Under the Skin (27 page)

It all connected in his head then, the brochures, the circled winery. Alexei couldn’t call, but that hadn’t stopped him from finding a way to contact Patrick. Flipping open his laptop, Patrick looked up Green Slopes Winery on Google and then started searching for flights to Oregon. He debated calling the winery, but it was unlikely that Alexei would be the one answering the phone, and the people working there wouldn’t know anyone named Alexei Boczar. Patrick could describe him, but the last thing he wanted was to draw undue attention to Alexei’s past. Far better to simply go and see for himself. He would ask for vacation time tomorrow and leave as soon as the captain gave permission. His mind raced as he imagined scenarios for his reunion with Alexei. Patrick’s feelings hadn’t lessened any during the six months they’d spent apart. The message on the phone, however veiled, gave him hope Alexei felt the same way. If he didn’t… that didn’t bear thinking about, but if he didn’t, at least Patrick would know.

Chapter 19

P
ATRICK
drove southwest from Portland along Highway 99W, his stomach as tied in knots as it had been when he first applied for the police academy. He’d reserved a room at a bed and breakfast in Newberg, the closest town of any size to Green Slopes Winery, but he hoped he wouldn’t need it. It had been two weeks since he’d gotten the phone in the mail, since he’d asked Captain Jacobs for time off. The captain had been surprisingly cooperative in setting it up as quickly as possible. Of course, he’d been after Patrick to take a vacation almost as much as Reba had. Reba had just grinned and wished him luck. He wasn’t entirely sure how she’d figured out where he was going or, more importantly, why he was going, but it didn’t matter. Alexei was waiting for him at the other end of this trip, if he could follow the clues and find his lover.

He made good enough time from the airport that he drove straight to the winery rather than going to the B&B first. He could check in later. Or maybe not at all.

He parked outside the Green Slopes Winery, impressed with the well-tended garden surrounding the gravel lot. Even dormant for winter, it was obvious someone had put a lot of thought and care into the beds and shrubs and topiaries. A few hardy pansies even bloomed under the overhanging trees, the branches cut high enough to allow people to pass easily while still providing a canopy of shade in the summer.

Patrick followed the path to the main entrance.

“Welcome to Green Slopes Winery,” the woman behind the counter said. “Can I help you?”

Patrick didn’t ask about Alexei. Even if he was here, he wouldn’t be using the same name. “A friend of mine recommended I visit here while I was in the area,” he said instead. “I’ll admit to being pretty ignorant where wines are concerned, but I’m hoping to learn a thing or two while I’m here.”

“We don’t have scheduled tours in the winter,” the woman said. “You can see how busy we are, but you’re welcome to wander around a bit, even out into the fields if you don’t mind the cold. And I do have a couple of bottles open if you’d like to taste a few of our varietals.”

“That sounds good,” Patrick said. “Maybe I’ll wander a bit first and then have a few sips to warm up when I come back in.”

“I’ll be here until seven,” the woman said with a smile. “Don’t wander too far. It gets dark earlier than you’d expect this time of year.”

“Thanks,” Patrick said, zipping his coat back up, although the temperatures here were nothing compared to what he’d left behind in Chicago. If this was what passed for winter in Oregon, he was in love already. He walked back outside and followed the gravel path behind the building toward the terraced fields. He had no idea where he might find Alexei. He’d have to make himself visible and hope Alexei found him.

He had reached the edge of the closest field when he caught sight of a man out among the vines. It took a moment to reconcile the dirty dungarees and flannel work coat with the polished elegance of the man Patrick had fallen in love with in Chicago, but as he straightened, Patrick had no doubt the profile was the same. He started to call Alexei’s name, but he had no idea what name his lover went by now, and the last thing he wanted was to blow Alexei’s cover. Instead, he picked his way carefully over the bare ground between the rows of vines mulched in straw
until he neared Alexei’s side. “Lyosha,” he said softly when he was sure no one else was close enough to hear.

“
Sláva bogu
,” the man whispered before turning to Patrick, uncharacteristic hesitance evident in the tension of his stance. “Patya. You came.”

“Of course I came,” Patrick said. “I would have come sooner if I’d known where to find you.”

“I sent as soon as I could. Was hard waiting, not knowing if you understood, if you would even want to come still.”

“I was miserable without you,” Patrick admitted. “Reba insisted I come to her house at least once a week because she said it was the only way she could be sure I didn’t waste away while I was waiting for you. She seemed to think it might perturb you if I did that.”

“You are thinner.” The steely eyes slid down Patrick’s body and back up before coming to rest on his face. “You should take better care.”

“Maybe you should take me home and take care of me yourself,” Patrick said, taking a step closer, itching to reach for Alexei’s hand but still not entirely sure of his reception, especially not there in the open. “I’ve missed you, Alexei.”

“Alexei is dead. Is Mikhail now. Mikhail Rodichenko.” A hand lifted, hesitated, waved at the fields around him with a vagueness Alexei would never have displayed. “I work in vineyards.”

“Nice to meet you, Mikhail,” Patrick said, offering his hand. When Alexei—it would take longer than a single introduction to get used to thinking of him as Mikhail—took it, Patrick sighed in relief. “No matter what your name is, no matter what your job, you’re still the man I love.”

Mikhail’s grasp tightened on Patrick’s hand, his other hand closing around it as if to prevent Patrick from letting go. “I was—” He hesitated, looked away, then back at Patrick. “Was afraid to hope you still feel that way. I thought once Alexei was gone, you decide better off without me.”

“God no!” Patrick said, stepping closer still. “As soon as we’re alone, I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you. And if you still don’t believe me, I’ll give you Reba’s number, and she can tell you how badly off I was without you. What time do you finish work?”

Still holding Patrick’s clasp with one hand, Mikhail released the other to stroke a windblown strand of hair from Patrick’s cheek. “Sun is going down. Be too dark to work soon.” His gaze locked on Patrick’s face, as if he was relearning each feature, comparing them to the memories he had lived on for six long months. “I have apartment in town. I can give you address, or maybe you wait until I finish and I drive you?”

“I’ll wait and follow you,” Patrick proposed, the softness in Alexei’s eyes conveying so much more than desire. “Otherwise what would I do with the rental car from Portland? I can call the B&B and cancel my reservation while I wait. That is… I mean, I shouldn’t presume—”

“You think I let you stay anywhere else? I don’t even want to let you out of my sight.” Mikhail squeezed Patrick’s hand again and then released it, taking a half step back, but even that was too much distance between them when his heart was shouting at him to pull his lover into his arms and never let him go. Before Patrick’s hand could fall, he stepped forward again, drawing Patrick into an embrace and claiming his lips in a fiercely possessive kiss driven by the need of six months apart.

Patrick held on tight, kissing Alexei—Mikhail—back with every ounce of desperation and fear and doubt. The familiar feel of his lover’s lips, the taste of tobacco on his breath, settled deep into Patrick’s soul. He needed this man like he needed to breathe, and now that he’d found him again, he wasn’t letting go. “Take me home,” Patrick gasped, breaking the kiss. “Please, Ale…. It’s going to take time to get used to calling you Mikhail. I should warn you now.”

“Go make your call before you tempt me to take you here and now,” Mikhail practically growled. Releasing Patrick with reluctance, he stepped back and bent to pick up the tools he had been working with, willing the ache in his body to subside long enough for him to make it home. “Go! I meet you inside in few minutes.”

Patrick forced himself to walk away. It was too cold for al fresco sex, no matter how desperate he was to feel his lover’s whipcord body against his again. He dialed the B&B and canceled his reservation, not even blinking when the receptionist reminded him of their cancellation policy. If Alexei wasn’t there, Patrick had no interest in being there either.

He nodded to the woman he had met when he first arrived, accepting a taste of wine while he waited for Alexei to join him. He knew he had to start thinking of him as Mikhail, but everything was still so new, so fresh, and in so much turmoil in his mind that he couldn’t worry about it now. He’d remember and call Alexei by the correct name when he came inside in a few minutes, and the rest could wait until later.

After a short wait, several workmen came into the visitor center from the fields, saying goodnight to each other and to the woman who’d served Patrick the wine. When Alexei walked up to Patrick, one of them called out in a good-natured tone, “That the boyfriend, Mike?”

“I introduce you later,” Mikhail called back without looking away from Patrick. “We have much catching up to do.”

“I’ll bet,” someone laughed, but there was no malice in the words. “Is that what they call it now?” someone else added. Mikhail just laughed—a marvel to Patrick in itself—and headed out the door.

Patrick chuckled as he followed Alexei outside, marveling at how different things were now from in Chicago. Mikhail was allowed to have a boyfriend, and that boyfriend was allowed to visit him at work. Mikhail was allowed to have friends and to laugh and joke if he wanted, and while Patrick didn’t think he’d ever get used to hearing people call Alexei “Mike,” he liked what it represented: a chance at a normal life.

He climbed in his car and followed the beat-up Volkswagen through the valley and eventually into a little town. He parked next to Alexei and grabbed his suitcase out of the car. If all went well, he wouldn’t come out of the apartment until morning, and he’d need clean clothes before then.

The smile on Mikhail’s face—it was easier to think of Alexei that way when he was smiling, an expression Patrick had so rarely seen in Chicago—invited him to reach out and touch, kiss, embrace, so he did, uncaring of who might be watching. Even so…. “Maybe we should go inside so we don’t shock your neighbors.”

“Maybe we should go inside so I can get you naked,” Mikhail answered, hunger darkening his eyes. He led Patrick upstairs to his rooms, pressing him against the door as soon as it closed behind them, hands and lips trying to touch everywhere, taste everywhere at once. “Patya,” he murmured between kisses, each repetition a confirmation that Patrick was truly there, in his arms at last. “Patya.”

Patrick arched into Mikhail’s hands, every touch a fresh claim Patrick willingly granted. “Bedroom?” he asked roughly. Not that they hadn’t fucked against walls and doors and everything else, but it wasn’t just fucking anymore, no matter how fast and urgent this first time would be. They were making love, and Patrick wanted to do it in a bed.

“Bedroom,” Mikhail agreed, hands working beneath Patrick’s clothes as he led him through the small apartment to the equally small bedroom. He pulled Patrick’s shirt over his head, his mouth trailing hotly over the revealed skin while his fingers busied themselves with the buckle of Patrick’s belt.

Patrick wanted to return the favor and lavish as much attention on his lover as Mikhail was lavishing on him, but it was hard when his head was spinning and Mikhail was driving him mad with need. “Lyosha,” he begged. “Hurry.”

Since that coincided exactly with Mikhail’s desire, he complied readily, pushing Patrick’s jeans and boxers down his hips in a single stroke. He knelt to tug off Patrick’s shoes and pull the crumpled garments completely off, gazing up at his lover as he started to unbutton his own shirt. “Beautiful.” He reached out to stroke the flat plane of his lover’s stomach, his own arousal tightening as Patrick’s cock jumped at the touch.

“So are you,” Patrick said as the tattoos he loved and hated appeared from beneath the thick cloth of Mikhail’s work clothes. In Chicago, they had been marks of status, but here in Dundee, they were simply ink on skin, no different than any other tattoos. Patrick pulled Mikhail to his feet. “Still my Lyosha underneath all the layers,” he said, tracing the cross on Mikhail’s chest with one hand as he unbuttoned the heavy work pants with the others. A flash of bright yellow caught his eye. “Or maybe not quite. Yellow boxers, Lyosha? Really?”

“You say you tired of black,” Mikhail answered as he divested himself of the last of his clothes and bore Patrick back onto the bed. “When I saw you called and heard message, I bought yellow boxers. Many pairs—I wear them every day, so if you come that day, you see them.”

“I love you,” Patrick said, his throat tight with emotion. “I thought about you every day and prayed you were safe every night. I even asked my aunt, Sister Mary Joseph, to pray for you. And let me tell you how difficult that was. By the time the evening was over, my whole family had decided they wanted to meet you.”