Male/Male Mystery and Suspense Box Set: 6 Novellas

by Lanyon, Josh

  The pause lasted so long he gave up on Jeff answering, but at last Jeff gave a long, weary sigh. “I have sex with men. It’s nothing like this, all right? You don’t want to hear about it. Tonight was… This was something different. Special. One in a million.”

  The awful part was Austin felt the same way.

  Jeff added quietly, “But part of why it’s special tonight is because we both know this is a one time only.”

  Was that true? Was it special only because it was unique? It didn’t seem that way to Austin, but he didn’t have a lot of experience with one-night stands.

  He was shocked to hear himself say, “Is it? Because I feel…like there could be something more here. Or is that just me?”

  There was a frozen silence.

  “Don’t.” Jeff’s voice was tight. All the mockery, all the joking vanished. “Don’t say it. Don’t try to turn this into something it’s not.”

  Austin laughed awkwardly, trying to pretend he didn’t feel that slow, hot flush of embarrassment washing over him. “I know. I must be overtired or something. It’s not like I don’t know how this works. That was just… Maybe it’s something in the air.” He shut up, because if he kept talking, he was going to make it worse. He was going to drive Jeff right out of this hotel room. He had already pulled away and was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to Austin.

  Austin thought of and discarded a dozen possible comments. In the end, silence seemed safest.

  “Listen.” Jeff’s voice was muffled. He kept his back to Austin. “It’s not just you. But that doesn’t change anything. This isn’t…going anywhere.”

  “I know,” Austin said quickly, relieved to back away from it. Appalled at how much he had risked—and without justification.

  “If you want me to leave—”

  “No. God no. I’m not kidding about being overtired. I’m starting to babble.”

  Jeff lay down again and reached for Austin. “You are,” he agreed and covered Austin’s mouth with his own.

  If it wasn’t making love, it was certainly a reasonable facsimile, but Austin was not letting himself think in that direction anymore. He told himself that it was simply sex, passionate, beautiful sex, and there was nothing wrong with it. No need for it to be anything more. Jeff was inventive and experienced, but he was sensitive too, attuned to Austin, seeming to anticipate everything Austin desired before Austin was more than half-aware himself.

  Austin shivered beneath a delightful assault of kissing, nipping, caressing. Jeff straddled his body, and Austin could just make out the sheen of his pale hair, the gleam of eyes and his smile in the darkness. His palms stroked Austin’s chest, grazing his nipples. That brush of callous hands on sensitive nubs started a restless ache within Austin. He moved uneasily, thrusting up under Jeff.

  “We can do that if you want,” Jeff whispered, shocking Austin rigid.

  More rigid.

  Oh, he wanted it, all right. He wanted a lot more than this, but this felt unsafe enough. Not physically unsafe—they were taking reasonable precautions—but emotionally unsafe. He was off-kilter tonight, knocked off-balance by Jeff’s unpredictable and varied charms.

  When he didn’t answer immediately, Jeff shifted, finding Austin’s cock and pressing into it, grinding against him with a deliberate and slow sensuality. Austin’s cock seemed to pulse in time with Jeff’s.

  “You like that?”

  “Yeah,” Austin said hoarsely.

  “Me too.” Jeff’s hips rolled with that lazy, sexy rhythm. He rubbed their cocks together. “I used to dream about doing this with you—to you…” He leaned forward, braced on one muscular arm so he could bend down and kiss Austin’s eyelids…and the bridge of his nose…and the jut of his chin…his mouth…

  Austin couldn’t hold back any longer. He began to thrust, rocking his hips in fierce upward motion. Jeff drove back at him. They lost the rhythm, regained it, lost it again, and snapped all restraints, each of them going hell for broke.

  Long, fraught minutes passed in a haze.

  Jeff went perfectly still. Austin, sweating, trembling, still fighting for his own release, felt the ripples of Jeff’s coming extending further and further out like shining water or shock waves. Hot, sharp-scented release burst against his damp skin.

  Groaning, Jeff rolled over, pulling Austin on top of him, and Austin thrust violently between Jeff’s sinewy and accommodating thighs. There it was—Austin was flying, soaring up and up, not caring as his wings began to melt in bursts of salty, singed white, and he plummeted earthward, dimly surprised when he landed safely in the cradle of Jeff’s arms.

  He woke to a warm mouth moving on his with gentle insistence.

  Smiling, his lips parted in welcome, he reached up to hook an arm around Jeff’s broad shoulders and draw him closer. Jeff’s mouth smiled against his. He tasted…robust, full-bodied. Sleepy and warm and human.

  The last twenty-four hours came back in all their astonishing detail. Austin remembered thinking that nothing must be allowed to go wrong with the Cashel appraisal—shortly before everything that could possibly go wrong had gone wrong. It didn’t seem to matter much just now.

  He lifted his lashes. Morning. A soft, rosy daylight filtered through the open drapes. Jeff’s eyes looked impossibly green in the vernal luminance. There was a faint gold bristle on his jaw, and his hair was sexily mussed.

  “Thank you for last night.” The whispered words were commonplace enough, but Jeff’s expression transformed them into something more.

  Or maybe that’s what Austin wanted to see. He said, equally unoriginal, “I had a really nice time.”

  “I wish I could stay, but it’s already six o’clock.”

  Austin wished Jeff could stay too. If Jeff changed his mind, he’d reschedule his own leaving. He couldn’t say it, though. He’d said far too much the night before. It had to be Jeff’s idea, Jeff’s choice, and Austin already knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  Part of why it’s special tonight is because we know this is a one time only.

  But for a few sweet heartbeats, it seemed like maybe Jeff would decide to at least postpone his leave-taking.

  “You really are something, you know?”

  “Naw,” Austin mimicked gently.

  Jeff laughed. He rested his hand against the side of Austin’s face as though trying to memorize him in the soft uncertainty of the morning light.

  Austin gazed unblinkingly up at him. Stay. Please.

  Jeff’s face seemed to close. He drew back, rolled lithely off the bed, and reached for his underwear and khakis.

  He dressed quickly, efficiently.

  Austin enjoyed the view for a few seconds. There was no point rising until Jeff left. He planned to shower and then dress and then hit the road. He’d grab coffee and breakfast on the way, fill the gas tank at that station on the corner… He forced himself to think only of the day ahead, concentrate on the practicalities of his trip home. He must not—must not—be stupid about this. Indulging in a one-night stand had been stupid enough. Trying to make it into something more than it was would not only be stupid, it would be pathetic.

  Interrupting his thoughts, Jeff said suddenly, “If they do send you back this way, you could give me a call.”

  Was that supposed to be some grand concession? Judging by the guarded look on Jeff’s face, it was.

  Austin said neutrally, “Sure.”

  Jeff swiftly buttoned his shirt.

  Austin knew it was a mistake, but he couldn’t seem to stop the words. “Do you ever get to DC? Or—”

  “No.”

  Jeff didn’t look at him. He reached for his wallet, automatically checking its contents.

  Austin opened his mouth, then closed it. What was the matter with him? It wasn’t like he couldn’t take a hint. Or like Jeff didn’t understand what he was saying.

  He threw back the bedclothes, and the scent of warm linen and recent sex wafted through the room. He walked to the window and gazed down at
the park.

  He felt Jeff come up behind him even before warm hands fastened on his biceps.

  Jeff said huskily, “Austin. I won’t ever forget last night.”

  Austin said over the tightness in his throat, “The pleasure was all mine.”

  He could feel Jeff’s uncertainty, his hesitation, and it was ridiculous that he found himself unable to make this easy on them both. It was crazy. Crazy to react like this. It wasn’t like he hadn’t understood the rules of engagement. Or hadn’t had them explained to him in words of one syllable.

  He hadn’t had enough sleep; that was all. And yesterday had been stressful by anyone’s standards. Naturally, after all that had happened, the evening with Jeff seemed to take on a greater, almost symbolic importance. Once he was home and everything got back to normal, he was going to wonder what the fuck his problem had been.

  Maybe he was coming down with the flu or something.

  “Are you…?” Jeff stopped. “Austin?”

  He could hear the uneasy question in Jeff’s tone, and he nodded tightly to show he was listening. He hoped Jeff didn’t say anything that required a verbal response, because that was going to be hard to pull off without embarrassing them both.

  “You take care of yourself, you hear?” Jeff said at last. He dropped one quick, final kiss on Austin’s shoulder and turned away.

  Austin was counting the leaves on the tree across the way when he heard the door close.

  Chapter Seven

  “It looks like the situation in Madison has finally been resolved,” Whitney announced to Austin in passing on the wrought-iron spiral staircase that led from the staff offices.

  Austin, heading downstairs on his way to the Martyn, North, & Compeau showroom on Connecticut Avenue, paused. “So it wasn’t murder?”

  “I have no idea. I suppose not.”

  Whitney Martyn was a tall and lean forty-something. He had recently started touching up his thinning hair and goatee with hair color and taken to wearing polka-dot shirts. Austin attributed the dye job to Whitney’s engagement to Theresa, but what polka-dot shirts signified was beyond him. Today’s offering was white with navy blue dots.

  Whitney added, “All I know for sure is the daughter phoned yesterday to say that the police had signed off on the cellar, so the appraisal can proceed.” He added meaningfully, “She asked to speak to you.”

  “Who?”

  “The girl. Miss Cashel.” He said it as though there was some significance to it, but if there was, it escaped Austin. “We’d like you to leave tomorrow if you can arrange it. There’ve been too many delays already.”

  “But I can’t leave tomorrow,” Austin said, startled. “I’ve got the 1990 champagne cocktail party at Café Milano. In fact, I can’t leave this week. Thursday is part four in the wine workshop, and this weekend is the Margaux versus Palmer dinner at Maestro.”

  “There are no auctions this week. Theresa can handle all the rest of it,” Whitney said breezily.

  “Theresa?” Surprise gave way to alarm. “I host the Maestro dinner. I’ve hosted it for the last four years.”

  “Martyn, North, & Compeau hosts the Maestro dinner,” Whitney shot back immediately, which was a pretty good hint that he’d been ready for Austin’s reaction. “After four years it’s probably time to mix things up.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Whitney’s eyebrows arched. “I’m sorry?”

  “Is there something I should be aware of?”

  Whitney responded in true asshole fashion. “I’m sure there are many things you should be aware of, Austin. Did you have something particular in mind?”

  This was not the strategic moment to tackle this, but Austin felt backed into a corner by the news he was being sent back to Georgia in what felt like a deliberate move to shut him out of three major store events. Besides, the idea of returning to Madison filled him with nervous anxiety. It had taken him two weeks to stop hoping every time the phone rang that Jeff might be on the other end. In fact, it had taken a month to stop thinking about Jeff on a daily basis. For some reason he could not make sense of, Austin’s brief encounter with Jeff Brady had affected him deeply. The last thing he needed was reexposure to the virus. Even getting another chance at the Lee bottles didn’t feel like enough inducement.

  “Is there some reason you’re not sending Theresa to do this inventory?” It was a mistake to let even a hint of his antagonism show. Austin knew that, and yet he was so rattled, he couldn’t help it.

  “Theresa doesn’t have your experience at this kind of thing.”

  “She doesn’t have my experience at teaching workshops or hosting dinners.”

  “All the more reason for her to tackle it.”

  Austin’s stomach felt like it rolled onto its side and began its slow descent to the bottom of the sea. “Why would that be?”

  Whitney gave him a look that said as clearly as words, I didn’t want to do this now, but since you’re insisting… “Peter and I have made our decision regarding the new position.” He drew a deep breath, so maybe he wasn’t as calm as he seemed. “We’re appointing Theresa senior director.”

  “Theresa,” Austin parroted. “Theresa?” Somehow he managed not to say all the undiplomatic things that immediately leaped into his mind—starting with the fact that if Theresa wasn’t leading Whitney around by his peanut-sized balls, there was no way she’d be regarded as a serious candidate. She had maybe a third of Austin’s qualifications for this job.

  Perhaps Whitney knew what he was thinking—maybe because it was what everyone would be thinking. He said sharply, “Certainly Theresa. She’s eminently qualified.”

  Austin had known this was coming, but he still couldn’t believe it. It was so blatantly, flagrantly unjust. He had worked so goddamned hard over the past years, and his efforts had paid off. Martyn, North, & Compeau’s stodgy, conservative rep had been replaced by a new hip, edgy image. These days they were DC’s number one wine shop, and a large part of that was due to Austin’s efforts and the following he was building. It wasn’t any secret either. Whitney knew it as well as anyone. Knew that everyone internally and externally believed the new job would be—should be—Austin’s.

  “You don’t think you’ll be accused of nepotism?” Austin inquired as politely as he could manage. “I mean, she is your fiancée. And the least experienced or qualified person on staff.”

  Whitney’s face went red and then white. “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  “Oh, she’s not your fiancée?”

  Whitney swallowed. “Be careful, Austin. In case you’ve failed to get the message, you’re not by any means irreplaceable. You work for us, not, as everyone here seems to believe, the other way around. Your continued employment following our restructure is contingent on your willingness to work under your new boss.” He added, “And speaking of nepotism, let’s not forget that you originally landed your position here because Peter and your old man are good friends.”

  “I was a credentialed master of wine when I was hired. Theresa is one step from a restaurant hostess.”

  Okay, that wasn’t quite fair, but neither was this.

  “One more goddamned word,” Whitney said, starting to shake, “and you’re fired. And if Peter has a problem with it, he can talk to me.”

  Austin opened his mouth to say the one more goddamned word—two goddamned words, actually—but he remembered he was driving out to the house in Frederick for his father’s birthday party that evening. Having to admit to the entire family that he had failed yet again was unbearable. He couldn’t do it.

  But how the hell could he stay? To roll over and accept this—accept being passed over in favor of Whitney’s fiancée—was humiliating. It was insulting. It was demeaning. And given his years of enthusiastic hard work, it was plain old hurtful.

  He couldn’t stay.

  He couldn’t leave. This was his world. His life.

  But he couldn’t stay.

  Whitney was gla
ring at him, waiting for him to say it, quivering with anticipated righteous indignation.

  In the end, that was what saved Austin: knowing how badly Whitney wanted him to quit. “Excuse me,” he managed. “I’m expected downstairs.”

  * * * * *

  “Haaaaapy birthday, dear Harrison, haaaaapy birthday tooo yoooou!”

  The exuberant, off-key singing trailed to a straggling stop as Harrison Gillespie drew a deep breath, leaned forward, and efficiently blew out every one of the sixty candles on his birthday cake.

  There was a noisy round of applause, and Harrison looked around, smiling broadly as he accepted his dues. He reached out to Ernest, who reluctantly left Austin’s side to stand self-consciously within the ring of his father’s arm.

  “That’s my boy,” Harrison said.

  Ernest coughed and politely covered his mouth.

  Though Ernest was small for his age and a deceptively fragile-looking child, there was a marked resemblance between father and son. They had the same fierce, dark eyes, sallow complexion, and aquiline features. Harrison had been a puny, sickly child with a powerful imagination and a will of steel. He had not let anything stand in the way of his desire to become an investigative journalist, and against the odds, he had succeeded beyond even his own dreams. According to all the biographies Austin had read, anyway.

  “Presents!” Debra was a petite, pretty, and energetic woman just a couple of years older than Austin. Viv, Austin’s public-prosecutor sister, referred to Debra as the “Nazi cruise director.” Debra did have a tendency to try to manage people who were getting along fine without her help, but Harrison seemed to take it all in stride. But then there was no question about who wore the pants in Harrison’s home.

  “Here you are, Harry.” Bella, Stepmother #2, offered a square, flat parcel in recycled paper.

  The parcel turned out—unsurprisingly, as Bella always gave books—to be a biography of Norman Podhoretz. This was the signal, and everyone pushed their presents forward. Harrison exclaimed at their generosity and accepted his due with the placidity of baby Jesus receiving the wise men. The gifts ranged from a vintage Rolex watch (Rebecca, Stepmother #3) to an exercise video (Bryant, Stepsister #1). Harrison exclaimed graciously over each and every gift.