The Flame (10 page)

“Shane? We both do, I think.”

“No. Bastian Drake. If that’s even his real name.”

“Maybe he’s not real at all. Besides, it was just a note taped to the side of a candle. So what if you did what it said? How were you supposed to know what was going to happen?”

“His eyes.”

“What?”

“His eyes. In the shop. When he was offering me the candle, when I wasn’t going to take it, his eyes—they turned gold. Just like what you saw last night, just like what I saw. Pure gold. That’s when I knew something… Part of me went into denial. I knew if I lit that candle at The Roquelaure House, something was going to happen. And I only did it because I was too afraid to come back here and talk about what we did during Mardi Gras.”

“You were afraid to tell me how much you wanted it to happen again,” he says.

It’s not a question.

“Pretty much, yeah,” she answers. “But still, the candle. I shouldn’t have just—”

Andrew rights himself, cups her chin in one hand and draws her face to his. Their lips are inches apart, but his gaze is intent. “This is real, Cassidy,” he whispers. “It’s real. We’re not here having this conversation because our heads were messed with by black magic. We did what we wanted to do. Didn’t we? Wasn’t it what you wanted?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “But now that we’ve done it, I have got to make sure we’re going to be okay.” She kisses him quickly and slides off the sofa.

“Now?” Andrew asks. “You’re going to talk to him now?”

“Yes.”

“All right, well I’m going with you.”

“No. You’re staying right here.”

“Why?” Andrew asks, dropping his voice to a whisper as he follows her up the stairs.

“As soon as he wakes up, Shane’s going to freak. I need you to keep him from running. Do whatever it takes to keep him here.”

“
Whatever
it takes?”

“Use your imagination if you have to.”

Oh my God. Did I really suggest that?

Yes, you sure did. And if you keep thinking about it and don’t start moving, you’re going to end up in bed with them both again before you manage to track down Mr. Not-Your-Average-Candlemaker.

“How do you know he’s going to run?” Andrew asks.

“He went missing for a week after the three of us made out for five minutes. Last night’s gonna have him on the first plane to China.”

“This was different, Cassidy.”

They’ve reached the closed door to their bedroom.

“Trust me. He’ll freak.”

“Because he slept with a woman?”

“Because he slept with someone he has feelings for,” Cassidy says. “
Two
someones. Look, Shane acts like he’s this big player with no feelings. But that’s only because he always keeps his feelings out of it. He never plays with anyone he actually cares about.”

“And there’s no one he cares about more than us.”

“Maybe,” she whispers, but everything inside of her yearns for this to be true, yearns to believe it with the same conviction Andrew does. She lifts Andrew’s hand to her mouth, kisses the tips of his fingers. When she remembers the way he slid one of them in between Shane’s lips the night before, her lips get tingly and her thighs flush. “Maybe,” she says again, only this time it sounds more like a sigh.

“Cassidy, do you really think Bastian Drake is dangerous?”

“I don’t think he’s dangerous. I just don’t think he’s very direct when it comes to his product. And I have to know I didn’t do something that’s going to end up hurting the men I love.”

At the sound of the panic in her voice, Andrew takes her in his arms again, brings his lips to her ear. “Well, I’m not feeling anything right now that feels like pain.”

“An hour, maybe two,” she says, returning his embrace. “If I’m not back by then, you and Shane can come down to the Quarter with guns blazing. Start on Dumaine Street between Burgundy and Dauphine. That’s where his shop is, if it’s still there. If I didn’t imagine the whole damn thing.”

Her husband’s compliance is in his silence. But that’s not enough. She takes his face in her hands, brings the tips of their noses together. “In the meantime, you do anything it takes to keep Shane from running again.
Anything.
And when I’m back, we’ll figure this out.”

“Two hours,” Andrew says. “Two hours and then I’ll call the cavalry.”

“I don’t think we’re going to want to explain any of this to the
cavalry
.”

“I don’t care who thinks I’m crazy. I just want you back safe.”

He kisses her so forcefully her robe slips off her shoulders. She fights the urge to lift her legs off the floor and wrap them around his waist. She almost loses the battle; she’s stroking one of his calves with her right heel, and her hands have turned to claws against the hard ridges of his back.

“Two hours,” Andrew whispers.

He opens the bedroom door for her like an attentive valet.

Still tangled in the sheets, Shane doesn’t wake up as she tiptoes toward her closet.

11

ANDREW

Andrew isn’t sure caffeine will be the best thing for Shane’s sure-to-be frayed nerves, but puttering around the kitchen beats hovering in the bedroom, waiting for him to wake up. Besides, he could use some coffee, too. It’s his reward for managing to get through a quick shower without Shane sneaking out on him. He’s only filled the coffee maker halfway when he hears footsteps on the stairs—pounding footsteps that come so fast it sounds like Shane will be out the front door in another few seconds if Andrew doesn’t act right away.

In the foyer, he finds Shane struggling into his shirt while he spins in place, surveying the hardwood floor all around him.

“They’re gone,” Andrew says.

Shane whirls, wide-eyed. Did he think they’d left him?

“You’re looking for the footprints, right?” Andrew asks. “She was looking for them too. But obviously they’re not here anymore.”

Maybe he won’t be in such a rush to leave now that he sees Andrew was waiting for him to wake up.

Or maybe not.

When he takes in the sight of Andrew in only loose-fitting pajama bottoms, Shane blushes fiercely and turns his back to him. Then he punches his left arm through a dangling sleeve and starts buttoning up his jeans as he heads for the front door.

Damn. She was right. He’s totally freaked.

“Shane…”

“I’m late,” Shane says.

“For what?”

“Work!”

“Cassidy’ll be back in an hour. Just hang out.”

“I need to go. I’ve got an open house later.”

“Open houses are on Sundays.”

“I said
later
, didn’t I? Sunday’s later. Also, I’m going to drop in on my doctor and make sure I don’t have a huge brain tumor that’s making me see things.”

“Quit being ridiculous.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“Shane, if it’s a brain tumor that makes you see giant golden ghosts that give you amazing orgasms, then all three of us have the exact same tumor. And that doesn’t seem very likely, does it?”

The part where giant gold ghosts gave them all great orgasms doesn’t seem very likely either, but he keeps this to himself. Give Shane an inch of sarcasm and he’ll take a mile, a mile that will have him out the door and out of his grasp.

Shane stares at him. He’s managed to put himself together now, but it hasn’t improved his mood.

“Ghosts?” Shane finally says. “Last night was about…
ghosts
?”

“Somewhat. I think… I mean, yeah. Sort of.”

“Well, alrighty then. I guess that explains everything. Anyway, I’m going to work and if I’m not a blithering idiot by the end of the day, I’ll talk to you guys later, after I’ve had about half a bottle of Grey Goose and maybe a Benadryl or two.”

“Sit down, Shane.”

“I’m not
sitting down
, Andrew,” he says, gripping the knob. “Please. I just need to—”

Shane only manages to open the door a few inches before Andrew’s on him. He throws his weight against Shane’s, forcing him to shut the front door with his chest.

“Let me go,” Shane says. But he whispers it the way he might whisper
Don’t stop
or
Yeah, right there. That’s the spot.
He paws weakly at the doorknob with his right hand, his eyes screwed shut, breathing hard and fast through flaring nostrils. Andrew can feel the gooseflesh his touch sends across Shane’s skin.

“Jesus, “ Andrew says. “You’re really terrified, aren’t you? She’s right. When was the last time you had sex with someone you actually gave a shit about?”

“I’m not interested in being a prop to spice up someone’s marriage.”

“
Someone’s
marriage? Quit being a dick.”

“Quit making promises with yours you can’t keep.”

“What promises?”

“I can’t, Andrew. I just… I can’t.”

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t just put on little shows with Cassidy to get you off. This isn’t going to be a
thing
with us, okay?”

“I didn’t get off, remember?”

“I’m not straight, Andrew. And I can’t pretend to be for you or for her. Or for your viewing pleasure, or whatever last night
was
.”

“You don’t know what you are for Cassidy anymore and it’s freaking you the fuck out. That’s what last night was.”

“Okay. Fine. So I’m a four on the Kinsey scale instead of a five. I admit it. Can I go?”

“I was there, dude. You’re a three.”

“Only when you’re sucking on my neck. And I’d say that rounds me back up again.”

This hoarse whisper—the blend of desire and anger in it—makes Andrew’s balls tense up. “I promised Cassidy I wouldn’t let you leave,” he says in a voice that reminds him of his old football coach. “And I’ve never broken a promise to my wife. Not once.”

“Just tell her I didn’t feel like hanging out in the kitchen making small talk while we waited for her to come back and say this was all a mistake. A mistake with
ghosts
. So please, for the love of God, just—”

He pins Shane by his shoulder and slams his back against the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

“You little bitch,” Andrew hisses.

Shane’s blue eyes flare, maybe from pain, or maybe from shock that Andrew’s mouth just closed over his. Andrew feels the shuddering effects of the tremulous thoughts ripping through Shane’s mind.
Is this cheating? Should I fight? Can I fight?
Kissing Cassidy is like swimming in velvet. Kissing Shane is like rolling the tender sole of his foot gently back and forth over a tennis ball; a delicious, constant tug of war between tension and release.

“What are you doing?” Shane whispers.

“She said I had to do whatever I could to keep you here. So this is me, doing what I have to do,” Andrew whispers. He starts to unbutton Shane’s shirt before he realizes he doesn’t have the patience for every single button. A tug on each flap and the thing pops open, buttons flying. Andrew brings his mouth to Shane's before Shane can look down and count how many buttons he just lost.

Once it feels like he’s tongued the fight out of him, Andrew breaks and takes a deep breath.

“You really think I’m that easy?” Shane manages between gasps.

“Sure as hell feels like it,” Andrew says.

A single, firm tug on Shane’s unbuttoned jeans and Shane’s absurdly hard cock bounces up into the air between them. In his rush to leave, Shane forgot to put on his underwear and now he is fully exposed.

With one arm braced across his chest, Andrew explores Shane’s smoothness with his other hand, his fingers traveling to places he didn’t touch the night before. When he gently traces the underside of Shane’s hairless balls, Shane lets out a series of stuttering gasps. To hasten his surrender, Andrew sticks two of his fingers in Shane’s lips, then, once they’re slick with spit, he circles Shane’s hole with them, triggering a wave of pleasure that makes Shane’s legs go limp. To keep himself from collapsing, Shane slides an arm around Andrew’s shoulders.

The smell of Cassidy’s sex still blankets Shane’s body, turning into a new and unnamed cologne Andrew can’t resist. Andrew sinks to one knee, seizes Shane’s cock by the root, runs his tongue down the length of it, tasting Cassidy. Tasting Shane. When he closes his mouth around the head, Shane yelps.

“You can’t!”

“I can’t
what
?” Andrew asks, standing until their lips are almost touching again. But he maintains his grip on Shane’s cock, stroking him slowly and firmly.

Shane gasps, grits his teeth. “If it happens again… It has to be…”

“Has to be what, Superboy?”

“Both of you…always…”

“Interesting proposition,” Andrew whispers. He finishes each stroke of Shane’s shaft by gently kneading Shane’s balls, then sliding his spit-slick fingers leisurely up and down the man’s taint. Shane chews gently on his lower lip.

“No…” Shane whispers, but he sounds drunk, on the verge of blacking out from desire.

“No?”

“Won’t work…”

“It’s working now.”

“You won’t be able to handle the things I want to do to your body.”

“Ha! I know a challenge when I hear one,” he says.

Andrew releases Shane, who slides a few inches down the door, gasping, eyes glazed with lust. But there’s regret on his face at being suddenly denied Andrew’s touch. Andrew saunters into the living room, then, once he’s sure he has Shane’s undivided attention, he steps out of his pajama pants, one leg after the other, and tosses them aside.

“Prove it,” Andrew says.

Shane is free now. Free to disappear for another week, or two, or three. Free to book himself a ticket on the first flight to China. Free to run, to ignore, to deny any of this ever happened. But the sight of Andrew’s sculpted naked body, fiercely illuminated by the sunlight pouring through the front window, has Shane stumbling across the threshold to the living room, kicking himself out of his shoes and then his puddling jeans, until both men are standing several feet apart, stark naked, studying each other.

When Shane literally licks his lips, Andrew is surprised by a shiver of pleasure that travels from his balls all the way to his scalp. He’s never offered himself to anyone quite like this. Never offered up his body so willingly, so submissively, and his heart races with as much fear as desire.