The Heart Of Texas

by RJ Scott

  They stumble-hugged into the kitchen, settling at the table for breakfast.

  "I hope I can keep this breakfast down," Beth said miserably as she poked at the cereal Steve had placed in front of her. She'd said morning sickness hadn't been so bad, and at twenty weeks, it was in the past now, but the anxiety from last night was probably still churning inside her. He worried.

  "Can I ask you a question Beth?"

  "Uh huh."

  "You said last night Jack knew. Did he guess? Was he cool with it?"

  Beth closed her eyes and rubbed at them with small fists.

  "He was devastated, Steve. He cried. He sat next to me, and he cried." Steve grasped at one of the fists, pulling it away from her face. "It was awful. I hurt him so much."

  "Maybe we should have told him? You shouldn't have had to tell him alone."

  "I didn't have to tell him; he knew. Somehow he knew. I didn't ask him how. I probably should."

  They sat in silence, eating cereal and lost in thoughts. Finally Steve stood, rinsing bowls and idly skimming through yesterday's mail and the newspaper. In among the papers and the envelopes, one article on the inside pages of yesterday's paper caught his eye, and the world fell from beneath his feet.

  Son of a bitch.

  * * * *

  Jeff hated these clandestine meetings. He cursed his little brother for forcing him into this position.

  "Just the Campbell family. No one hurts my brother. Well, not much anyway."

  * * * *

  "Mr Murray is here," his secretary announced even as Steve pushed into Riley's office. His face was carefully blank, and his eyes full of something Riley couldn't define. He scrambled to stand, then he rounded the desk. A pissed Steve was something that worried him. It took a lot to get his friend upset, and in the far reaches of his mind, Riley knew why Steve was here.

  "Steve—" he began, holding his hands up to placate his only real friend, wanting to say "I'm sorry" but unable to speak the words before Steve's clenched fist connected with his cheekbone and sent him staggering back against his desk. He ducked, but the next punch connected with his temple, and he felt a sudden dizziness as his head snapped back. Steve was looming over him, pushing him back on the desk, his hands wrapped in Riley's shirt as he shook him.

  "What the fuck have you done, Riley?"

  "Steve—" Another blow connected with his chin, and Riley had nowhere else to go. Summoning every bit of strength, he pushed back at Steve. It was like trying to move a brick wall. Finally he managed to get a handle on it, moving away from Steve, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead, and his hands out in front of him again.

  Steve was breathing hard, a hand unconsciously over his heart, and Riley winced at the sight. He'd never meant for this to happen.

  "What did you do, Riley?" Steve repeated, his voice controlled now. "I told you about Elizabeth Campbell in confidence, as my best friend. You know what she means to me. And you do what? You use it to get Campbell into bed with you? What the fuck?"

  "Steve, I'm sorry. It's not what you think." No, not just into bed. Not at all. Just to get what is rightfully mine…

  "Not what I think? Are you telling me you didn't somehow use what I told you about Beth against her own brother?"

  What could Riley say? It was exactly what he had done. He was standing in front of his best friend, the only one who looked through the Hayes name and saw a man capable of more. Now, that man was destroying the friendship as easily as snapping a pencil. No. He had destroyed it himself. Final. Sudden.

  Steve began backing from the room, his hand blindly finding the handle behind him. Are those tears in his eyes? "You bastard!"

  "Steve. Wait. Talk to me," Riley was pleading. "Let me explain."

  "No," Steve said simply, and he slipped from the room, leaving Riley bleeding and guilt-ridden in the map room.

  How could they ever get back from this?

  Chapter 20

  They slipped into a routine as Mr and Mr Campbell-Hayes. Riley spent his days at Hayes Oil, and Jack spent his at the D. Early mornings and late evenings, they came together at the Hayes Mansion, having breakfasts and dinners in the simmering cauldron of bitterness that was the Hayes family.

  Jack had simply nodded when Riley explained the bruised face. Well, not explained exactly, but waved it away. He mumbled something about Steve and a fight, and Jack didn't pry. Riley took to pulling his hair across the cut to hide it from curious eyes, and luckily none of the paparazzi shots showed anything other than Riley relaxed and at ease with his smiling husband.

  Articles came and went, and within a week, the story had been mostly forgotten. It didn't seem to matter how rich Riley was, or how much of a ladies' man he had been before. Somehow it seemed like the marriage was controversial, but acceptable. Money obviously did buy a lot of things in Jack's opinion, including the influence to stop printing stories, the responsibility for which he laid squarely at Gerald's door. Gerald, who refused to look at him let alone talk to him, which was really very okay with him.

  Twice they revisited Shooters, and twice, Jack felt public PDAs were necessary. Twice he almost lost it by dragging Riley in for more. It was becoming increasingly difficult for Jack to remember he hated the man. They held hands in the house, kissed in the house, always the show, always when an audience was close, but when the doors shut on the world outside, that was the end of it.

  * * * *

  Down time meant Jack lost on his laptop, calculating feed and finances, planning visits for breeders and riders keen on Solo-Col's foal, and Riley idly doodling in his journal.

  If Jack saw what Riley doodled, what his husband's brain was thinking up, then he may well have wondered what exactly Riley was doing with this whole fair-percentage, arranged marriage thing. Riley's plans were complex, a company of his own —an ethical land exploration company— away from Hayes Oil. Each night the journal was locked away in the safe in the apartment, testament to Riley's reluctance to share his thoughts with the world just yet.

  * * * *

  The Saturday of the party had been and gone. It was an event Jack listed as yet another facet to his husband's complex, and sometimes bizarre, personality. Riley had relaxed, easy given the only Hayeses in attendance besides him, were Riley's nephew, Luke, as spoiled as any seven-year-old could be, his sister Annabelle, Lisa, and Eden. Add in twenty or so other children, ice cream, and a bouncy castle, and it was hyper Riley at his best.

  And then there was tonight.

  The first real function they were attending as a married couple, some annual fundraiser for a charity Jack had never heard of. Still, he had agreed to all of this in the contract. So, donning black tie, he was pacing the apartment waiting on Riley who, yet again, was getting changed in the bathroom. Jack laughed to himself. If Riley knew Jack watched him when he slept, he would probably freak, given that, when he was awake he covered everything. Jack spent many lust-filled minutes staring at exposed skin when Riley's sleep T-shirt pulled up. Last night he'd even contemplated leaning forward and tasting the younger man, and that was something that would certainly worry Riley.

  "Come on, man." Jack really hated being late; it was a pet peeve of his, and he could feel his irritation rising, only to completely disappear when Riley came out of the bathroom. Every molecule of oxygen was sucked from Jack in a flash. Jeez, holy hell on a stick. Six-four of Riley, with his hair brushed back, his face smooth of stubble, the tux. Jeez, the tux. It molded every muscle and every inch of his broad shoulders and was enough to tempt a saint. Riley paused outside the bathroom, the intensity of Jack's gaze obviously unsettling him, causing him to glance back over his shoulder to check if there was someone behind him.

  "Erm—" Riley began, a blush rising on his cheeks, his hand going to his hair to pull it forward over his face. Jack was there in an instant, catching the hand midway.

  "Leave the hair, Het-boy," he managed to force out. "Let's go."

  * * * *

  The journey was made in an
uncomfortable silence, Riley driving, and both men lost in their own thoughts as they headed straight to the center of Dallas. The skyline was closer, the buildings taller, and the apprehension in both men darker and persistent.

  When they reached the venue, they left the car with the valet, and the next five minutes was a blur of holding hands, exchanging small demonstrative kisses and accepting congratulations from TV and tabloid journalists alike.

  It was a sit-down four course dinner, but there was a lot of standing around time, which meant guests could mingle as much as they wanted. This ended up with Riley mingling, and Jack doing the whole hanging 'round the drinks area shuffle.

  When dinner was finally served, Riley was seated next to his husband, watching as he picked at the plate before him.

  "Jack," he whispered, leaning in close, "aren't you hungry?"

  "Yeah, but I'll wait until the meat arrives," Jack replied, just as softly.

  "Jack, the salad is the main course. Look, it's huge. Seriously, there's no meat coming." There was a shot of amusement in his words.

  "You've got to be fucking kidding me. You're joking, right?" Jack looked horrified, which only added to Riley's amusement levels.

  "Hardly. You don't need meat at every meal," Riley offered, forking another bite of salad into his mouth and inwardly agreeing with Jack that it was certainly lacking something.

  Jack was quiet for all of ten seconds, and then he couldn't hold in his opinion one second more. "Are you really a Texan? I mean, really? Riley, if I have a headache, I'd put bacon around an aspirin before I take it."

  Riley just smirked and shook his head, distracted by a conversation to the left. This left Jack to pick morosely through the salad leaves and unidentifiable chunks of vegetable swimming in some kind of oil. Riley was almost sure he heard a muttered; "We better stop at McDonalds on the way back to the apartment."

  * * * *

  Dinner finally over, they separated. Jack back to the drinks, nursing his second whisky that evening, and watching Riley making the rounds as was expected of him. Watching and growing more and more irritated at the simpering women falling all over his husband, touching his husband's body, his hair, like he was some sort of prime rib at a barbecue. Not only that, but the bastard seemed to be enjoying it if his open smile was anything to go by, and he wasn't exactly pushing them away. The itch of irritation grew and twisted until finally enough was enough. The final straw was seeing Rachel Adams, an ex of Riley's, drape herself around him, signaling in no uncertain terms that she was clearly interested in some kind of reunion. Eyes narrowed, Jack watched her brush against his property, her hands low on Riley's crotch.

  That was it. In a few quick strides, he was at Riley's side, cutting in between Rachel, vacuous blonde number four, and simpering brunette number three. Smoothly separating Riley from their clutches with a polite "Excuse me", he guided his husband out of the main room and into the darkened corridor before Riley could protest.

  * * * *

  Jack paced, and Riley stood. Jack fumed, and Riley waited.

  Finally Riley said what he thought Jack probably needed to hear, some kind of defense of what he'd allowed to happen. "I was just—"

  He didn't get to finish. Jack crowded him against the wall, and shit, Riley was getting tired of being pushed around like this. Jack made him feel like some kind of naughty kid, and damn if it wasn't riling him to the point of losing it here and now. Then Jack's hand went south as quick as he could say Holy shit, and everything changed.

  * * * *

  Unerringly locating Riley's dick in his loose dress pants, Jack grabbed it forcefully and leaned close to Riley's ear, hearing the quick indrawn breath from his husband. A spark of lust flashed through his own body as he contemplated what to do next. Finally he decided. He was tired of all the pussy-footing around, and the darkness of the hallway invited sin. He moved his hand on Riley's hard dick, listening to the groan in Riley's throat.

  "Riley, you know who this belongs to? This belongs to me." He gentled the touch, twisting his hand. "I saw you flirting and sharing with those girls out there, and I'm telling you now, I don't share. No one else gets to see this. No one else gets to touch it. No one else gets to taste it. Just me. It's mine for one whole year, and I have the contract to prove it."

  Riley tried to form a reply as Jack moved his hand again. It was good to see the other man speechless for once.

  "Don't worry though, husband. I'm gonna treat it so good. I've decided that I'm gonna make it, and you, feel so damn good you'll never look at another woman again. You only have to say the word, and I'll show you what you signed up for." His voice fell into a heated whisper, the words low and drawled. "Now do we need to get out of here? I'm thinking I might need to take you home and show you who you belong to." Riley's eyes widened, his dick fully hard, iron in Jack's clever hands. "I can make you scream. You wouldn't even know your name when I finished with you."

  "Jack—please." Riley's voice was broken. Everything Jack wanted to hear.

  "Please?"

  Riley blinked, unconsciously pushing his groin into Jack's hold. Jack knew what followed next was certainly not a decision Riley made with his upstairs brain. "Fuck, Jack. Let's get the hell out of here."

  They took the back door and were in the car within the space of minutes, neither saying anything. Jack was so fucking hard, knowing Riley was just as hot for this.

  They only made it halfway home. Riley pulled off the road into an empty parking area. The engine was silent for mere seconds before Jack was there, pulling Riley away from the wheel and pushing him down as fast as he could. His lips were stealing kisses. The taste of his husband was intoxicating, and he bit into soft flesh. The touches were uncoordinated, desperate, like nothing Jack had ever experienced before. Jack's hands were at Riley's dress slacks, ripping at the zipper and button, encouraging Riley to lift his hips.

  It was messy, and it was fast and clumsy. Hands were replaced with his mouth, and in the quickest movement Jack had ever made on a lover, he closed his mouth over the tip of Riley’s hard dick, swirling his tongue and then impatiently swallowing him deeper. He used his work-roughened hands, alternating between jacking him off in the space between his mouth and the curls at the base of Riley's sex, and moving to cup his balls, gently, then more firmly. Jack was almost coming himself, just at the intense needy noises leaving Riley's mouth, his hands flailing to catch hold of something, anything, before gripping Jack's short hair.

  Two weeks of lust that had built inside them, two weeks of teasing and unrestrained touching were enough to have orgasm curling at the base of Jack's spine. His fingers brushed Riley, at the tight ring of muscle, and it was all too much for his husband. Fisting his hands tighter in Jack's hair, Riley arched and was coming fast and uncontrolled. Jack swallowed and tasted, releasing the tight suction of his mouth with little finesse. He tugged his own slacks open, wet slick hands jacking himself off and his shadowed form curling into Riley as ropes of cum decorated his hand and Riley's jacket.

  Jack brought his cum-covered hand up to Riley's mouth, pushing the spider web of white inside on shaking fingers and leaning for an open kiss. The taste and texture of his cum was mixed with the taste of Riley's skin. It was lust, it was need, and it was heaven. Breathing heavily, Jack heaved himself up and away, leaning against the opposite side of the car. Riley was lying immobile, his face stony in shock.

  Fuck, Jack thought, so much for no sex for a year.

  Chapter 21

  Jack didn't know what to say. He really had no idea that his teasing and prodding and then the whole grabbing his husband's dick would end with possibly the hottest, most intense, sexual experience of his life. He blinked steadily at Riley, who was way over on the other side of the car, pressed against the door, silent and still, shock carved onto his features. The tension in the space was palpable, and Jack imagined Riley's heart was beating the same frantic rhythm as his. He watched in fascination as Riley wiped the back of his hand across his m
outh, looking down at it as if he could see evidence of what Jack had just done, of what they had just done.

  "You're not gay," Jack said, quite proud of his achievement in stringing together those three words. Riley said nothing at first, just blinked steadily.

  Finally Riley simply said, "I pulled the car over." Like that explanation was enough to explain why he wasn't running for the hills, screaming.

  "Then your dick was more than a little interested in a little man-on-man action," Jack pointed out, wincing as he spoke and at the frown growing on Riley's face.

  "I've been with other men before," Riley frowned.

  "Yeah, just not with ones you blackmailed into marriage."

  "This is serious," Riley snapped. "It's clear I'm obviously having some sort of no sex rule breakdown."

  "After two weeks?" Jack snorted, despite the fact that he'd been feeling the effect as well.

  "More like three," Riley replied thoughtfully. Jack looked over at a half dressed Riley, his shirt pulled high, laid out in front of him, and he cursed that he wanted to lean over and taste more. He was the instigator here, his damn pride demanding he determine if Riley was okay with this.

  "So let me get this straight," he said. "You've gone without sex for three whole weeks, and it has, all of a sudden, overnight, turned you gay for me?"

  As he spoke he straightened his clothes and moved to his knees to loom over the man, trapping him against the door. He could smell Riley, the smell of his cologne, the smell of arousal, the smell of sex, and he leaned in until his lips were mere fractions of an inch from sun darkened skin stretched across high cheekbones, his breath hot against that skin. He didn't say anything, just hovered, waiting— hesitating.