The Wish (14 page)

C
ONSCIOUSNESS
slowly surfaced, and Paul registered deep, even breaths from across the bed. A hairy leg brushed his ass, inspiring a hopeful twitch from his cock. He jumped and rolled away, gazing through bleary eyes at his bedmate.

What have I done?
After weeks of holding Alex at bay, he’d finally given in to temptation. The only thing truly stopping him before had been the reasons behind Alex’s pursuit. In those piercing blue eyes he was damned anyway—might as well earn the title he’d been given. Despite Alex’s opinions, Paul wasn’t a one-night stand kind of guy and should’ve shown more control. Grieving was a poor excuse to seek comfort from the enemy.

Depressed, lonely, and missing his uncle, the offer, however facetiously made, had come at the worse possible moment. He told himself he’d merely needed the comfort of a willing body, and Alex had been available; it wasn’t personal. Paul sighed. He’d never made a convincing liar, telling himself half-truths to justify doing what he’d wanted to do anyway. Now, in the cold light of morning, could he live with the consequences?

Warily watching Alex for movement, he patted the nightstand for his glasses, blinking hard to clear his vision once he’d put them on. His breath caught at the sight beside him—the man he’d come to realize he wanted and had never hoped to have. Last night had been a one-time deal, one he’d expected to satisfy his desire and banish it from his system. His night with Alex, in fact, had only added fuel to a fire already burning out of control. Jordan had certainly never inspired such deep cravings.

Deeply asleep, Alex appeared more innocent, more approachable than he did while awake, his eyes darting randomly behind closed lids, long, sweeping lashes brushing his high cheekbones. The silvery moonlight shining through the window added burnished gold highlights to the wavy blond hair, a feature handed down from past Andersons that Paul knew from going through aging photographs. Alex was the last. Oh, some second-cousins-eight-times-removed or something similar hung out in Boston, but other than Alex, Alfred, and Alfred’s eighty-seven year old widowed aunt, the Anderson legacy was at an end.

What a shame the man’s DNA wouldn’t be preserved for posterity. Alex made a nearly perfect specimen, at least physically. Too bad he insisted on acting like such a prick.

It was hard to reconcile the conceited jerk Paul knew firsthand with the stories he’d heard from his uncles of the considerate and thoughtful young man Alex had been in his younger years. Where had that person gone? Was it possible to get him back? Every once in a while, Paul caught brief glimpses of a caring soul, normally kept hidden by a mask of indifference, and Paul had made love to that caring person last night. As much as he wanted to believe goodness lived within Alex, the finer parts of the man’s personality were kept under lock and key by the paranoid creature who believed Paul capable of seducing Alfred for money. Paul nearly laughed aloud at the sheer absurdity.

He knew he was deluding himself that anything could come of his wanting, and yet he lingered a moment longer to indulge in the illusion of Alex as his lover. At last, with a sigh of resolution, he leaned over and touched his lips to the sleeping enigma’s. One last kiss. Bidding farewell to bittersweet fantasy, he rose and hastily dressed, abandoning the comforting haven for his own lonely bed, after briefly checking in on Alfred.

E
ROTIC
tenderness in a well-used part of his anatomy greeted Alex upon waking, and he lay still, feigning sleep and listening, until it became clear he slept alone. He sighed. Going against his normal policy of fuck ’em and leave, he’d hoped Paul would spend the night, allowing them a chance to talk, although he didn’t know what he’d say. Reality hit him like a smack in the face.
No, too much risk of Alfred finding out if boy toy wasn’t in his room at night.
Oh, shit! Uncle Alfred! What had he done?

Last night had been about conquest, Alex told himself, a onetime encounter rating less than a casual fuck, or at least that’s how it started out. Only, instead of conquering, he’d been conquered. When given the upper hand, however, Paul had refused to exploit his dominance. Instead of forcing his will, he’d taken the time to be an exciting and attentive lover. For the first time, Alex believed he was dealing with an equal, despite Paul’s lack of pedigree or old money. Also for the first time, once wasn’t enough. Far from wanting to kick Paul out and forget him, Alex wanted Paul’s exquisite cock inside his body again. The man he’d avoided for most of his life intrigued him more than anyone else ever had.

Reality returned, reminding Alex of his original purpose for seducing Paul. Any benevolent thoughts vanished, replaced by guilt and suspicion. Paul wasn’t an equal. He was one more man willing to sleep his way up the social ladder. How easily the fickle gold-digger betrayed the hand feeding him, even if he’d given in to put an end to unwanted advances.

Something occurred to Alex. Now that he’d gained the hard evidence he’d sought, would running to Uncle Alfred do more harm than good? What if Alfred truly loved Paul? Would this betrayal, following on the heels of Byron’s death, be too much to bear? For that matter, was Paul still after money now that his deceased uncle had undoubtedly left him comfortably financed? “One item” could translate into a sizeable bankroll.

Alex shifted in bed, his soreness a reminder of how he’d spent the evening, and an image appeared in his mind of Paul, poised above him, claiming him. Forcefully banishing those thoughts, he rose and entered his bathroom, where an opened drawer revealed the lubricants and condoms Paul had searched for the night before. Alfred kept the guest bath supplied? Well, this was the room chosen for him—it made sense.
Paul knew they were here
. Maybe Paul’s bathroom was similarly stocked, something Alex didn’t want to dwell on.

He tried in vain to push reminders of the man from his mind and focus on his shower. Steady streams of hot water beat against his back, renewing his strength. Memories of the sexy seducer kneeling before him wouldn’t be denied. He’d wanted desperately to wrap his fingers in dark hair and fuck that talented mouth, but hadn’t had the chance to indulge properly. Now, visualizing his erection sliding past those pouty lips, stretching them wide, he tightened his grip to nearly painful levels and thrust violently into his clenched fist.

Moaning and bucking his hips, he stifled a yell, his orgasm slamming into him like a tidal wave. In his mind, Paul’s mouth filled and overflowed, a greedy tongue capturing every drop. Panting heavily and bracing against the slick shower walls, Alex watched the evidence of his fantasy circle the drain before disappearing in a whirlpool of water and soap. Oh, shit, was he ever in trouble. The only man he’d ever fucked and wanted more from was off-limits.

Later, toweling off, he stopped to stare in shock at his reflection. Purpled bites decorated his shoulders and chest, leading up to his neck, and he shivered at the unsubtle souvenirs from a night when he’d been well and truly owned.

B
REAKFAST
was a quiet affair, mostly because Alex ate alone. Alfred couldn’t eat or drink before checking into the hospital at ten o’clock, and neither Bernard nor Martha had talked to Paul all morning. Maybe the conniving little schemer had conceded defeat and given up.

Alex supposed it shouldn’t have surprised him to find the missing conundrum in his uncle’s room, busily packing a suitcase, something the hired help should have been doing, in his opinion.

“Good morning, Uncle,” Alex began cheerfully, pointedly ignoring Paul, who retreated into the walk-in closet without acknowledging him.

“Good morning, Alex,” his uncle replied. “I trust you had a pleasant evening.”

More loudly than actually necessary, he answered, “Why, yes, sir. Most memorable, indeed.”

He was rewarded by a heavy thump and an “Ow!” from the closet.

“Paul, are you all right?” Alfred cried out. With his uncle’s attention diverted, Alex didn’t bother to hide his smirk.

Paul emerged from the closet rubbing his head, a large, leather-bound book in his free hand. “Yes, sir. I found the mystery you were missing on the top shelf.”

“I wonder how the blasted thing got there,” Alfred mused. “Ah, never mind. Set it on the dresser, if you don’t mind. It’ll give me added incentive to get home and find out who killed the ambassador. Meanwhile, would you please pack a few magazines for light reading?”

Their easy familiarity wiped the smirk from Alex’s face. Paul’s quiet efficiency left him feeling inadequate, a reminder of the true price of his neglect. He’d unintentionally distanced himself so thoroughly that he was now unaware of his uncle’s likes and dislikes, like he hadn’t known the story behind the painting. When had his pulling away happened? When had he stopped knowing his uncle?

Paul closed a Pullman case, securing the requested magazines in a zippered pocket. Alfred smiled and said, “Thank you, Paul. Would you please ask Isaac to bring the car around?”

Though wary eyes regarded Alex with suspicion, Paul mumbled, “Yes sir,” and then he retreated from the room. When he rushed past, Alex couldn’t help noticing kiss-swollen lips and the bright blush coloring Paul’s high cheekbones, and had to admit that freshly fucked looked good on the man.

Alfred’s sigh brought him out of his reverie. “I think he’s taking this pretty hard, Alex,” he began. “He worries way too much, you know. I thought losing Byron might kill me, but I suspect his death actually hurt Paul more.” His uncle slid from beneath the covers to stand beside the bed in his boxers and a plain white T-shirt.

Alex started to protest, only to be cut off. “Byron meant the world to me, and I to him. When he died, I knew I’d be alone, even if only for a little while. My loneliness will have a short life, I suspect.”

“Don’t talk like that, Uncle,” Alex scolded, overlooking the “alone” and “loneliness” comments. “You’re going to pull through and live to be a hundred.” Only then did he notice the stooped shoulders and sagging flesh, how the boxers and shirt hung limply on his uncle’s body.
When did he lose all that weight?

“There’s no denying the truth, Alex. I’ve lived a long, full life, blessed as few are. Then Byron died, and life isn’t the same.” Alfred turned his back, pulling on a pair of navy slacks he found lying on the end of the bed. Like the underwear, they were far roomier than tailored slacks had a right to be.

Alfred entered his closet, still talking, leaving Alex no choice but to follow. When he stepped inside the door, however, an iron fist seized his heart and squeezed. The closet was neatly divided down the middle, and Byron’s clothes still hung where they always had, his shoes haphazardly lining the walls, mocking reminders of Alex’s cowardice.

He skimmed tentative fingers over the sweater he’d sent for Christmas, the cardboard tag on the cuff a silent condemnation for making excuses rather than being a part of Byron’s last Christmas. Byron died three short weeks later, never having worn the gift. Alex squeezed his eyes shut, fighting burning tears. Instead of creating a memory and providing some comfort, he’d gone skiing instead, each and every night taking a different man to his bed in an effort to bury his guilt. The diversionary tactic hadn’t worked very well.

As painful as it was for him to be bombarded by the haunting memories, how much harder would it be for Paul, who’d been in this closet, surrounded by Byron’s personal effects, only moments ago? “What about Paul?” he asked, suddenly feeling sorry for the young man who, by all appearances, played second fiddle, facing constant reminders that another owned Alfred’s heart. What kind of financial gain made up for being with someone who loved—and forever would—a ghost?

Back turned, Alfred couldn’t see the tears and misunderstood the question. “You’re alone by choice, Alex. Paul is different. He was never meant to be a solitary creature. I’m afraid being around me and Byron made him want what we had.”

Was that the reason Paul chased after a man old enough to be his grandfather? The desire for a solid relationship? “That’s not a bad thing,” Alex conceded, considering the situation in a new light. Paul’s rejection finally made sense, especially if he wanted long-term. Until now, Alex hadn’t believed in long-term, for himself, anyway, a well-known fact in this house. After a moment, he admitted, “If I could have what the two of you had, I wouldn’t be alone, either.”

“Really?” his uncle asked, glancing over his shoulder as he donned a light-blue shirt, eyes wide and a grin blooming across his face.

Alex dismissed such foolish ideas with a shake of his head. “It’s not going to happen. No one can see past the money. No one sees me.”

Alfred released a brief chuckle. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think if you let someone actually
see
the real you, you’d be amazed at their reaction.” With a quick glance toward the door, Alfred lowered his voice and murmured, “I need to hurry and tell you this before Paul comes back.”

Though curious, Alex remained silent. Was his uncle about to confess? The invisible fist gripped his heart once more.