Kick Start (Dangerous Ground 5)

by Josh Lanyon

  Developing the kind of image Taylor was talking about wasn’t going to be in their budget, with or without a loan from the folks. They’d need Richard’s help just to get out from under their credit cards. Will was willing to take that hit to his ego because it was Taylor’s credit score at risk too.

  When the hell had they turned into guys who worried about their credit scores?

  “Look. Here’s how I see it. We can make due without an office or support staff. At least for a while. Till we’re on our feet. But you’re the one who has to ask for the cash. You’re the one who thinks we’re not going to make it.”

  Taylor opened his mouth to protest, but that was the truth and they both knew it.

  “So it’s up to you,” Will concluded. “You figure out how much you can bear to be into Richard for, and I’ll go along with your decision.”

  Taylor thought it over and then nodded. “Okay. Fair enough.”

  Probably. Will absently rubbed his freshly shaved jaw. “Your mom and Richard are in Bahrain now. Does that mean you’re planning to fly out to talk to them?”

  “Well, there’s this newfangled invention called the telephone. I thought maybe I’d give that a try first.”

  Will smiled reluctantly. “If you think you can make the case for that size loan long distance.”

  “I think Richard will give us the money.”

  “Okay.” Was it that simple? Maybe it was. Lamprell seemed pretty generous with his family, and unlike his siblings, Taylor had never asked his multimillionaire stepdaddy for anything. Maybe he’d racked up some credits for being the fiscally sound stepkid. Maybe no business plans or pie charts of the economic trends within the security industry would be needed.

  The ancient washer jogged into its spin cycle filling the silence between them. Taylor said slowly, “That doesn’t mean I have to go to Oregon with you. If you want to head home on your own, that’s okay. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy here.”

  It was tempting. God, it was tempting. With everything going on between them — the unexpected tensions of learning to live together at the same time they were trying to get this business off the ground, the blow up after Taylor had discovered that RSO Stone would have offered him a posting in Paris if Will hadn’t informed her they were resigning… Yes, it was very tempting to snatch an opportunity to get away, to put a little space between himself and Taylor who was riding his ass relentlessly — and not in a good way — to give himself some breathing room. Just a very little space for a very little time.

  Because as much as Will loved Taylor, as much as he hated the thought of being separated from him for even a day, yes, he could use a break. Needed a break maybe.

  Especially given the situation at home. Home in Oregon, not home in Ventura. Home in Oregon, Will’s sexual orientation was not widely known. In fact, nobody knew except for his father. Yeah, that had been an awkward conversation — not that you could exactly call the gruff assertion that he was not ever going to be “settling down,” exactly a conversation. He wasn’t even sure his brother knew he was gay. And sure as hell nobody knew about Taylor.

  And Will would have been happy to keep it that way. Which would be impossible if Taylor chose to ride shotgun on this trip.

  He looked at Taylor. Taylor looked back at him. He was smiling faintly, a complicated sort of smile. There was complete understanding there, and a little friendly mockery, and something else.

  What?

  What was that emotion lurking in the back of Taylor’s gaze?

  Will stared, and he felt a funny dip in his chest. His heart sank.

  That look in Taylor’s eyes…was that the beginning of disappointment? Maybe…disillusion?

  No.

  No, he could take Taylor chewing on his last nerve from now to eternity before he could take one second of Taylor feeling disappointed or disillusioned with him.

  “What? Are you serious? Hell, yeah, I want you to come!” Will said it with such conviction, he almost believed it himself.

  Chapter Two

  “So Gretchen Hart now works for Glukhov.” Jeeeezus the relief of stretching out in his own bed. Taylor arched luxuriously and felt his spine unkink for the first time in ten godawful days. Thank God. Thank God it was over. Even if they had spent almost two weeks working for a scumbag like Dragomirov for free.

  Through the open bathroom door he could hear the taps running, see Will brushing his teeth. Will scowled at his mirrored reflection, his thoughts seemingly a million miles away. He was bare-chested, his skin tawny and smooth against the pale blue flannel sleep pants. Tawny and smooth where he wasn’t bruised and contused. Will had been lucky today. They both had. Just a few inches either way and it could have been all over.

  Anxiety, an increasingly common sensation, gnawed at his guts. Or maybe he was getting an ulcer. Except he couldn’t afford to get an ulcer. Neither of them could afford to get sick or injured. Not without health insurance.

  When the hell had they turned into guys who worried about their health insurance?

  Will spat toothpaste into the sink, scooped up a couple of mouthfuls of water, rinsed. He turned off the taps, scrubbed his face with Taylor’s towel.

  Always Taylor’s towel. Never his own.

  Taylor sighed.

  “You say something?” Will turned the light out in the bathroom and crossed through the moonlit bedroom to the bed. He was limping a little. Even in the gloom, Taylor could tell.

  He swallowed the things he wanted to say, unproductive things that would not be conducive to a peaceful night’s rest, saying instead, “I said I wonder how that came about? Gretchen working for Glukhov.”

  The mattress dipped as Will climbed into bed. Will eased himself down with a long, heartfelt sigh. His shoulder brushed Taylor’s. He tiredly patted Taylor’s thigh. “God, I’m beat.”

  “You want a backrub?” Taylor asked. He prayed Will would say no because he didn’t think he had the strength to sit up.

  “I don’t think I can turn over.”

  Taylor snorted. “You want a front rub?”

  “I don’t think I can get it up to save my life.”

  “Me neither,” Taylor admitted.

  “What?” Will raised his head and peered into Taylor’s face, breathing minty fresh over him. “Oh, sweetheart! No. Are you sick?” He clumsily felt Taylor’s forehead, and Taylor started to laugh.

  “Jackass.”

  Will laughed too and dropped back on his pillows. He groaned. “I don’t think there’s a part of my body that doesn’t hurt.”

  Taylor was silent and then, against his will, he started to laugh.

  “What?” Will asked, amused.

  “You. James Bond. On the roof of that car.” He couldn’t help it. All at once it was funny. Not funny at the time. But now? He was going to be giggling any second.

  Will started to laugh too. “Christ. I must have been crazy.”

  “No argument.”

  “What the hell was I thinking?”

  “That was your expression. What the hell was I thinking?”

  “It’s the kind of thing you’d do.”

  “I wouldn’t miss the dumpster.”

  “You might not have missed it. Or you might have plowed your head through the lid.”

  For a couple of seconds they leaned against each other laughing. That was relief, more than anything. Not just the relief that Will hadn’t been killed or seriously hurt; the relief from the nervous strain of two weeks playing bodyguard to the kind of dirtball they’d spent most of their law enforcement careers trying to put away.

  “Gretchen Hart,” Will said finally, reminiscently. “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…”

  “Yeah. Well, I guess with Bashnakov in prison, she had to find a new mob boss.”

  “Neither Glukhov nor Dragomirov are mob bosses.”

  “Close enough.”

  “Taylor.” Clearly Will didn’t have the energy to take it further, but felt the point nee
ded to be made.

  “All right,” Taylor said. He didn’t have the energy to argue either. He and Will were arguing too much these days. It was starting to feel like Paris all over again.

  He really did not want to think about Paris.

  Will followed his thoughts though, because after several long minutes of silence, he said quietly, “About earlier.”

  “Don’t listen to me. I was just pissed off.”

  “Yeah, but it’s the why you’re pissed off that I need to listen to.”

  Taylor sighed. “I don’t know, Will.”

  “You do, yeah.”

  Taylor moved his head in negation.

  “We have to keep talking to each other, Taylor. Even if we think we’re not going to like what the other has to say.”

  “I know that.” But in all fairness, this was not something either of them was very good at. Sometimes their efforts at talking things out only made things worse.

  “Are you saying you wouldn’t do anything within your power to protect me?”

  Taylor snorted. “From what? Too many croissants? Paris drivers?”

  “Come on, Tay. I’m serious.”

  Tay. Yes, he was serious. Taylor said, “You know exactly what I’m saying, Will. Would I take a bullet for you? Yes. What I would not do is take away your right to choose your own course.”

  “All right. All right. I know.” Will rolled onto his side, facing Taylor, although it was too dark to read each other’s expressions. “I was wrong not to tell you about the possibility — because that’s all it was, a possibility — of the Paris posting. I know it was wrong. I said I was sorry. I’ve said it three times now.”

  “But you keep doing this shit, Will. ‘Acting in my best interests.’ Like you don’t trust me to know what I want or need. How many times are we going to have this conversation?”

  “This is the last time. Paris…everything got so messed up. We were both off balance, okay? I admit I wasn’t thinking straight. So, yes, I did rush you into making a decision without letting you have all the facts. And I know it wasn’t fair or the right thing to do.”

  Taylor sighed.

  Will felt for, found Taylor’s left hand, his fingers tracing the platinum band on Taylor’s ring finger. “Do you regret the choice you made?”

  “No.” That was emotion talking, not logic, because Taylor did regret the way they had launched themselves into this new endeavor without proper preparation and only the sketchiest of plans. And Taylor was supposed to be the impulsive one! This was totally unlike Will, which was probably what bothered Taylor the most about it. He couldn’t help believing that Will’s primary motivation had been to prevent him from taking the post in Iraq — or something equally asinine and high-handed.

  Will leaned forward, his mouth finding Taylor’s in a soft, apologetic kiss. His mouth was warm, his taste familiar. “I won’t try to excuse it. It’s just…this is all still new to me. I didn’t expect it to be like this. Not with anyone. So good I’m terrified it can’t be for real, that it can’t last.”

  Of course that melted Taylor’s heart. He felt the same way. All the time. But “it” wasn’t that new, that was part of the problem. They had been partnered five years now, and officially a couple for almost two. Though, granted, one of those years they’d spent apart. Still.

  He said sternly, “It can’t happen again, Will.” He was dead serious. The realization startled him. At one point, he had believed nothing could split them up, nothing could change his feelings for Will. But now they had been together long enough that he understood there were things that no relationship could survive. Lack of respect was one of them.

  “It’s not going to happen again.” Will covered his mouth and Taylor surrendered. It was an earnest and uninhibited effort, but though pleasurable, they just didn’t have the energy. Will fell asleep mid-nuzzle. Taylor a rueful sigh later.

  They slept late the next morning. Sunlight was crawling sheepishly across the white coverlet when Taylor opened his eyes. He turned his head, studied Will’s face. That contrast of dark stubble and long eyelashes always did something to him. Will looked disarmingly unguarded and boyish in sleep, and Taylor smiled.

  If they were traveling north today, they needed to get moving. But first things first. There had not been enough time these last couple of weeks for the essentials, the essentials being…taking good and proper care of each other. Maybe he wasn’t good at talking things out, maybe he didn’t have experience at long-term relationships — his own parents’ marriage should have put him off the idea of commitment for good. But this much he did know. You had to pay attention and you had to take care of each other in the little ways as well as the big.

  He ducked under the sheet and set about waking Will the best way he knew how — with a warm and willing mouth and a bone-melting rhythm.

  Proof of how exhausted Will was, it took several long seconds before he even stirred, but at last he began to twitch and sigh under Taylor’s expert attentions. Finally, he made a small sleepy sound and shuddered, starting to move instinctively, hips pushing, cock thrusting. Taylor sucked harder, applying lips, tongue, even the suggestion of teeth, using his considerable knowledge to give Will maximum pleasure.

  Will groaned, heartfelt and inarticulate.

  Taylor’s heart seemed to beat in time to the pulse of Will’s cock, tasting the salty pre-cum. He knew what Will was feeling, knew how to make it just the way Will wanted, sucking hard, then softly, then harder still. Sweet and soft, then hard and fierce, then so soft again, so tender. Tugging him along, Come on, sweetheart, this way…

  Will tossed in the sheets like he was delirious, but it was the best kind of suffering, and Taylor could feel the exact moment that tingle started at the root of Will’s cock, exquisite sensation unfurling, flowering through nerves and muscles, tissue and bone, that dizzy delight blooming in his bloodstream.

  “Oh my God!” Will choked out.

  And there it was, the blood-hot spurt of his release, and Taylor only too happy to take it from him, to swallow it down, the spill of all that tension and worry and aggravation. Relieved and relaxed by the best medicine of all. That would be love, not sex, though sex was a vital ingredient.

  Afterwards, he rested his head on Will’s thigh, breathing in the sharp, pungent smell of sex mingled with bare skin and spring rain-scented laundry soap.

  Will’s fingers tangled in his hair, whether in caress or just the need for contact. “Hey, what about you?” He spoke with what was clearly an effort.

  “I’m good,” Taylor said. And it was true.

  “Did you feed Riley?” Will asked. They had showered and dressed and were making breakfast. This was the first time they’d had a chance to have breakfast in their own kitchen for nearly a month, and if Taylor never saw another breakfast burrito or Egg McMuffin, he’d die a happy man.

  He assented, catching the whole grain waffles with his plate as they flew out of the toaster.

  Will glanced his way, smiled. “Nice catch.”

  Taylor grunted, carrying the plate to the counter and taking the lid off the butter dish.

  “Orange juice?” Will asked.

  “Just coffee.” He buttered the waffles. Spread grape jelly over Will’s, almond butter over his own.

  “You having sugar today?”

  “I guess. Why not. It’s our weekend.”

  Will sweetened Taylor’s coffee appropriately and carried the blue earthenware mugs to the table. He sat down at his place.

  Taylor finished slathering the waffles and delivered the plates to the table.

  “You sure you don’t want any of these sausages?” Will paused, his fork poised above the plate.

  “Nah.”

  “They’re turkey.”

  “I know.”

  Will shook his head over such foolishness and proceeded to eat all the turkey links before Taylor could wise up and change his mind.

  Taylor smiled inwardly. This was what he’d wanted when he had
pushed Will to move in with him. Just this. Just being together. Not that they weren’t together most of the time anyway, but there was something about waking up with Will, puttering around the kitchen as they made coffee, talked — or not — ate breakfast, worked out their plans for the day, that was different, special, better than how it had been before. It felt so right. For the first time in his life, Taylor felt…content.

  Mostly.

  There was a knot in his stomach every time he thought of having to go to Richard for money. Even if Richard had been his own dad, which he wasn’t, Taylor would not have liked asking for a loan. He almost wished he hadn’t suggested it. But they had to have money. They couldn’t go on like this. All that had to happen was one of them getting injured for real, and they’d be finished. CLOSED FOR BUSINESS. Permanently.

  As it was, they were losing their shirts, and half killing themselves for the pleasure. They were exhausted, their nerves were frayed, and they hadn’t had sex — fucked — in two weeks.

  “If we can be on the road by noon, we’ll be in Mist Bend by suppertime tomorrow,” Will said.

  Taylor nodded, cut his waffle in quarters, speared one of the quarters.

  “I figure we’ll just take our time, enjoy the sights. No rush. No pressure. It’s not like we’ve got an assignment to hurry back for.”

  “Right.” Not exactly a positive, but Taylor chose not to point that out. Diplomacy in action.

  Will finished off the last turkey link and turned his attention to his waffles. “You’ll like it up there. It’s not that far from the ocean, and it’s quiet and peaceful. There are a couple of good restaurants and a movie theater in town.”

  When was the last time they’d had a chance to watch a film in a theater? Taylor couldn’t remember. “Dinner and a movie sounds great.”

  “I think so. The fishing is still pretty good in the fall. November is good for Chinook salmon and summer steelhead. In fact, trout, salmon, and steelhead are year round. We can fish all we want and sleep late on the mornings we don’t fish. I was thinking we’d stay up there for three or four days. How’s that sound?”