Melbourne Heat (6 page)

Charles roared aloud as his climax thundered. For just a moment, he completely lost control of himself. Subconsciously, he let his beast loose for just a split second. His hands elongated and claws snuck out. A wild, fierce cry—something half man, half wolf—boomed through the room. He lowered his head, scenting Spencer in all his richness, and his beast took control. Charles bit down into the tender juncture between shoulder and neck and marked Spencer, suckling the skin so a small bruise appeared. The wolf roared to be released, to claim his mate. Just as he felt his nails pinprick Spencer’s hips he reined tight control back over himself.

His cock erupted and he plundered Spencer’s arse, seed shooting out as he pumped with a blurring speed. He rode through the climax and was completely spent.

Spencer wobbled and fell face first into the sheets. Charles followed him down then spooned his body warmly. They each gasped and caught their breath. Spencer linked his fingers through Charles’ and the intimate, tender gesture touched Charles deep inside. Whatever else Spencer might think, Charles knew with that action he hadn’t scared the man off.

Charles buried his head in Spencer’s back, enjoying the scent of sex that enveloped them both. He could smell Spencer’s shampoo and faint traces of his soap. Best of all, Charles could detect himself all over and inside his partner.

Despite himself, Charles gloried in the mark, the large hickey-looking bruise Spencer now sported. He hadn’t meant to do it, the subconscious need of his wolf to warn any others away had been deeply instinctual.

But Charles couldn’t be upset at what he’d done. Now, should any other shifters come intimately close with Spencer, they’d scent him upon them, regardless of whether Spencer bathed or drowned in cologne. After a month the mark would wear off should they go their separate ways after tonight. But Charles couldn’t believe such a thing after how well they fit together.

Minutes ticked by. Spencer moved onto his back then turned his head. Charles grinned at him.

“I’m hoping you’ll spend the night,” Charles said.

Spencer chuckled. “I don’t think I could move for a third round.”

“I meant to sleep,” Charles said. “But I make no promises for the morning. You do things to me, make me want so much from you.”

“I’ll need to leave early,” Spencer said then yawned. “I’ll need to go home and change. Nothing says class quite like arriving back at work in the same clothes, even more rumpled, that you left in the day before.”

“I think I can manage to get you home in time to change,” Charles said. “If you want a shower now, though, I suggest you take first turn. I’ll change the sheets and clean the toys and give you a few minutes to breathe in private.”

Spencer simply looked at him and smiled. It was a soft, genuine thing and made Charles’ heart pound in his chest. Charles reached out and cupped Spencer’s jaw. He stroked his finger over those sharp cheekbones and marveled at what a wonderful man he’d found.

Charles lowered his mouth and pressed his lips against Spencer’s. This kiss was different from everything else. It was filled with tenderness, a slow, blossoming awakening. Charles felt like it might be the beginning of something beautiful and very long term between them. He pulled back and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of Spencer’s nose.

“Go grab that shower,” he said a little huskily. “I’ll clean up here, then wash up myself.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Spencer said.

They shared a brief look, then Spencer climbed off the bed. Charles watched him go, smitten. When he heard the water turn on in the next room he got up and started to strip the bed down, grateful that he had a clean set of sheets in the linen closet.

* * * *

The next morning

Spencer stood at the communal printer and tried to surreptitiously wriggle his arse. As expected, he was deliciously tender this morning. He wouldn’t classify the uncomfortable sensation as sore, though by rights he should be. Earlier that morning there’d been a fast, wet quickie in the shower with Charles before he’d been driven home as promised around dawn.

There was a rawness, though, to those infrequently used muscles, the sexual ones. They’d had quite the workout in the last twenty-four hours. Small aches and little twinges were a price he willingly paid for the fantasy-inspiring sex.

Since most of Spencer’s work was done sitting, he was finding this morning that he needed to stretch every hour or so just to keep the minor aches from being becoming more than that.

Also, there were the odd marks on his hips that stung just a little when his business trousers rubbed over them a certain way. He had no real idea when or how he’d received them. Certainly the pinpricks weren’t the shape of human nail marks, though surprisingly they were placed on his hips right where a lover grasping him would leave them.

Sex-addled and still happily reliving the previous night in his mind, Spencer wasn’t too concerned where the marks originated from. He must have bumped into something over the last few days. The marks were small and he hadn’t even noticed them until he’d re-showered at his own place before getting ready for work.

The dark hickey, however… He knew
exactly
what had caused that, and when he’d received it. Spencer could never recall coming twice so closely together. Nor had he ever come quite as hard as he had the previous night. Charles had delivered on every promise he’d made and then some. Spencer couldn’t remember ever having a hickey before—he’d never been one for blatant marks or having his partners suck his flesh. Play-acting at vampirism did nothing for him.

Despite all that, last night could well prove fodder for many, many months of heated reliving in his mind should things turn sour over the next few dates. Spencer actually felt mildly confident that nothing would come between him and Charles in the near future, but he was fully conscious of the fact that he was still caught up in the whirlwind of their initial meeting. Day-to-day reality might prove otherwise.

None of that mattered right now. Spencer planned to enjoy every moment possible with Charles, and if it all went south then he had a whole host of memories already to keep him company.

Spencer returned to his desk and glanced at the clock down at the bottom of his monitor. He sighed. There were hours left to his day.

Charles had issued a dinner invitation for later in the evening and Spencer was eagerly looking forward to it. He couldn’t remember the last time another man had cooked for him. Other than a few one night pub hook-ups, he’d been fairly chaste since his cringeworthy break-up a few years ago.

The simple intimacy of sharing a meal, of being in someone’s home and watching them cook, even helping, was something Spencer found himself really looking forward to.

“I’d like to see Spencer Dowell please,” a man insisted loudly from the direction of the reception desk. “My name is Malcolm Trinad and it’s about a new account.”

Spencer had one of a few dozen small offices that were down a hallway from the main entrance. All of the higher-ups, the important people, were farther back in the building and given the luxury of thick walls, and windows that had views and privacy. Malcolm was talking loudly enough and in such a brusque tone that his words carried. Seconds later Spencer’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, not the least surprised to see that it was the receptionist to pass along the message.

Shaking his head, Spencer picked up the phone and reached for his jacket.

“Hello, Nell,” he answered.

“Uh, there’s a Malcolm Trinad here for you, about a new account?”

Poor Nell sounded cowed. Spencer could imagine how aggressive Malcolm could appear to the young woman.

“I’ll come out and see him, is the front room clear?”

“Oh yes,” Nell replied. “Though it’s booked in an hour.”

“This won’t take that long. I’ll be right out, thanks, Nell.”

Spencer hung up the phone and straightened his jacket and tie.

Malcolm was a bicycle courier who worked in the inner city. A few weeks ago he’d started coming around the offices in the building more and more frequently. Spencer had never noticed the man before, but suddenly he seemed to be around all the time. Spencer didn’t have a clue how he’d captured the man’s attention, but something about him must have, for Malcolm had started making increasingly blunt overtures.

Until the advances had become more pronounced, Spencer had been wary but willing to accept a working relationship with the man. Something had changed last night when he’d walked into the Botanical Gardens as they’d grown dark.

Already full of misgivings, Spencer had still honored his meeting arrangement with Malcolm, planning to offer another accountant to take his case, or sever ties completely. But as the shadows had grown and the night become dark, the isolation of the park and something instinctive within him had gone from wary to cautious to downright afraid.

Spencer had been trying to talk himself out of leaving when he’d heard the ominous
clomp, clomp, clomp
of heavy boots coming down the footpath. Feeling frightened, he’d hidden in the bushes, cringing back as his imagination and worry about Malcolm had snowballed with tangible fear in the gathering darkness. Charles had been a blessing right then in many ways, despite the fact that it had been his heavy army boots that had triggered the flight instinct in him.

There were no regrets about standing Malcolm up, but obviously now he’d have to explain his actions to the guy. Spencer didn’t relish the conversation, but he was certainly man enough to own up to the consequences of what he’d done.

Spencer strode down the hallway, hoping he looked a lot more confident than he felt. He smiled as he came into view and saw Malcolm. Tall and thickly built, the man had close-cropped dark hair and an air of impatience. Even though he wore a Lycra bicycle outfit and denim jacket, the air about him was as if he were in a six hundred dollar suit.

“There you are,” Malcolm said.

Spencer reached out a hand to shake in the hopes of cutting anything further off. Nell was listening eagerly and Spencer knew this would be a touchy conversation. He really didn’t want anyone overhearing it.

“Malcolm, good to see you,” he lied. “Please come into the meeting room and we can discuss your new account.”

“We were supposed to discuss it last night,” Malcolm replied angrily. “But you stood me up. I thought you were more professional than that.”

Inwardly, Spencer sighed as he led Malcolm to the room and closed the door behind him. No matter what happened, there’d be gossip. He resigned himself to a number of explanations later on.

“I’m sorry I didn’t keep our meeting,” Spencer said. “I did go to the Gardens, but I met up with a friend there. It was a lot darker and more isolated than I’d realized and I let myself be talked into going out for a quick bite to eat. I had planned on calling you later this morning to apologize, but your being here has beaten me to that.”

“You could have called last night,” Malcolm said, still clearly annoyed, though calming down now.

“Your business card is in the file I’ve opened for your new account,” Spencer explained. “And that was safely on my desk. I didn’t have your number with me last night, which again was an oversight on my part, but it was an honest mistake. I’d set out to meet you, otherwise I would have canceled earlier.”

“I suppose we can have that discussion now,” Malcolm said.

Spencer felt relieved and brought to mind the rehearsed speech he wanted to give Malcolm. The man took him by surprise, though, by reaching out a hand and grabbing his arm. Spencer frowned. Malcolm drew him closer to his body and once again Spencer realized things were falling out of his control.

Hoping to head things off before they really got nasty, Spencer spoke quickly and tried to shake Malcolm’s grip off.

“Actually, last night I wanted to tell you that my workload has increased recently. I’m not at all sure I have the time needed to dedicate myself to your accounts. I can make a recommendation for a few other accountants here at the firm that can—”

“I don’t want anyone else,” Malcolm insisted. “I want— What?”

Spencer tried to lean back, to have some semblance of personal space, but Malcolm was crowding him terribly. The hand clamped around his arm was immovable. Shaking a little inside, Spencer hoped like hell he wouldn’t have to call out for help, but Malcolm seemed almost poleaxed for a moment.

The man leaned his head uncomfortably close and sniffed.

Did he just sniff me?

Spencer shook his head, wondering if he was going mad.

“Like I said, I’m terribly sorry, but I simply won’t be able to be in control of your accounts,” Spencer repeated. He tugged his arm hard, and surprisingly, Malcolm let him go. Too relieved to think closely about that, he took a couple of quick paces backward. Spencer sucked in a deep breath and straightened his spine, hoping to look like he was cool, calm and collected, and not at all wishing he could run out of the door.

Malcolm closed the distance between them before Spencer could even see him move. Once again, but at least without touching him, the man bent over him and sniffed. Malcolm reared back and glared at him like he’d bathed in shit or rolled in mud before getting dressed that morning.

Spencer felt well out of his depth. He knew he’d been uncomfortable around Malcolm, knew there was something strange about the man, but not once had it crossed his mind that he might be deranged.

“Why do you have the scent of another branded upon you?” Malcolm demanded.

Spencer dropped his mouth open. Out of everything the man could have said, that was something he’d never have expected.

“Excuse me?” Spencer replied, flabbergasted.

What the fuck?

Spencer knew for a fact that he’d bathed twice that morning, wore fresh clothes and had his usual deodorant on. He couldn’t possibly smell of
anything
. And why was Malcolm suddenly talking strangely? Who said something like ‘branded upon you’? It wasn’t like he was some heifer at a cattle ranch, was it?