Garth dropped his suit coat beside the shirt as Peter’s hands raced over his upper torso. The calluses on Peter’s guitar player’s fingertips abraded Garth’s skin. Each touch felt like a match had been struck at the spot. Sparkles of heat and energy, rife with sexual excitement, danced over Garth’s body. He went rock-hard in seconds.
No longer content to be the passive recipient of Peter’s attention, Garth reached back to seek some contact himself. He found Peter’s ass and dug his fingers into one muscled buttock, feeling the heat and power through Peter’s jeans. As Peter pressed close behind him, he could feel Peter’s cock, stiff as his own, nudging against his butt, although separated by layers of fabric. Excitement too volatile to contain flared through him. Yes, oh, yes. This is Peter and he’s here. We’re finally together.
Still holding one another, they stumbled a few steps until Garth was stopped by Melanie’s desk. They released each other long enough to fumble with belt buckles and zippers, desperate to get their pants out of the way.
For a moment, choking panic stopped Garth dead still. He remembered how big Peter’s cock was. Since that long-ago night, he had known others from small to large, but none that quite matched his memory of Peter’s. Lube. We need some kind of lube!
As he bent forward across the cleared surface of the desk, a tube of hand cream caught his eye. It certainly wasn’t meant for the purpose, but it would do a lot better than nothing. He made a grab for it and held it back to Peter. “Here, I don’t self-lubricate like the ladies. We’re gonna have to use something.”
Peter laughed. “Oh, man, you’re too funny. Okay, I wouldn’t want to ream you a new one, not really. I hope it doesn’t smell too flowery, though.”
Garth shrugged. “Just do it. Fuck me. I can’t stand to wait much longer.”
Still, it took a few seconds while he leaned there, shaking with urgency, listening to the small sounds as Peter slipped a condom on and rubbed the lotion onto his prick. Then he slathered a stream down between Garth’s cheeks, rubbing it around and into his anus. The scent of the cream was more medicinal than floral, he decided as a whiff drifted his way. Then all thought faded as Peter thrust into him in a sudden lunge. The edge of the desk cut into his thighs, but he hardly felt it, too caught up in the savage, searing urgency of Peter’s movements.
There was nothing gentle or hesitant in the act, yet it satisfied Garth as many other encounters had failed to do. There was something so completely right in living one of his long-term fantasies. How many times had he visualized this? Perhaps not exactly this scenario, but close enough.
Slowing for a moment in his driving thrusts, Peter reached down and squeezed Garth’s balls. Then he stretched around with the other hand and grasped Garth’s cock. Another couple of pumps and Peter exploded, giving a war whoop as he came. Garth felt the spasm in every cell of his body. Even though he didn’t climax himself, he felt a similar release and lay still as Peter slumped down over him for a moment.
Peter pushed himself upright after he caught his breath. “Okay, now I’ll give you a blow job or take you to dinner or both. What do you want?”
Garth straightened and spun around, tugging his pants up from their tangle around his knees.
He wasn’t able to talk to anyone in such a state of disarray, not even Peter—maybe especially not Peter.
“You don’t have to do either one,” he said. “I’m not some street ho who has to be paid off, one way or another.” The implication stung and he realized he’d spoken more sharply than perhaps was warranted.
Peter held a hand up, palm out. “Whoa, you know I didn’t mean it that way. I’m not buying anything from you except legal services. This is a totally different transaction, something I think both of us wanted and needed. I know I did, and you sure didn’t act reluctant. Anyway, my asshole is a one-way street, but I don’t mind sucking you if you’d like it. I’m bi, not totally gay, at least not strictly. I mean I’m the fucker, not the fuckee, whether it’s male or female. That’s just how I play it.”
Garth nodded. “Okay. I might be too sensitive sometimes. It just hit me a little wrong. I’ll take a pass on the BJ, but I’d like dinner if we can go Dutch. Nothing too fancy. I’ve got a ruined shirt and I’m not going to look my GQ best.”
“You and your fixation on being perfect! Come on, man, live a little and walk on the wild side. You must work out or something—you don’t have the desk man flab anyway. Show off that nice chest with an open shirt.” He winked and then laughed again. “You might be surprised whose eye you’d catch.”
Chapter 2
Garth spent the next two days in an exhaustive effort to assemble all the information he could about the case. Still, he found his usual concentration difficult to maintain. His most recent encounter with Peter kept slipping into whatever he was doing. He’d suddenly find himself recalling the scent of the other man’s hair—a smoky juniper mixed with sage; the feeling of his lips and teeth against Garth’s neck, ears, and face; the crushing strength of his embrace and the near savagery with which he’d divested Garth of his tie and shirt.
Then he’d have to find a reason to call and ask Peter a question. His newest client had left for a concert in the Midwest, but would be back once that was over. Garth was already anticipating Peter’s return—and hating himself for it every moment. I can’t even consider having an affair with a client. That’s totally unprofessional, unethical, and just plain wrong! One encounter was bad enough. There’s no way I can let it happen again.
Yet, if he were totally honest, he knew it would. There was something so elemental, so compelling about Peter Nightrider that resisting was akin to trying to stop a tornado or shift the direction of a flash flood by one’s will. The Native American had hinted he wasn’t gay, or at least not exclusively. Did that mean Garth would have to share him with other lovers, probably both male and female? The notion rankled, and he knew he’d be distressed each and every time Peter was with someone else. Could he learn to live within such an open relationship? His own inclination was to be exclusive and totally faithful to one person, which was clearly not Peter’s way.
Garth’s latest legal clerk, Michael Dragone, had made no secret of the fact he was available. Although Garth did not wholly approve of inter-office affairs, they were not nearly as bad as relations with a client. Michael was a handsome and personable young man, working toward his LLB while he served as a legal clerk and assistant. He had a sharp, quick mind with a sound grasp on most legal principles already. They worked well together, but Garth simply could not get excited about Michael. He had tried to discourage the younger man without being harsh, but he wasn’t sure if it was working or not. He sighed. Why does life have to get so fucking complicated?
Monday afternoon, Peter roared into the Talent Law Offices like an unleashed storm. Still riding on the high of a well-attended and successful performance, he radiated such energy and excitement Garth felt his presence the moment he surged through the outer door. Peter did not wait, but strode right on in to Garth’s office.
“Well, have you got a defense put together yet?”
“The difficult I do at once, but the impossible takes a little bit longer,” Garth responded, his tone more than a bit wry and also sarcastic. “I can’t find a foolproof defense for you that doesn’t involve testimony from the lady you spent the evening with.”
Peter shrugged. “Okay, she said she’d make a statement if it’ll save my ass. It’s Sharon Shilling, by the way. We’ve been seeing each other off and on for a couple of years.”
The name stopped Garth in his tracks. “You’re joking, tell me you’re joking! She’s—damn, man, that’s Senator Shilling’s wife, the mother of one of the girls involved in the case. This is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard. How does she feel about her baby girl having sex with a drunk band member and smoking pot and…”
Peter grinned, a purely wicked smirk. “Like mother, like daughter, maybe. Only I was sober, and we didn’t smoke any weed.”<
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“You asshole! I don’t believe this. Why didn’t you at least give me a hint? I figured it was one of the usual bimbo starlet types you’re seen and photographed with every week for the National Tattler.” Garth shook his head. “You know what’s going to happen when the press gets wind of this, and they will, no matter how quiet we try to keep it. Somebody will leak something and the senator will go ballistic!”
Peter shrugged. “It’ll work out, one way or another. If he does, he might get a domestic violence charge slapped on him, which would get him out of our hair for the time being. Without him pushing the case, I have a hunch there’d be a lot less pressure behind this.”
Garth wanted to pound his head on his desk in sheer frustration. “My God, when you step in it, you do a great job. I think I smell the dog shit from here.” Right then he didn’t even like Peter, but that didn’t mean his nerves weren’t stretched like guitar strings, while arousal hummed along them like electricity in high tension wires.
“Get up out of that chair and come around here before I come get you. Don’t think I didn’t figure out why you were calling every couple of hours all weekend. We have some unfinished business.”
Garth wanted to refuse. He opened his mouth to say, “Hell no. No fucking way,” but his feet were already moving. He circled the desk and walked straight into Peter’s outstretched arms. It felt like coming home. He cursed the feeling, but there was no denying it.
His lips found Peter’s in an open-mouthed kiss. Their tongues tangled and fenced until they were both panting for breath.
Finally Peter released his hold, taking a half-step back. “Man, you’re hot. I’m not used to that, not this way, at least. What is it with us, our history or something else? I don’t get it. I came to you because I heard you were the best at defending against some of the spurious or at least partly spurious charges and suits brought against celebs. That was all I expected to get. Instead, I find enough heat to burn half the rez to a cinder from a man who’s half a friend and half almost an enemy. What’s the deal?”
Garth shrugged. “I don’t understand it any more than you do, Pete. I just know the minute you walked in the door last week I felt it, a heat and hunger like I haven’t felt in years for anyone. You make me a little bit crazy. I can’t do this. It isn’t right and it isn’t ethical. You can’t be a client and a lover at the same time. How do I handle this?”
Peter’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Tell me and we’ll both know,” he muttered. He looked up again, his expression keen and measuring. “I don’t have any problem with fucking my lawyer. Hell, that’s a real switch, isn’t it? Usually works the other way. Sorry, bad joke and a low blow as well, but you know the stories as well as anyone. Still, if we offend your integrity somehow, I can’t tell you what to do. I say quit fighting it and let what happens happen. There’s some energy here, a magnetic attraction. When I feel something like that, I tend to go with it, wherever it leads.”
“Yeah, even into the bed of a senator’s wife, and Lord knows how many gorgeous blondes with names like Brandi and Bambi and Brittany.” The bitterness in his tone surprised even Garth. He hadn’t realized how much he resented visualizing Peter with a bevy of sexy young beauties, the kind that flocked to him like birds to a feeder.
“I am who I am, Garth. There isn’t a hell of a lot I can or am willing to do about it. So what you see is what you get. For what it’s worth, though, I’ve followed your career real close and was proud of you, every step you made. Nobody ever handed you any freebies, but you made your own opportunities. Talk about a self-made man. I don’t see where us enjoying each other takes anything away from who you are and what you’ve done. So what’s the problem?”
Peter’s words made a lot of sense, even if he still wasn’t comfortable with the notion. Garth decided, for now, to go with the other man’s ideas anyway. It would be a lot more fun than fighting the near-irresistible pull of lust.
His decision must have been reflected in his face. Peter smiled.
“Why don’t you come out to my ranch and spend a few days? You can talk to Derek and get a blow-by-blow on what happened straight from the horse’s ass. I may be able to convince Sharon to come out, too. If you can talk to her, maybe it won’t seem quite as over the top as you seem to think it is.”
Garth hesitated, but the decision was really already made. “Okay, give me about an hour to get some things lined up here and then we can go. I’ll put my clerk to work on a couple of other cases I have going. He’s sharp and reliable.”
Peter showed no sign of leaving, so Garth summoned Michael, in spite of his misgivings on how the younger man would react to Peter’s magnetic presence. Actually Peter had no business listening in on their conversation, which would be strictly about business, but he probably would not make much sense of it anyway.
Much to Garth’s surprise, Michael showed little interest in Peter, just greeted him politely and promptly turned his attention to his boss. Either he knew which side of his bread had the butter or he did not find Peter his type. Their business didn’t take the hour Garth had expected, so he and Peter walked out some forty-five minutes later and got into Peter’s SUV for the drive out to his ranch.
* * * *
Garth wasn’t sure what he expected to find at Peter’s home place. He knew the location to be in a scenic canyon area about thirty miles from Las Vegas, but beyond that, he didn’t have a clue. Once they were on the way, he wondered why he’d never taken the drive out to see for himself. He’d known for some time about Peter’s acquisition of the old ranch property and had heard about the entertainer’s extensive renovations. Some said it was quite a showplace now.
Peter drove like he did everything else—skillfully, fast and with little apparent effort. The miles rolled behind the SUV’s spinning wheels as they talked, casually for the most part, catching up on each other’s lives since they had left their northern Arizona home. Once they entered the canyon, Garth found himself gazing around, taking in the fabulous scenery. The place was little short of spectacular. Finally they rounded a bend and came to the ranch.
The sprawling house, built in pueblo style, looked as if it had been there for centuries, even though Garth knew it was less than five years old. The outbuildings were mostly low, simple and blended into the surroundings. Nothing appeared ostentatious or garish. I should’ve known. He might affect a flashy personal image, but the native ways prevail in the rest of his lifestyle. If Garth were to choose one word to describe the place, it would be “comfortable.” There was a welcoming feel to everything, outreaching warmth that invited one to come in and feel at home. He liked it at once.
Peter pulled up at one end of the house and parked under an open carport. “Here we are. Come on in.”
Garth followed his host into the house through a back door leading directly into a kitchen and casual eating area, one clearly well used. Peter went directly to a coffee maker on one counter and poured them each a cup. “One of my paleface vices,” he said, passing one cup to Garth. “Caffeine works better for me than alcohol, and mostly better than recreational drugs. I really don’t like to be out of control.”
Somehow, they had reached a level of camaraderie where silence was no longer uncomfortable. Garth sipped his coffee and waited to see what Peter would say or do next.
“Ever use a sweat lodge?”
The abrupt question caught him by surprise. “No, why or how would I?”
“No, I guess you’d never have had the opportunity. Well, I’d like for you to join me. It’s often one of the first things I do when I get home after being away. Helps me to unwind and clear the garbage out of my head. Come on.”
Peter rose, set his cup back by the coffee machine, and headed back out through a different door than the one they’d used to enter the house. Garth followed at his heels. The sweat lodge was about fifty yards from the house, a simple hut built in the traditional style, little more than a low, dome-shaped structure made of sticks and mud. A blanket co
vered the doorway.
Peter ducked in, took a lighter out of one pocket, and touched the flame to a ready laid pile of twigs. Within moments, he had a small but vigorous fire going. A circle of stones waited nearby, already heating on one side as the fire blazed brightly. Peter turned them, using a pair of sticks like tongs to expose new surfaces to the blaze. Then he stepped back and undressed with a few swift and economical motions.
Garth hesitated a moment, but realized he needed to disrobe also. He shed his shirt and tie, then his trousers, shoes and socks. Hunched there in his briefs, he felt out of place. Peter had dropped his underwear along with his outer clothes. He crouched nude in the glow of the fire, reached to pull close an olla full of water, and carefully eased two stones into the water. It bubbled into a boil almost instantly and a cloud of steam rose, steam carrying a pungent scent of desert plants. Before long the confined space was full of steam, so much so sight was dimmed as if through a cloud.
Sweat broke out on Garth’s skin, moisture running in ticklish rivulets down his chest, sides and back. Peter’s bronze body gleamed with it. He still crouched, eyes shut, swaying to a whispered chant Garth could barely hear. He found himself mesmerized by the primitive beauty of the other man’s muscled body, shining wet in the flickering firelight. Although he knew his lusty thoughts were not proper to the locale, he did not try to resist them. Peter’s magnificent masculinity was too potent to ignore.
Coming to the end of his chant, Peter rose, although he had to stoop under the low, curved roof. He looked across at Garth, a mischievous smile making him look young and sexy. “You know that’s not what this is about. But I agree with you—it is arousing, isn’t it? Maybe just the fact we’re both naked. But the next step will kill that hard-on, at least for a few minutes.” With this cryptic remark, he ducked out the door.
Always on My Mind Page 2
