A huge deck stretched from the back of the house, but to the right of the sliding glass doors there was another wooden door he pulled open. Vincent tugged me into a sunroom that looked like it was both part of the deck and the house at the same time. It was round, and enclosed with windows, but I could see that they all cranked open to allow a breeze through the screens. The furniture was wicker with thick, comfortable-looking cushions, and there was a curved bench seat along the outer wall. I knew I was staring wide-eyed and impressed, but it was just a beautiful home.
And more than that, it felt like Vincent.
“There are five bedrooms upstairs, and an office and media room down the hall. But this is my favorite room in the house.”
“I can see why,” I murmured, pulling him into my arms, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells. He kissed my neck, and when Valentine bounded up onto the deck, Vincent moved to let him in.
“I took a day trip here after I finished directing my first episode with Rourke and Geary. I can’t even remember now why I came, what drew me here. But I was walking along that beach, and I saw this house, this room. And when I came up on the lawn, I saw the house was vacant and for sale. It was mine two days later.”
“You just had to have it,” I teased.
Vincent gave me an incredulous look. “Can you blame me?” He laughed, which was a sound I still was not used to hearing from him. I loved it every time I did. “So this is home base. I don’t get here as often as I’d like, but it always feels good when I’m here.”
“Well, you’ve got a nice long stretch of being here,” I said firmly, and when he opened his mouth, I leaned down and kissed him instead.
He immediately took over, cupping my head and angling my mouth against his for a better fit. I tried to hold back the whimper but I wasn’t successful. Vincent gave a growl and tried to reel me in closer. I broke the kiss and pulled out of his arms.
I ignored his scowl and took his hand to tug him back into the house.
“What were you thinking for dinner? Do you want to go out? Or I could paw through the cupboards and see what the housekeeper left. I’m sure I could find something to make.” I was talking fast, trying to distract him. It was too soon for us to be engaging in any kind of sex, and I didn’t want to get him unfairly revved up.
“Dan—”
“Oh, look at this!” I said, finding the perfect distraction in an absolutely gorgeous baby grand piano. The sun hit it just right, the black glossy finish gleaming and calling my attention. How had I missed it when we’d walked into the house? I lifted the cover, and lightly ran my fingers across the keys. “Do you play?”
Vincent gave a heavy sigh. “I used to.”
I nodded. Oh hell. It sounded like there was a story there, and I was not pushing. Nor did I mean to bring up bad memories. I was trying to distract him, but I’d only made things worse. I quietly closed the cover.
Vincent’s soft laugh surprised me. When I looked at him, he appeared tired but amused. I quirked my brow in question and he walked closer.
“There’s no story there,” he said as if he’d been reading my mind. I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually could. “I just don’t have time anymore. I learned when I was young, and I was good. Could have maybe made it my career if I’d really applied myself. But as much as I love it, it was never more than a side passion for me. And as I’ve pursued other things, it’s kind of gone by the wayside.”
I touched the top of the piano. “I always wanted to learn. My mother had other ideas.” I shook my head and gave Vincent a rueful smile. I wasn’t going to dwell on that. I could have taken lessons when I’d gotten older if I’d really wanted. But I did love a beautiful piece of piano music. “Play something for me?”
He studied me for a long moment, then sat down on the bench. For a couple of minutes, he fiddled around with chords and notes. Then he took a deep breath, set his fingers to the keys, and started playing the loveliest melody. I sank onto the seat beside him, soaking it in, thinking he would have made Debussy proud.
Chapter 10
It was moments like these that I liked the best. That I found the most peaceful. Being with Vincent while we did our own thing, together but separate, in each other’s space without constantly talking. Just being.
I was making dinner—a mango, avocado, and black bean salad that I intended to serve with a few slices of grilled chicken. The American Heart Association’s website had become my new favorite place, and I was always looking for healthy recipes that Vincent would eat. Sometimes it took a little tweaking, like leaving the jalapeño out of this salad—he was wimpy when it came to spicy—but I’d found a bunch of dishes that were good for him and would help him stay healthy, while also tasting good.
Vincent was sitting at the kitchen table, his laptop in front of him and a mug of hibiscus tea next to it. I kept one eye on him while I worked, making sure he didn’t get too agitated. I’d been limiting his time involved in work, though I’d had to come up with some creative distractions, and I intended to keep him as calm as I could for as long as possible. But he was answering emails in between sipping tea and playing some kind of game where he was building a civilization. The relaxed set of his shoulders told me what I needed to know. The moment they stiffened in tension was when we’d have a problem.
Suddenly, Vincent lifted his head and looked around.
“What?” I asked, returning my attention to the avocados and liberating them from their stubborn skin. I wanted chunks of the fruit, not mush, and it was a little more difficult than it should be.
“Where’s the dog?” he accused.
I finally managed to peel away the last bit of skin, leaving a perfect avocado half in my hand. I set it flat-side down on the cutting board and picked up my sharp knife. “What do you mean?” I tried for innocent even though I knew full well what he was asking.
“By now, Valentine is usually causing a ruckus, begging to go out for a walk. He always gets a walk before dinner, and you know he’s regular as clockwork.” Tension was creeping into his tone, and when I spared him a glance, suspicion was darkening his face. I returned my attention to the avocado.
“Oh, I walked him already,” I said as I chopped. “I thought it might be nice if we had a quiet evening lounging on the couch, so he’s all sleepy in the sunroom and now I’m making dinner. I think you’ll like it, though it’s a new recipe. It’s got all the things you like in it, and it’s good for you, too. Hardly any salt and no real fat to speak of. But avocados and mangoes and black beans and corn and onion, and I’m even making the dressing from scratch so I know—”
“Daniel,” he interrupted, his voice somehow managing to be full of warning and affectionate at the same time.
“What?” I picked up the cutting board and used the back of the knife to push the avocado into the bowl.
“You’re fussing again. Stop.”
I shook my head and reached for the mango I’d peeled earlier. That had been a real pain and it was only afterward I’d found a trick on the Internet involving a glass. If the salad was a hit, I’d be sure to do it that way next time. I quickly chopped it into cubes. “I’m not fussing,” I denied. I dropped the cubes into the bowl, and when I turned to the sink to wash my hands, Vincent was blocking my way. He smiled as he stepped to the side, then wrapped his arms around me from behind the moment I turned on the water.
“You are,” he said as soon as I tapped off the faucet. He kept his arms around me, his forehead pressed between my shoulder blades. “I’m fine. You need to stop trying to manage me.”
“I’m not managing you. I’m caring for you.” I pulled out of his embrace and turned, trying not to let the hurt and anger win. “You don’t know how scary it was. You don’t know what it was like watching the man you lo—who is your lover just collapse.”
My heart was pounding and I turned away, glad I caught myself in time. It was too soon for any declarations of love. Especially when I wasn’t certain that’s what I felt. I
cared for him deeply, and was probably on the verge of falling for him, but we didn’t need that in the mix right now. I silently hoped he hadn’t caught it, or at the very least, not mention it.
I didn’t look at him as I started measuring out the ingredients for the dressing into a mason jar. It seemed easier than trying to whisk it all together. Besides, maybe I could get rid of some of my own tension by shaking the hell out of the jar.
When Vincent finally spoke, I could hear in his tone that he was actually listening to me, that he understood where I was coming from. “You were at the cardiologist with me yesterday. You heard what she said. As long as I take the meds, and the baby aspirin, and eat well and exercise, reduce my stress levels some…” He paused, and when I glanced up, he gave me an eyebrow waggle that had me grinning in return. “I’m good. I’m doing well. And she said I could resume all activities.”
“I know,” I responded with a sigh. “And I’m so glad to hear it. But is it so wrong that I want to take care of you? Make things easier for you?”
“Of course not,” he said gently, waiting until I’d poured the dressing over the salad and tossed it all together so everything was coated. Then he stepped into my space and wrapped his arms around me. I sighed again, this time with something akin to relief. Being able to touch him was still as amazing as it was the very first time. “But I’m not an invalid. I’m fully capable of doing things for myself. And you should let me.”
I nodded and kissed him softly on the lips. “I’ll try.” I made to move away, but he snagged my waist and turned me back toward him.
“Speaking of,” he said with meaning, and he looked me right in the eye. “Is there a reason you haven’t touched me in weeks?”
“I’m touching you right now,” I answered, deliberately misunderstanding him.
His scowl let me know it was not appreciated, and he pulled me in until our groins were pressed tightly together. My body responded to his instantly, just as starved for intimate touch as his was. But my mind refused to disengage, and it was still stuck on the fact that just a few weeks ago, the man in my arms had had a heart attack. At fifty-two, he was too young for that, and I needed to do whatever I could to keep him healthy and whole. Which my mind translated as “no strenuous activity.” And sex definitely was that. Especially the way he did it.
“Dr. Mercurio said I could resume all activities,” he said with emphasis. His dark gaze never wavered from mine, and I saw the lust and heat in his eyes. “She said I could have been having sex from the moment I felt up to it. I didn’t tell her that my lover didn’t want me anymore.”
I frowned instantly. “That’s not what it was about and you know it.”
“Oh yeah?” he challenged. “Then prove it.”
I tried to pull away, but when he held me tightly, I stopped struggling. “I’m not having sex with you on a dare. For fuck’s sake, Vincent! I have been trying to do what’s right for you! To keep you from getting too worked up, agitated, stressed out, whatever. And if that means no sex, than that’s what it means. I want you living more than I want your dick in my ass!”
Vincent’s smirk was full of heat, and he turned fast so that he had me pinned against the counter. “You sure about that? I seem to recall just how much you enjoy my dick in your ass.” He leaned in and raised up until his lips were at my ear. “Or my fingers. Or my tongue. The blue dildo with the ridges? I know how much you love your ass played with, honey. I know how much I love playing with it.”
I squirmed at his words, my body betraying common sense. I couldn’t help the wriggle, the way my pelvis thrust forward and pressed against his. I wanted him. Had wanted him for an incredibly long time. Going without his touch hadn’t been easy, but I’d managed to deal with it because it was best. And now he was ready and willing, demanding it, really, and I wanted to give in.
He reached up and cupped my head, pulling my lips down to his. When we were only inches apart, he stopped and looked into my eyes. He was serious. “I want you. I miss this. I need you.” He took a deep breath and gave me a quick kiss. “I promise you, I am up for this. It’s going to be okay.”
I nodded and fought the whimper. “And you’ll tell me?” I gasped as he nipped at my chin. “If it goes bad, you’ll say?”
“I will.” He bit at my lips, then laved with his tongue to soothe the sting. “You can ride me, if you like. You do all the work, and I’ll just lay back and stare at how beautiful you are.”
This time I couldn’t contain the whine.
He laughed, that sexy, dark chuckle never failing to heat my blood. He pulled away from me, then grabbed my hand and tugged me from the counter. “Go get naked. I’ll be right there as soon as I put away the salad and stick the dishes in the sink.”
“I can—”
“Go.”
I went.
It took him only a few minutes to join me, but by the time he did, I was sprawled out naked on the bed, and had three fingers up my ass. I was panting and working myself, loving the way he froze, then swallowed hard and started pulling off his clothes when he saw me.
“You started without me,” he accused, but his tone was full of heat, not anger. I kept fingering myself, whining as I hit a good spot, and reached out for him with my other hand.
“It’s been so long.” I gasped as he climbed up, instantly stilling when he grabbed my wrist and eased my fingers from my body.
This time the glare was bordering on real. “Whose fault is that?”
My breath hitched as he bent to suck on my neck. Since we were on hiatus, I didn’t have to worry about pissing off the makeup department by showing up with hickeys. I clutched at his head, keeping him there, arching into his mouth as he bit down.
“In punishment…” he began, his voice wicked and dripping with sex. He gave a hard suck on my skin, then lifted his head. His movements became unhurried and deliberate, and his smile was devilish as he finished his thought. “…you get slow.”
My groan was part-sex, part-protest. Slow killed me. When he went slowly, things lasted for hours and he took me to the edge of climax so many times I always ended up begging. Pleading. Promising the impossible if he would just get on with it. But nothing could compare to how desired I felt as he methodically drove me crazy, or how at peace I felt when we were both too sated to move. I wanted it even though I knew it would be torture. Besides, there was no dissuading him once he made up his mind.
True to his word, Vincent moved at a glacier’s pace. He spent long minutes sucking and biting my collarbone while his hands teasingly swept up and down the length of my torso. He had one knee between my thighs and pressing on my balls, but every time I tried to move to put more of that delicious pressure on my cock and balls, he would go completely still until I stopped wiggling. His fingers touched every part of my skin, lingering on the best spots, as he licked and laved down my torso.
He kept me pinned to the bed by the pressure he was exerting on my hips, but he wasn’t holding down my hands, which meant I was free to touch. And I did, as much as possible. I tangled my fingers in his hair where it was longer on top, carding it back from his face so I could watch as he sucked a livid mark on my hip. That was one of his favorite spots, and I thought it might be because of the noises that tore from my throat when he did it. I didn’t know why that particular patch of skin was such a hot spot, but he could bring me to the edge of coming just by kissing, biting, and licking at it. He spent a long time just sucking, making yummy noises. His arms were wrapped around my waist so that he could keep his hands on my ass, and his upper chest was providing the barest hint of friction on my sensitive cock. The more he sucked, the louder I got, whines, whimpers, and “oh Gods” escaping at more frequent intervals. I felt the tingles in my stomach, felt my balls drawing up, and I tensed, ready to come.
Vincent moved fast, one hand wrapping around my dick and squeezing hard to stave off my orgasm. I nearly cried for having been denied.
“Christ, fuck,” I whimpered, trying once
again to move. I needed more. I grabbed his head in my hands, tilting his face up toward mine. “Please, Vincent.”
It was a whine and a plea, my tone complete begging, and I didn’t care that I sounded desperate because I was. Weeks we’d been sleeping together, me too scared to do anything more than kiss him, and now my body was primed and ready to go off. And he was dragging it out, which was both awesome and terrible at the same exact time.
He backed off entirely, and my heart skipped a beat. I opened my mouth to apologize, to beg some more, but he was reaching for the lube I’d left on the bed, and my heart started pounding again.
His gaze was dark as he opened the cap and poured lube on his fingers. “You want to ride me, baby?”
I nodded fast and started to sit up. When Vincent leaned to reach for a condom in the bedside table, I stopped him with a hand on his chest. “I want you bare,” I whispered.
He froze, and I could practically see his thought process in his gorgeous, deep brown eyes. He blew out a breath. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said, wholly confident. “I know you’re negative. They ran all the tests when you were in the hospital because you asked them to. I’ve got a paper I can show you from a few months ago. And I haven’t been with anyone else since that first time with you in the conference room.”
Vincent’s breath caught. “This is serious, then. You know that, right? This means something.”
“Yes,” I answered immediately and with all the feeling I could muster. His eyes widened for a moment. I apparently surprised him with that. Did he really not know how I felt? I thought I’d made it clear with everything I did, just short of actually declaring it. I held my breath, waiting to see what he was going to do.
His answer was to wrap his fingers around his bare cock and slick it up.
Something Like Peace Page 7
