No Place That Far (3 page)

Chapter Three

On the way down the hall, his head was spinning like crazy, and he caught himself thinking he really needed another drink. Not for the booze, just to cool himself down. He didn't even feel all that drunk anymore, though his gait was a little uneven. No worse than it would be tomorrow morning.

He shivered as he pressed the elevator button. Work was probably going to suck tomorrow. Sunday nights weren't usually too busy, but standing behind the bar would be challenging. Walking would be too.

The elevator doors opened, and Marcus stepped inside and pressed the button for the lobby. He wondered if anyone had even noticed he was gone. He had no doubt his coworkers would catch on tomorrow that he'd gotten laid—Kieran could pick out an I-just-got-some grin or an I-got-fucked-within-an-inch-of-my-life stagger from a hundred paces—but everyone at the wedding was probably having too much fun and booze to notice a couple of wallflowers disappearing for a few minutes.

They'd notice if the grooms disappeared, of course. Marcus certainly knew that one firsthand.

He winced at his own thought, his blissed-out mood souring at the memory of stealing away to the limo and paying the chauffeur to walk away for a few minutes. When they'd gone back to the reception, everyone had noticed their five-minute disappearance, very slightly ruffled hair and Ray's subtly crooked bow tie. Oops.

The elevator reached the bottom, and Marcus's stomach kept right on sinking. He followed the familiar hallway and the sound of some 1980s ballad back to the ballroom, marveling at how fast his failed marriage could still fuck up his mood. As he hunted down that waiter with his perpetually full tray of booze, he debated telling Timur he couldn't do it. That he'd had a good time but just needed to bow out, grab a cab and go home for the night. All the way through his drink, from the first sip to the melting ice cubes, he pondered how to say it gently without sounding like a dick, while still making sure Timur grasped through the language barrier that
it's not you, it's me
.

But then the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

He turned his head.

Perfectly combed and styled and without a scrap of evidence that he'd recently been sinking his teeth into one of the wedding guests, Timur stepped into the room.

And Marcus forgot why he'd even thought spending the night together would be a bad idea. Timur was making his way toward the buffet, and just then Julien came from the other side and joined him there. They exchanged smiles and nods, and Julien easily rested a hand on Timur's shoulder as he was leaning in closer. Over the music, it was very hard to tell what they were saying, but Timur seemed to form longer sentences now. Hell, he seemed positively chatty, so they were probably not speaking English. Their body language betrayed an ease with each other that probably meant they must have been sleeping together at some point. Though wasn't it a bit strange to choose your ex-lover as a best man as you got married to your childhood sweetheart?

“Having a good time?” Chris pulled the chair out next to Marcus and sat down, offering him a kamikaze. Marcus took it and tore his eyes away from Timur.

“It's a great party.” Marcus lifted the glass and took a sip. “Congrats again, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Chris glanced at Julien and immediately got that goofy expression of a man so hopelessly in love he probably didn't even hear the cynicism in Marcus's words. Not that he was trying to kick Chris out of that bliss. If it happened, it would happen without his help, and he really didn't want to ruin the “best day in their lives”, as the cliché went.

He turned back toward Marcus. “I think the worst's behind us. At the risk of jinxing us, it's hard to imagine what else could go wrong.”

There's that. Few partners came back from the dead after a stint in the Legion, after all.

“Who's this Timur guy?”

“Julien's friend. They were close during his time in the Legion.” Chris paused and nodded. “Yeah, that close.”

“You all right with that?”

“Well, he is a nice guy. Julien says he's been the best friend he's ever had, apart from me.” Chris didn't look dubious or worried at all. He clearly trusted Julien, and Julien was the type of man who could be trusted. And then, their personal arrangement might be to open up the relationship eventually like many guys did, so jealousy wasn't even an option. He kind of didn't expect two ex-Mormons to take in a third, but it wasn't any of his business either. They'd work it out.

“So, what are the plans?”

“Well, there's the honeymoon to Réunion and about seven hundred other places in Europe and Asia that Julien insists we have to see. After that we'll find a new place to live together. Julien inherited quite a bit of money from his father, so we…can afford to take things slow.”

Marcus managed to bite his tongue regarding prenups or legal agreements about who owned what. He didn't want to be the negative asshole at the party, but he'd definitely ask Chris once the first bliss was gone. “How long will you be gone?”

“Four weeks. You'll be fine at your station.”

“Well, I'll be happy to take the shifts. I need them.”

He studied Marcus for a moment. “Are you doing okay? Settling in and all?”

Marcus shrugged. “Still letting the dust settle. It's par for the course.” He paused, shifting in his chair. “We're talking again.”

“Are you?” Chris's eyebrows jumped. “Is that good or bad?”

“It's…it's interesting.” Marcus drummed his fingers on the white tablecloth. “I think now that we're both moving on, a lot of the tension isn't there anymore, so we can have a civil conversation.”

“But you don't think you'll—”

“Not a chance.”

“Good.” Chris smiled. “Sounds like everything is working out the way it should.”

Part of Marcus wanted to be snide and cynical. Nothing quite so poetic as the happy groom bestowing his blessing upon a long-overdue divorce on this, the day of his own wedding. But he was right. Chris and Marcus had met during the latter days of the relationship, when there'd been nothing left to do but put out the fires and do damage control. It was hard to argue with the guy when he declared this the best possible outcome.

“Well.” Marcus cleared his throat. “No point in dwelling on that tonight. This is your wedding.” He clapped Chris's arm. “Congrats again.”

Chris beamed. “Thanks. To be honest, I'm still kind of amazed it happened.” His gaze drifted toward Julien, and Marcus followed, his own gaze landing squarely on Timur, who was laughing at something Chris's husband had said. Chris's voice sounded far away as he added, “Two years ago, he was dead. Now…”

“It's crazy, isn't it?” Marcus asked, almost whispering.

Right then, Timur's eyes flicked toward him. They locked eyes, and Marcus's heart skipped. Crazy. Yeah, that was an apt description. Amazing how a guy's entire look could change after a quick little encounter like the one they'd just had. Broad shoulders and powerful muscles were entirely different when he knew firsthand just how strong they were, and how the man used them. Every little nuance of that slight smile had changed—Timur still seemed reserved, maybe even a bit shy, but there was something else there now. Whether it was because his eyes had narrowed just enough to make him look like he was mentally calculating the precise position in which he planned to fuck Marcus later, or because Marcus had had a taste of what those lips were capable of, or maybe… Who the fuck cared? That mouth was gorgeous, and talented, and when the hell was this wedding going to be over so he could—

“Marcus?”

He jumped and turned to Chris. “Hmm?”

Chris's eyebrow rose, and when his eyes darted back to Julien and Timur, Marcus knew he was busted. Especially when the corners of his mouth started to pull up. “You dirty dog.”

“What?”

Rolling his eyes, Chris playfully kicked him under the table. “Don't even try it with me. I've seen that look on your face at work, and it's usually followed quickly by you explaining exactly what you'd do to the other guy.”

Well, if he wasn't busted before, the heat rushing into his cheeks probably finished the job. He cleared his throat and forced himself not to glance at Timur. “What can I say? The guy's hot.”

“Mmhmm.” Chris turned oddly serious. “He's probably not sticking around, though.”

“Perfect.”

“Yeah, but…” Chris glanced at Timur, though Marcus kept himself from doing the same. “Anyway.”

“What?” Marcus leaned in closer. “There something I should know about him?”

“Not…” Chris sighed. He rested his arms on the table and moved in closer too, so they were huddled together almost conspiratorially. “Julien's told me a little bit about him. He's an awesome, stand-up guy. Julien has quite literally trusted him with his life more than once.” Chris's eyes flicked toward the guys, and, judging by the shudder he didn't quite mask, he was definitely looking at Julien. Shifting his attention back to Marcus, he added, “But his sexuality's kind of a…well, it's kind of a big question mark.”

Marcus bit back a groan.
For fuck's sake.
“How do you mean?”

“Well, he's definitely not straight.” A hint of amusement flickered at the edges of Chris's mouth. That was a surreal thought—Julien regaling Chris with tales of whatever he and Timur had done in remote parts of the world. The humor vanished, and Chris went on. “But Julien's not so sure he's gay either. Or even bi. When you're out in the trenches like that, you kind of fuck whatever warm body is handy and don't split hairs about the plumbing.”

Marcus rubbed the bridge of his nose. Obviously Timur had experience with men. There hadn't been a single inkling of virgin uncertainty in the way he'd touched and moved, never mind how he'd kissed and taken control. And he supposed that at a wedding full of strangers in a totally foreign country, another horny wallflower counted as a handy warm body in the trenches, regardless of the plumbing.

“Just giving you a heads-up,” Chris said gently. “He's a good guy, but I have no idea what he's into, you know?”

“Good to know. Thanks.” Marcus lifted his head. “I'm not really in the market for much right now any—”

Movement beside them halted his thoughts, and when he looked up…

God, how he wanted to see Timur from this angle again. Just naked, and preferably with his cock in Marcus's mouth. So yeah, he tended to avoid the “curious” or the “can't get pussy, so willing to take dick” segments of the male population, but he absolutely still was considering Timur, at least for a hot and sweaty night, after which Timur would likely head to the airport, nice and relaxed for his intercontinental flight, and that would be that.

“Timur, you've met Marcus?” Chris asked.

Timur nodded. “You work at same bar?”

“Yep. And we're—” Chris glanced past Timur. “Damn it. Wedding duty calls.” He rose. “You guys enjoy yourselves, okay?”

Oh, we will.

Chris squeezed Marcus's shoulder, and then left in the general direction of Julien.

Timur glanced after him, but then his attention was back on Marcus. “Did you buy things?”

“Not yet, but good idea.” Marcus stood, and they ended up very close again, chest to chest, and the expression in Timur's eyes was downright hungry. Whatever he might prefer if given a range of choices, Timur was itching for sex, and that was fine by Marcus. He was too. So he worked his way through the crowd and got to the small shop in the hotel foyer, where he found condoms and lube.

With everything in a white—and thankfully opaque—plastic bag, he returned to the party, where Timur was still standing by the sidelines. Considering he didn't talk much to anybody else, and also didn't dance or stuff his face, he seemed remarkably stoic just then. Maybe he had practice from all that guard duty? What exactly had he done in the Legion? With his hard body, calloused hands and his ability to shift gears from stoic to passionate without warning, he didn't strike Marcus as the regimental cook.

The party was getting louder and more drunk, and a few people were already leaving—those who had to work tomorrow or had other early commitments, probably. He sidled up to Timur and glanced meaningfully at the bag. Timur leaned closer. “Five minutes, my room?”

“Yep.”

Timur went back into the crowd toward Julien, exchanged just a few words with him, then headed upstairs. Technically, the best man was supposed to stay and make sure everything went smoothly, but Julien gave Marcus a look and a lopsided smile. Maybe they had been obvious, if you knew what to look for, but Marcus had gotten the impression that Julien was overall a fairly laid-back guy, and apparently he'd had his battle buddy's back. Which was damn nice of him.

Once Timur was gone, Marcus checked his watch, had another drink—water, this time. He'd have excused himself, but Chris was nowhere to be seen, so he just left, getting to Timur's room via a different route.

He wasn't even sure why they bothered being this discreet. Every wedding guest was focused on the two grooms, and the two grooms had given their tacit blessing for Timur and Marcus to make their escape to commit all manner of sins that would probably have the largely Mormon guests gasping and clutching their pearls. Maybe discretion
was
the best approach.

Heart pounding, Marcus hurried down the hall on the fifth floor. He stopped in front of the room and was about to knock, but hesitated. It was room 521, right? He glanced around. It was this one. Wasn't it? What if he knocked on the wrong—

The door opened.

Timur had shed his jacket, and his vest and bow tie were gone, and, sweet mother of God, this was definitely the right room.