Laird's Choice (6 page)

"Think of the surprise," Race whispered, fingers busying themselves undoing Laird's shirt. "And the thought of getting caught?"

"Turns me on."

"Now, Mr Anatolis. I am a big believer in

perfecting the art of the quickie."

Laird couldn't help the laughter rippling from his body. Shaking his head, he eased up a little so Race could get his shirt off. Slowly, Race slid to his knees and Laird watched with baited breath as Race's mouth moved closer and closer to his flesh. The cowboy roamed his body, leaving a hot, wet trail from his shoulder, down slightly then captured a nipple. As Race's tongue flowed over the tender bud, Laird wrapped his legs around Race's back, tossed his head back, and moaned. The heat surging up his spine sent Race's name tumbling from his lips, especially after Race moved across to the next nipple before drifting downward to plunge his tongue into Laird's belly button.

He felt Race's hands against his zipper and though a faint voice told him they should stop, he buried his fingers into Race's long hair and guided Race's mouth to his exposed dick. With his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, Laird watched, breathing stopped, as Race inched closer and closer. When the head was engulfed in his lover's mouth, Laird pushed down against the back of Race's head, feeling every glorious bit of him slip between Race's beautiful lips. He could finally breathe again but now the air was pulled in when Race sucked him deep and pushed out when Race lifted his head. He'd thought he couldn't feel any better with Race—that the novelty would wear off once he'd had a taste of the delicious cowboy on his knees before him. But that was blown out of the water when Race released him and backed away to the far wall.

He slowly peeled his shirt off. To Laird's delight, Race caught his nipple rings between his fingers and tugged. The view of Race's muscular body, twitching with desire, and the way his head fell back, hair spilling over his shoulders, left Laird feeling like a runaway train. His heart raced. His cock pulsated with the beauty before him.

Laird instantly leaped from the window and crawled on hands and knees across the space, wanting to wrap his lips around those wonderfully tortured peaks. But Race stopped him by lifting a foot gently into Laird's chest. A smile passed Laird's lips as he struggled around the foot and gripped Race by the shoulder. Together the two men wrestled around on the dusty floor. At one point Race had Laird pinned.

"Come on, Laird," Race growled, leaning in to bite Laird on the shoulder. "How badly do you want it?"

Laird's only reply was a grunt as he lurched upward.

Race pinned him again, slid up his body, and pressed a pierced nipple into Laird's mouth. But before Laird could pick up suction, Race pulled away.

This time Laird shoved upward and rolled them

over, dust swirling lightly around them. He didn't care. He simply grabbed Race's shoulder, hefted him onto the floor, and took his pleasure; feeling those sterling silver sticks swirl over his tongue followed by the hard hotness of the nipple.

"Laird!" Race shouted. "Shit."

"Does that answer your question?"

"I can't—damn—remember what my question was."

Laird laughed and moved his mouth to the other

nipple, relishing the cold metal in his hot mouth. He sucked on his lover's nipples, locking his teeth over the nipple rings and tugging.

* * * *

head. He knew if he didn't hurry, he'd make a mess in his pants. "Laird you're going to make…" his words trailed off into a groan. Even as his mind left his body to deal with the bliss, he fought with the front of his pants to get his penis out. It was as if Laird could read his mind for his lover eased back while sucking on a finger. The wet finger was used to impale him while Laird twisted at his nipples with his free hand.

"Shit!" Race swore, riding down against Laird's finger. He spun his hips, sliding his body up and down.

He'd been with a few guys but none of them awakened such a primal surge within him. None of them left him feeling so thoroughly used. They hadn't known what to do with his piercings, but Laird did—Race gasped, feeling the digit slide out of him only to be slammed back in. Groaning, he grabbed Laird's belt and tugged. He ground his teeth at the wonderful pressure of having his hole invaded. He felt his orgasm coming as it built from his very core before curling his toes.

Race was in heaven as he arched upward to watch

through dazed eyes. His cock twitched then erupted without being touched. Spurt after spurt flew through the air and landed on the ground between his legs. He panted for air, loving the way Laird's long, thick finger navigated his hole.

He whispered Laird's name, delirious, while shaking on the floor.

"You did what?" Rajan called.

"You heard him," Savaro laughed. "He met someone."

"He's only been there a few days. How do you meet someone on your vacation in only a few days?"

"Hey!" Xavier's voice hollered. It sounded far away, perhaps in another room. "Would you hooligans lower the volume? I'm trying to watch something here!"

"Laird met a man!" Rajan called to his boyfriend.

"He's telling us about it!"

There was tumbling around on their end.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the line, Laird was tapping his forehead against the desk muttering, "Why? Why?

Why?" It'd been a few days since he'd made love with Race. Once again, the two of them weren't talking about it, and he wanted to rip his hair out. He kept getting hot and cold from the sexy cowboy.

"Okay, Laird. Talk to us," Xavier's voice came from over the phone.

"Why'd you put me on speakerphone?" Laird asked needlessly. Whenever he called his brothers and they were all in the same place, he ended up on speakerphone or webcam. Taking a breath, he walked over to the window watching Race run around like a wild man in the corral. "I haven't spoken to Winston yet but with all the noise we were making I'm pretty sure he knows."

"Oh boy," Savaro groaned.

"What?" Xavier asked.

"There's this—thing… I just feel like I can't breathe when he looks at me. It's a strange reaction, I know, but I love it."

"Go back to the noise!" Rajan pushed.

Laird rolled his shoulders, knowing he would have to tell them sooner or later. He might as well get it over with. "So the other night he took me out. We went to this club. I got us VIP and everything was going great until somehow he baited me and I was in his lap and we were making out like a couple of horny teenagers. Then I realized the kind of piercings he had—well I knew from before but I could only see it pushing out of his shirt. But then I felt them…"

"Oh boy!" Rajan interrupted.

"What?" Xavier questioned again.

"Then things just went downhill from there after this jerk barged into the VIP to hit on me."

"Whoa! What?" Xavier was beginning to sound like a broken record. "What did your guy say?"

"He was mad enough to spit fire. He wanted to pound the creep into the ground but I couldn't let that happen. So I tried talking some sense into the man who of course wouldn't listen so Race threw him out."

"Did you just say Race?" Xavier questioned. "Race McKade?"

Laird felt his heart lurch then raced. "You know him?"

"Erm… How much has he told you about himself?"

Xavier replied.

"Not much. I notice that people around here treat him like a leper and they whisper when he passes by. He keeps saying there's something in his past that I won't like but he just can't seem to bring himself to tell me."

"Why the question?" Rajan wanted to know.

"X? What's going on?" Savaro pushed.

"Erm… I don't know if it's my place to say this…"

"Your place? You're my boyfriend, a part of my family. If this is going to affect my brother I damn well need to know!" Rajan spoke up. Laird could hear the angry urgency in his brother's voice. "What is it?"

"Race was a good kid," Xavier started.

Laird pressed his eyes shut, waiting for the hammer to drop.

"A few years… about—about eight years ago, he was charged and convicted…"

"Xavier? What was he charged and convicted

with?" Rajan urged.

"Murder…"

Laird's heart snapped then. His hands shook and the phone slipped from his hand to the ground. Making his way across the room he slid the lock in place then pressed his back to it. He then slid to the floor while reaching into his pocket for his cell phone and called Winston.

"Winston Clemons?"

"You couldn't have told me?" Laird accused. "Holy shit, I had this man… Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what? You're freaking out, Laird!"

"You're damn right I'm freaking out!" Laird yelled before catching himself. "You're damn right I'm freaking out! This man was convicted of murder and you have him not only living in this house but you didn't say anything and he and I… shit."

"You're not a child, Laird. You can say it. You fucked like rabbits."

"Don't be crude!"

"Then what?"

"I have to go."

"Damn it, Laird!"

Laird hung up the phone and stayed locked in the

bedroom. Taking a breath, he just couldn't get his breathing to slow down. His heart raced. His mind was filled with all the horrible scenarios anyone would think in his situation.

Suddenly it was as if he was unglued. He grabbed

his suitcase, opened it, and chucked his things in. He dragged it down to the front door then made his way back to his room to finish packing.

The moment Race saw the suitcase he knew what

had happened. There was a silence in the air that told him of the hell he had just walked into. Climbing the stairs, he leaned against the door frame and watched Laird shoving some toiletries into a carry on.

"You know."

Laird turned around. "You lied to me."

"No. I didn't lie to you, Laird. I told you there were things you should know but I just couldn't tell you."

"You're a coward."

Race swallowed the lump in his throat. He rooted

himself into the spot where he was standing and wrapped his arms around himself. "I see. Do you think I did it?"

Laird said nothing. He simply slipped to his knees and reached under the bed.

"Laird."

"What?"

"Do you think I did it?"

"It doesn't matter."

Race groaned and moved across the room before he

could stop himself. He took Laird by the shoulder and pulled him to stand. Tilting his head, he stared into the man's beautiful eyes. "Tell me. Do you think I did it?"

"Yes."

The strength in his body left him and Race's hands fell from Laird's shoulder. He smiled and nodded his head.

"Put the offer in on the house. If we get it…" Race reached into his pocket and pulled out a check. "I've been walking around with this in my pocket—here. There's no need to call. If you have… If you need more money or if there is anything I need to know, call Winston."

Stepping back, he turned on his heels and left the room. He stopped long enough to grab his hat, then stuffed it over his head and exited the house, closing the door behind him. He didn't want to be anywhere near the ranch when Laird left—he just couldn't watch Laird leave.

Somewhere along the way he'd fallen for the real estate mogul. He knew it wouldn't end well—he knew with his history no one could love him back. But it was good to know he could still feel tenderness toward a lover. He walked through the woods behind Winston's ranch. He kept on walking until it was dark and he was exhausted. He slumped to a large rock, buried his face into his hands and, for the first time in a long while, he cried. For the first time since the day he was arrested for murdering his brother, he allowed tears to flow down his face because the situation warranted it. He was losing something he cared about again.

But he didn't sob for losing Laird—at that moment years of frustration, loss, and anger bubbled to the brim and overflowed. He cried for the brother he didn't get a chance to mourn for. He cried for the conviction that stole his life from him even with the acquittal. He cried because of how foolish he was for thinking the acquittal meant anything and finally, he cried for his broken heart. When he felt drained of tears, Race rose from where he was and leaned his back against a nearby tree.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there

before his back pocket began vibrating. Arching a brow, he reached for the cell phone he still wasn't sure how to operate and pressed the button with the green phone on it.

"What?"

"Race, where are you?" Winston questioned.

"I don't know. I just started walking."

"What? Are you still on my land?"

Race looked around. "Probably. I just can't be there right now."

"What happened? Come home and let's talk. Or tell me where you are and I'll come to you."

"You can't drive here, Winston. He found out. He thinks I did it—he thinks I killed Shane. I just need some time to be by myself."

"Son of a bitch…"

At that moment Race could see the veins at the side of Winston's head throbbing even though he was far away from his friend. "Winston, breathe… it was bound to happen, right?"

"And you two didn't talk this through?"

"He was packing, Winston. There's nothing I could have said to make him stay. And why would I want him to?

He thinks I'm capable of murder. I can't hold it against him though, it's my fault. I should have known better."

"Race…"

"It's all right. I'll be home soon."

Before Winston could continue the argument, Race

hung up.

* * * *

Time passed like a dark cloud taking its sweet time passing before the sun. The days melded into one, leaving Laird with a feeling of foreboding he never thought possible. After a while, it was like he was working through a daze—doing things not because he was paying particular attention, but because they came naturally.

Laird sat in his office staring out the window. Each time his phone rang, he would yank it off the cradle, hoping it was Race. It wasn't. It had been close to three months since he'd packed up and left. True to his words, every business dealing Laird had regarding Race's house was done through Winston. Reaching for the phone on his desk, he dialed Winston's number.