Honey Red (23 page)

“What? You can’t tell?” He grunted softly. A sudden rush of nearly painful lust shot through him, making him tremble. He gripped her hips, holding her still. “But I will tell you one thing,” he said, when she brought her luscious lips back near his.

“What’s that?” She licked his lower lip, bit it, keeping up her hand action on his cock. He turned his head.

“I don’t know if I want him watching or not.”

She jerked away, leaving Nick panting in the seat. He pulled his jeans back up. His brain buzzed as the loop of fantasy ran through him once more—one starring the lovely woman who’d been on the verge of hand-jobbing him to climax and the man he knew hovered nearby and who had been there for at least the last ten minutes, watching them.

“Uh, sorry,” Ian’s rough voice betrayed how he felt. But Nick’s face flushed and he stood, grabbing the dog’s lead, furious indignation mingled with embarrassment replacing all the lusty energy he’d been riding for the last few minutes.

“I don’t know what you people are playing at but the last thing I need is any more brain fucking. Got it?” He let the dog lead him to the door, to an elevator and down. The funky, malty brewery smells he’d learned to associate with his sister enveloped him. Weird, burbling sounds, combined with metal pings and clanks made Brutus skitter closer to him, bumping against his leg and nearly shoving him over. He ached with a need he refused to admit and his chest burned with a combination of humiliation and fury. “How the fuck do I get out of here?” Then it hit him. Even if he could find his way out, he had no way to get home. Because he was blind and helpless, at the mercy of people who could do normal things, like drive a car.

He shook, and backed up until his ass connected with something that felt like a chair and he sat, his face in his hands. The one thing he’d felt confident about —the core truth of his own sexuality that had forced him away from his family, made him hide his real self just so he could let the military form him into something new, he’d never doubted. He clung to it, recalling in a breathless rush his time with the professor, with Dan, his rough and raw encounters with Ian, Jake’s gentle, careful lovemaking.

But images and memories of the women he’d fucked, their light, curvy, welcoming bodies, long hair, distinct, tantalizing odors shoved all that out, made him grit his teeth.  He yanked the sunglasses off, willed his eyes sighted, and himself whole again. Maybe he wouldn’t have all this conflict if he didn’t feel so fucking useless. Complex, distressing emotion boiled through him. He clenched his fists. The dog bumped against him, whining. “Stop it,” he muttered. “Just leave me the fuck alone.” He stood, the restless energy of an unconsummated erotic moment making him antsy. He sat, then stood again, and let the deep dark reality of his dependence—his stupid god damned handicap—suffuse him.

When a masculine hand landed on his shoulder he leapt up and gripped the arm attached to it. “Take me home,” he grunted. “Now.”

Ian must have opened a door not a foot from him. Nick set his shoulders and let the dog lead him out. The ride home was quiet, and tense beyond belief. Nick sensed Ian’s need to speak but hoped he would stay quiet. He did.

Ian parked, keeping the engine running. Nick startled when Ian touched his thigh. “Don’t fucking touch me.” But his voice was low, soft and when he lifted his face and found Ian’s lips it was exactly what he wanted.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Hannah’s face boiled as she looked from one man to the other. Nick sat, chest heaving, jeans tented but with fury etched into his face. Ian stood in the door, hanging on to the doorjamb, his jaw set, but eyes unreadable. Nick’s words about being mind-fucked went straight to her gut. She put out a hand, sick at herself, at what she’d done. But Ian brushed by her, saying nothing more. She stood, staring at the man she would swear she loved, if she’d let herself admit it. Why she felt compelled by the young, handsome, wounded Nick Traynor she had no idea. It nearly made her sick to her stomach, but there it was, nonetheless. A connection she wanted—with them both, god help her. But it was wrong, and she had hurt Nick. And for that she was more sorry than she’d ever been as the caretaker in her clicked in and kicked her proverbial ass for what she’d just done.

“Oh, I’m, um…shit. I didn’t mean to…” She shook, gripping her elbows, willing Ian to come to her, hold her and tell it was okay. Assure her that she had not taken utter advantage of a hot, blind guy just to prove something.

“I don’t know what you think about him Hannah, but he’s right. You can’t just jump him like that. It’s not how….” He looked down, as if gathering his thoughts. “Just leave him alone, okay? I won’t bring it up again. He can’t…he won’t…we shouldn’t do this.” He turned and headed for the stairwell.

She dropped into the chair Nick had vacated, still feeling him, tasting his lips. Tears pressed against her eyes but she forced them back. No crying. She was not going to cry over this.

She tried to think, to process the complex knot of her thoughts. He’d worked on the computers, focusing; doing his job, while she attempted to help and relay what was on the screen so he could figure out how to fix it. She could not take her eyes off him the entire time. His shoulders were broad, not as quite a wide span as Ian’s but compact, suitable to his shorter frame. And the soft grey Marine T-shirt highlighted this biceps, molding to his torso. She’d sat, staring at him, loving the heat of his proximity even as he cursed and hollered at her to give him every detail of the messages on the recalcitrant computer screen.

His thick, golden hair had grown even more. It brushed his neck, with a slight curl at the end. His dark stubbled jaw begged for her fingers. He bit his lip as he worked the computer keyboard quickly and efficiently. Her hand shook but she kept reaching for him then retreating, reconsidering her every move. The dog eyed her, but when she touched his head he seemed to calm.

Then, when she couldn’t stand it another second, she’d moved, taken off his sunglasses and kissed him. Determined just to taste, to try, to let him know how she felt; it had quickly progressed, and she found herself stroking him unable to get enough. She blushed with the memory and her skin prickled in every spot where he’d touched her.

She stood, paced, running her hands through her hair. She was not trying to mess with him, no matter what either man thought. She wanted him. More than she’d wanted anything. Catch was—she wanted Ian too and not just as a fuck buddy anymore. Their hours together at work and outside of it had become so comfortable she’d lie awake most nights watching him sleep, or if she were home alone, wishing she were watching him sleep.

Ugh. What a fucking mess you’ve made Hannah. And now, you’ve potentially even screwed up what you thought you had with Ian because all of your horny bullshit.
She sat, but would not allow herself a cry—that was one thing she would not do. No man was worth her tears—of that she was certain and she’d made that particular vow to herself years ago. She was not about to break it now no matter how tempting it may be. She rose, turned out the office lights and headed downstairs, wondering just how she could face Ian the next day, or Nick ever again.

Ian put a hand to Nick’s cheek, slanted his mouth over his and tried not to think, attempted to let his emotions lead him. Nick clutched at his shoulders over the truck’s console, a desperation to his movements that Ian recognized at once. He pulled away, swallowed hard, then got out of the truck. Nick met him halfway before he made it around to the other side, shoving him back against the truck’s hood and forcing his lips open with his tongue, gripping his hair, his ass, everywhere all at once.

Ian groaned, and pulled away. He held the other man’s shoulders, kept his focus on Nick’s face. He lifted off the sunglasses and ran a hand down Nick’s rough jaw. “Stop. Relax. It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m sorry. She…I…well, that was sort of my fault back there.”

“What?” Nick’s hands shook when he ran them through his hair. Ian cursed for the millionth time, putting this vulnerable man in such a difficult position. He should walk away from it—from Hannah, for whom his feelings were becoming complex enough to terrify him—from Nick, whose very presence right now brought out urges Ian fought with everything he had. He was going to ruin everything if he didn’t watch it and bring two innocent people along for his selfish ride.

He held Nick at arm’s length. “I planted the idea with her, about you. I could tell you guys had a moment on the dance floor at the reception and, um, well, I told her I thought it was kind of hot. And she is sort of a sex convert these days.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Nick leaned next to him, shivering in the cold night air.

Ian took a breath, and leapt into the void, hoping like hell Hannah would not kill him for what he was about to reveal. “Hannah was what you might call repressed. Sexually speaking. She didn’t have bad experiences necessarily, just not many of them and after a while didn’t really seek them out. She worked, went to school and worked, in that order. Dating or sex or relationships were not on her agenda.”

“Yeah, and so you were just the guy to help her out with that, I take it.”

“Apparently.” The men stayed quiet. “Sounds like I’m some kind of predator when you put it that way, but I assure you it was mutual. She needed, I needed, we both give and get. And it’s…well, it’s nice.”

“Super. Happy for you guys. Now if you will excuse me,” Nick gripped the dog’s lead and started to push away from the truck.

Ian grabbed his hand. “Wait. Nick, I need you to hear this. Don’t judge her. She’s not trying to fuck with your mind, I swear it.” Nick stood, held out his hand. Ian handed him the Ray Bans. “I want you to know. I would, I mean, I’d like…oh hell.” He gave in to the intense need and tugged the man close, kissing him long and deep, making them both breathless in the near dawn of a freezing Saturday morning.

Nick pulled away, reached down and cupped Ian’s erection. “Yeah, I know what you want. I can tell what you’d like. But I don’t, okay. I … it’s too much for me. I don’t want…her. I mean, I can’t.” This last was choked out, making Ian flinch from the emotion he heard in the man’s voice.

“I think you do,” he ran a finger across Nick’s cheek.  “And I don’t blame you. She is the most amazing woman on the planet hands down, period, end of story. And our relationship is not about…love. More about friendship and, um, mutual satisfaction I guess.  So…if you change your mind,” he let the sentence trail away.

Nick planted his feet and poked a finger into Ian’s chest. “That is the dumbest, most asinine horse shit I have ever heard. That you actually think that about her is one thing, but to let it pass your lips as if you really mean it? You disappoint me, Donovan. And don’t worry. I won’t change my mind,” Nick’s rough voice betrayed him but he whirled around and stomped up the steps to his house. Ian watched him go, a bright burst of possibility making his knees weak. He grabbed his phone and sent a quick text to Hannah without even thinking.

“It’s ok. He’s fine. I’m fine. Get some sleep. Let’s talk about next steps.”

But he sat in the kitchen sipping coffee, giving up on sleep, thinking about what Nick had said, and picturing Hannah for the rest of the morning. He dragged himself up and into the car, needing to pick Jamie up from his mother’s where he’d left him in the middle of the night to deal with the emergency. As usual, one look at his son’s face and hearing his happy declarations when he jumped into Ian’s arms smoothed his rattled nerves and gave him fresh resolve.

Chapter Twenty-Four