A Reason to Believe

by Diana Copland

  “Yes?” Matt’s voice was harsh.

  Kiernan gasped, gripping Matt’s sides with his thighs. “Yes.”

  Matt moved against him again and then again, fleeting thoughts of pausing long enough to get Kiernan out of his clothes lost in the rush of pleasure. He was too ramped up, his cock so hard it ached. The tensile strength of Kiernan’s slim body moving beneath his made him reckless. He’d forgotten the pure hedonistic pleasure of another hard body against him, beneath him. He clenched his eyes shut and moved in an instinctual rhythm, grinding his aching cock into the answering hardness in Kiernan’s jeans. Kiernan answered him thrust for thrust, arching up until they were writhing together, mindless, mouths open, breathing loud and harsh. It didn’t take long.

  “Oh, God.” Kiernan’s legs tightened around Matt’s body. “I’m so close…”

  Matt pushed up onto his hands, looking down to where their groins were pressed together. Changing his angle slightly, he rolled his hips in a circular grind. Kiernan clutched him and whimpered, his head thrown back, his mouth open.

  Kiernan started to shake. His mouth fell open on a noiseless cry and his eyes clenched shut. The dark head pressed back into the cushions until his neck was a perfect, hard arch, tendons standing out down each side of his throat. They tightened and flexed, a sheen of sweat slicking the smooth, fair skin.

  Kiernan’s hips jerked. He shuddered, crying out as he came.

  The sight pushed Matt over, and he gave in to the allure of the pale neck, opening his mouth on it as his orgasm crashed over him in startling bursts. He shook from head to toe, until even his fingertips tingled. Gripping the slender body in a strong embrace, he held on as he rode out an orgasm so intense he felt hallowed by the force of it.

  He wasn’t aware of anything for a few minutes. He was boneless, drained and heavy, drifting in a lovely lassitude. When Kiernan finally shifted beneath him, it occurred to Matt he might be crushing him. Responding too quickly, he rolled to the side, limbs awkward, and shot out a hand at the last moment. He had to stiffen his arm to save them both from tumbling from the couch to the floor.

  Kiernan’s eyes were faintly dazed but also filled with humor. “Smooth,” he teased, his voice hoarse.

  “Shut up. You’re lucky I didn’t dump your ass on the floor.”

  Kiernan’s lips twitched. “Not to put too fine a point on it, Officer, but it would have been your ass on the floor, not mine.”

  Matt noticed a red mark on Kiernan’s throat just above his collar. He grimaced, touching it with unsteady fingers. No question it was going to bruise. “Sorry.”

  Kiernan stretched with a self-satisfied smile. “I’m not.”

  Matt felt unaccountably pleased. “Really?”

  “Really. That was amazing.” He shifted and wrinkled his nose. “But now I’m a mess.”

  “Me, too. We should probably shower and change.”

  “Probably.” Kiernan looped his arms around Matt’s neck and pulled him down into a leisurely kiss. When their lips parted, Matt sighed and pressed his face against Kiernan’s throat, allowing his body to go limp.

  “I haven’t dry-humped since high school,” Kiernan murmured. “I’d forgotten how hot it is.” He paused. “And mildly chafing.”

  Matt huffed out a laugh. He could smell the mingled scents of their cologne and sweat and come, and he briefly considered getting up. But fingers stroked his scalp from forehead to nape and he sighed in sleepy contentment.

  “We should get cleaned up,” he mumbled into Kiernan’s throat.

  “You said that already.”

  Matt could feel Kiernan’s smile against his face. “We should. Soon.”

  “Yes, soon.”

  The soothing motion of the fingers went on. Satiated and relaxed, Matt drifted easily into sleep.

  * * *

  He was warm and comfortable and couldn’t remember the last time he’d wakened feeling so relaxed. Matt inhaled deeply, arching his back, and was instantly more lucid when the inside of his jockeys stuck to his lower belly. They pulled against the line of springy hair below his navel. Grimacing, he shifted again and opened his eyes.

  He was covered with an afghan, which explained why he was so warm, and his shoes had been removed and placed neatly side by side next to the sofa. It was dim in his living room but for a fire burning merrily in a fireplace he rarely used. He pushed up onto one elbow and caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Kiernan was curled up on the sofa’s matching love seat and he straightened.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself,” Matt answered, sounding hoarse.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Kiernan said, gesturing toward the fireplace. His hair was damp and curled around his ears, and he was wearing plaid pajama bottoms and dark socks. His skin looked shiny and flushed, as if he hadn’t been out of the shower long. “It was a bit chilly and the wood was already all laid out…”

  “I don’t mind. I don’t use it because I’m not here much.” The truth was, he didn’t use it much because Brad had been the one who liked fires. He had laid that one, nearly two years before. Matt had simply bitched about having to clean out the ashes. “But it’s…nice.”

  “I love fireplaces.” Kiernan came and knelt on the floor at his side and propped his elbows on the cushion near Matt’s shoulder. He leaned forward and kissed him in a casual gesture, catching him off guard. “How was your nap?”

  “Um, good,” Matt answered, suddenly self-conscious. “But why did you let me sleep?”

  “You looked so peaceful…” He looked down and his lashes were thick and dark against his cheekbones. “Anyway, I showered, and if you’re in anything like the condition I was earlier, you need one, too.”

  Matt grimaced. “I imagine it’s somewhat similar.”

  “Yeah.” Kiernan looked up, grinning. “Except you’ve been asleep for two hours, so you likely have jockeys full of something the consistency of dried kindergarten paste.”

  “Unnecessarily descriptive, thanks.” Matt threw back the blanket and sat up. He winced. “However, fairly accurate.”

  “Would you like me to put on a pot of coffee while you’re in the shower?”

  “That would be great, thanks.”

  Kiernan grinned and jumped up to trot toward the kitchen. Matt stood and stretched before going to his bedroom. He remembered why he was too staid for certain activities when he peeled off his jockeys, making a face as he tossed them in the hamper. He took out clean shorts and socks from his dresser, and spotted a white frame on top of the piece of furniture. He paused, picking up the eight-by-ten photo.

  It had been taken at Martha’s Vineyard three summers before. He and Brad had been there with friends. They’d been walking along the pier after having seafood for lunch, and Brad had handed their camera off, caught Matt around the waist and said, “Smile. Just don’t breathe on me. You smell like scampi.”

  “No kisses for you, then,” he’d shot back, looping his arm over Brad’s shoulders. Monica snapped the picture, catching it just as Brad pressed his lips against Matt’s cheek, and Matt had been smiling. It was one of his favorite pictures of them together, because they both looked so happy.

  Even though his lips were mashed against Matt’s cheek, it was clear Brad had been laughing. His dark brown hair was windblown, his angular face tanned by the summer sun. His broad shoulders were clearly outlined by the white polo, and his lively brown eyes had been covered by those damned Ray-Bans he wore everywhere. They’d had quite the loud discussion about those three-hundred-dollar sunglasses.

  His own light brown hair had been liberally streaked with blond, and Brad loved it. “My bronze baby,” he’d called him. He’d looked good. They both had. The sun was bright off the water, and they’d been so clearly in love…

  Matt touched the frame with the tips of hi
s fingers and could almost hear Brad laughing. He waited for guilt to crash over him but…it didn’t. He didn’t feel guilty. There was certainly melancholy for what was lost, but Brad wouldn’t have wanted him to feel guilty. He would have been heartily irritated with him for floundering in his grief as long as he had.

  A conversation he’d intentionally repressed slipped into his mind. They’d been in bed, heart rates returning to normal after a session of lovemaking. Brad was lying against him, his face pressed to Matt’s throat. “Promise me something.” he murmured.

  “Right now, you can have anything.” Matt chuckled. “You name it. New Ray-Bans, a pony…”

  Brad went up onto his elbow then, dark eyes intense. “I’m serious, Matt. I want you to promise me something.”

  “Okay.” Matt was suddenly wary.

  “We’re both cops. There’s always a possibility one of us…”

  Matt put up his hand. “I don’t want to have this conversation…”

  “I know you don’t. You never do. So just listen. If something should happen to me, I don’t want you to dwell. I want you to get on with your life.” He stared down into Matt’s face.

  Matt knew his expression had gone mulish, but he couldn’t help it. He hated it when Brad got maudlin. For such a generally happy man, he had surprising periods of introspection.

  Brad touched Matt’s chin, his fingers gentle. “Such a damned hardhead,” he murmured fondly. “But I don’t want you to be alone, Matt. I want you to be happy.”

  “Please, just stop. I don’t want to talk about this, Brad. Nothing is going to happen.”

  The melancholy in his eyes had irritated Matt. Four months later, Brad was dead and Matt had blocked the memory of the conversation completely. As he allowed the words to come back to him and recalled the expression on Brad’s face, he wondered if he hadn’t sensed something, had a premonition. The idea didn’t seem as far-fetched now as it might have a week ago.

  Matt ran the tip of his index finger along the line of Brad’s jaw in the photo. With Brad’s words echoing in his head, he set the frame down and went into the bathroom.

  He smelled more than coffee when he entered the kitchen a few minutes later. He found Kiernan standing at the stove, a spatula in his hand and grilled cheese in a skillet. He glanced up with a happy grin. “Feel better?”

  “Much. Hungry?”

  “After sex? Always. You?”

  Matt thought about it. “Yeah, actually.”

  “Grilled cheese?” Dark hair spilled recklessly over brows arched in question. Matt was struck by how effortlessly handsome he was.

  “That would be great, thanks.”

  “Excellent!” Kiernan slipped the sandwich onto a plate and carried it to the small kitchen table, which was already set with two plates, cutlery and a jar of pickles. “I make a world-class grilled cheese. You will not be sorry.”

  “Is that so?” Matt poured coffee, adding cream and sugar to Kiernan’s. When he set it on the table Kiernan looked into his cup and smiled.

  “You remembered,” he said, sounding both pleased and faintly surprised.

  “Breakfast wasn’t that long ago,” he replied gruffly. “Now, tell me about this world-class grilled cheese.”

  “Nope. You’re just going to have to taste it, Detective.” He picked up a knife and sliced one of the sandwiches in half, placing one and a kosher dill spear on Matt’s plate. “I never divulge my culinary secrets.”

  “There are that many, are there?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Matt picked up his half sandwich, examining it. He could see a slice of cheese and ham and something red he couldn’t identify. But it smelled wonderful, and he took a bite. Instantly, he closed his eyes in bliss.

  “Good?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Really good.”

  Kiernan seemed very pleased with himself as they ate their meal. Matt finished a sandwich and watched in amusement as Kiernan ate two, three pickle spears and drank two cups of coffee.

  “You’ll never sleep tonight,” he said as Kiernan drained his second cup.

  “Caffeine doesn’t affect me at all.” He wiped his lips with a paper towel.

  “Do calories?” Matt drawled. “Because you eat more than just about anyone I’ve ever seen.”

  Kiernan grinned. “I have this weird metabolism,” he said, taking the dishes to the sink. “Aidan says I can eat like this because I’m as hyperactive as a ferret.” Matt smirked at the apt description. “I’ve always been able to eat pretty much whatever I want without a problem.”

  Matt eyed the trim body with appreciation. “Yeah, we’ll see if that lasts past thirty.” He leaned back in his chair, bemused, as Kiernan loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the counters. “You’re well trained,” he finally commented when Kiernan hung the dishrag over the faucet.

  “Aidan made sure of it. Said she might be stuck being a mother figure, but she wasn’t going to clean up after me like one.” He nodded toward the living room purposefully. “So, now we’re rested and fed, we need to go over the guest list, right? Focus on the men, pinpointing the ones who can afford a collectible Rolex.”

  Matt nodded. “I just don’t know enough about the upper crust to tell you. I’m a cop. Not exactly in the same income bracket. I don’t pay attention to the society pages.” He paused, his lips pursed thoughtfully. “But I do know someone who does.” He stood and crossed to the telephone and punched in a number, his eyes on Kiernan’s avid face.

  It rang three times before it was answered.

  “What?” the woman said, sounding irritated.

  “Nice,” Matt teased. “Very pleasant. Kyle try to set the cat on fire again?” Kiernan laughed.

  “No. Your brother is being an ass.”

  “Same old, same old, then.”

  Sheila made an amused sound. “Precisely. What did you want?”

  “I was wondering if you were busy, or if you could maybe come over for a while.” He continued to hold Kiernan’s bright-eyed gaze. “There’s some stuff Kiernan and I would like to run by you.”

  “Twist my arm, why don’t you. Spend the afternoon with two adorable gay men or your brother the idiot. Gee, let me think…”

  He heard Bill holler something unintelligible about beer and a game in the background.

  “Oh, that’s certainly going to persuade me to stay here,” she yelled back. “Give me a few minutes to change and run a brush through my hair, and then I’ll be over. All right?”

  “Perfect.”

  Matt hung up. “She’s coming. In the meantime, let me show you the paper Abby pitched at my head.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I’ll go over this again later, see if anything jumps out at me.” Sheila put an edited copy of the Reynolds’ guest list into her purse. “And I might run it by Toni, if it’s all right with you?”

  Matt stood in his entryway, looking at her hesitantly. “Toni’s okay, but you can’t tell her—”

  “Matthew.” She lowered her chin and looked at him through her lashes. “Do you really think you have to remind me?”

  He pushed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “There’s more going on than you know,” he said softly. Her eyes sharpened and she opened her mouth to speak. He beat her to it. “I can’t discuss it yet. When I can, I will. But until then, this is very confidential stuff, not just gossip. Having it get out you’re discussing the guest list could actually be dangerous.”

  She frowned. “You know, of course, by saying that you only make me want to know everything.”

  “Yeah. But honestly, you shouldn’t be involved in this. The less you know, the better. If you want to take the chance Toni can keep her mouth shut about something connected with one of the highest-profile murders in this town in decades—”r />
  “If I tell her not to talk to anyone else about it, she won’t,” Sheila said emphatically. “Next to you, she’s my closest friend. I’d trust her with Kyle’s life. But Toni is a hairdresser. And hairdressers, especially in a salon like Henri’s, hear everything. They know who’s doing who and where all the bodies are buried. Her help could be invaluable, especially when you’re talking about net worth.” She gave him a pointed look and he nodded grudgingly.

  “Thanks for coming over.”

  “I’d do anything for you.” Her hazel eyes were shining softly. “And you’re good together, the two of you.” She nodded toward the living room, her ash-blond hair brushing her shoulder. “He’s sort of like an oversized puppy, isn’t he?”

  Matt chuckled. It was an apt description.

  “He’s so adorable,” she went on, eyes calculating. “Fuck him yet?”

  Matt’s mouth dropped open. “Sheila!” he scolded, glancing over his shoulder toward the living room. He lowered his voice. “Could you keep it down? He might hear you. Christ.”

  She laughed. “My, my, aren’t we defensive? Answer’s no, then. You must be losing your touch. But you have been out of circulation for a while, so I suppose I should cut you some slack.”

  Matt stared at her stonily, unamused.

  “Nice work on his neck, though. I haven’t seen a hickey that colorful since—”

  “Go home,” he interrupted sourly, feeling his face heat.

  She reached up to touch his cheek. He ducked away defensively, batting at her hand and sending her an irritated look.

  “Don’t be cross, I was teasing.” She paused, her hand falling away. “He wouldn’t expect you to live like a monk. He’d want you to be happy, you know. Not lock yourself away like you have been.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said pointedly.

  “Fine, be that way. But you know I’m right. Brad wouldn’t want you to miss out on something, or someone, that might be perfect for you.”

  “I had perfect. I don’t think you get more than one in a lifetime.”

  “You can’t know that,” she argued. “He really likes you. I can tell.”