready, and Nick realized he would have to do the first dance with Alyssa, in lieu of their long-dead father. He sighed, gripping the dog’s lead tight and accepting the beer that Jake put in his hand. He had a brief flash of memory, so incredibly bright and painful he had to put the drink down before he dropped it. Dan’s face, dark, handsome and open appeared as clearly as if the man were right next to him and Nick’s eyes still functioned. He pictured him, the night they met, when the guy was transferred into Nick’s counter intelligence unit. They’d been in crisis mode, and Dan had sorted out a huge network snafu that threatened to take their entire surveillance program down for several hours. Nick had sworn off relationships at that point, having been burned by the last guy he’d cared about and had been fighting a very strong compulsion to jump between the legs of a fellow IT grunt—a distinctly female one that had made him doubt his sanity.

 But Dan’s amazing mix of tall-dark-handsome, computer savvy, dry sense of humor hotness had him floored within hours. They’d danced around each other a while, always wary of being caught out. But when Nick went on a well-earned shore leave in Southern Turkey, he’d been thrilled but not really surprised when Dan appeared at his hotel room, six pack of beer in hand. They had not left the room for nearly two days. And Nick was able to not only disperse the odd moment he thought he could find sexual satisfaction with a woman but also to fall deeply in love with the younger man.

“Dan,” he whispered, hating the way his very soul darkened when he thought about what had happened. The reception music faded; he couldn’t feel the dog’s head under his palm—it was as if a black hole had opened up and consumed him, right in the middle of Alyssa’s big day. “Shit.” He muttered, rubbing his temple. The headache that usually trotted in on the heels of this kind of slide into depression crouched in the corner of his psyche preparing to pounce and turn him into a quivering mass of no-fun-at-all.

“Hey, you want to leave?” Jake’s voice was at once a comfort and annoying.

“No, I can’t leave.” He said, jerking away from the hand on his shoulder. “Sorry,” he muttered, picking up the beer and draining it, wishing he could just be alone—or better yet, with Ian. He lifted his face when he sensed Alyssa standing next to him.

“Hey handsome. Let’s dance.” She pulled him to his feet. He went, reluctantly, after telling Brutus to stay. “Thanks,” Alyssa leaned on his shoulder as music swirled and he could hear people muttering about “that poor man” and other bullshit. He swallowed the angry frustration that threatened. “You okay?” his sister asked him. He nodded, determined not to ruin this for her with his usual melodrama. She put her palm to his face as they moved around the dance floor and strains of “Stand by Me” floated through his brain.

“I love you, Alyssa,” he said, as his throat closed up. “I’m so glad you found happiness.”

She leaned into him. He held her close, comforted by the under-the-radar like pinging of the baby’s heartbeat in his ears. He frowned as the familiar whoosh-whoosh seemed to take a little jump, get faster. Just as he was focusing on it, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He stepped back, handing Alyssa over to her new husband.

“Hang on,” Alyssa said, taking his hand to lead him to his seat. But he shook her off.

“No, go, dance, I’m fine.” He stood a moment, alone, his own heartbeat pounding so loud it drowned everything else out. For a split second he was frozen in the grip of panic. Why had he brushed her off? He’d actually thought he could find his own way off the dance floor to a seat? Something even that simple he couldn’t manage on his own. He put a trembling hand down, but the dog was not there. He lifted his arm, but Jake didn’t appear. Then, just as quickly as Alyssa left his arms, he felt her, Hannah, the girl who smelled like honey. She slipped into his embrace as if she’d been there her whole life. He sighed, put one hand on her hip and threaded fingers of his other with hers.

Nick had lost his virginity to a female in high school. It had not been unpleasant, but quick as most male deflowerings are. She’d been a couple of years older than him, a friend on the track team. They stayed friends, and she’d told him he should open his eyes and own up to the fact that he was gay or at least bi. He’d had a few female hookups during the years he spent in college. But by his junior year he’d been unable to sleep, compelled by something he could not name, he’d met and fallen for a much older man.

He shivered, recalling long buried memories of his first true male sexual experience and his subsequent obsession with the handsome, erudite and very married calculus professor. When Dr. Grant Patterson had called their torrid affair officially finished because he felt Nick was getting “too attached” Nick had experienced the first of what he’d learn were near suicidal depressions. He had loved Grant with every fiber of his being, but later came to terms with what it had been—a real deflowering, an honest sexual awakening that had left him breathless and horny every waking moment but nothing more. And afterward he’d been firmly convinced that “gay” was the word for him. Not “bi” or “curious” or in any way anything other than a man who loved men.

But right now, with the lovely Hannah in his arms, every inch of his skin was on fire. He could hardly breathe for the sweet essence that seemed to emanate from her pores. He shifted, so she couldn’t feel just how turned on he was. He frowned when she molded herself back against him. “Cut it out,” he whispered in her ear, letting his lips touch her flesh just enough to allow a taste to coat his tongue. He moved his hand around to the small of her back and held her close. If she wanted to feel his erection then that was her choice.

The small sound she made deep in her throat—a sort of sigh crossed with a deeper, sexier sound, nearly made him come unglued. She turned her face so he could feel her breath on his skin as they swayed into the next song, to music Nick no longer heard. “Cut what out?” The hand she had on his shoulder moved closer to his neck. “You are really good looking.” She whispered.

“No, I’m an optical illusion. The man who loves men turned on by you. Go figure.”

“All that hotness and a sense of humor too. Nice.” Her fingertip grazed his neck.

“This is the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me,” he heard his voice break. But he kept his nose near her hair—anything to keep smelling her. He moved his hand a little lower, relishing her soft curves, the light-as-air feeling in his arms. So different from what he believed he wanted, and so absolutely right at that moment.

“Oh?” She cupped his neck, slipped her fingers in his hair.

“Yeah, using a slow dance as an excuse to grope is not part of my repertoire, under normal circumstances.”

“You’re hardly groping Nick. Believe me.”

He flinched when her lips touched his jaw. But the contact was soft, not urgent, amazing and pleasant and just about all he could take. He needed to push her away, but in some kind of contrarian move, he lowered his face and their lips met. He kept it soft, clamping down on the urge to press further. Then he broke the connection, leaning into her ear once more. “You smell so good. And you feel….” He held her close. “Perfect. I wish….” He blew out a breath.