by Whitley Gray
“Not at all.” The sight of Jamie’s dejected expression made Remy want to kiss away any doubt that he wanted Jamie here. “Gives me a chance to practice my culinary skills on an unsuspecting guest. I’m glad you’re here.”
And why did he want this so much? Guilt. It had to be guilt. Plus the added bonus of getting out of the blind dinner date with Brett, George, and their friend Mystery Man. David.
Getting laid on the first date wasn’t Remy’s style anyway, and Brett knew that. For a best friend, the guy was pushy. Sex didn’t solve everything. In fact, it tended to complicate everything.
Remy scooped rice onto Jamie’s plate. “Say when.”
“When.” Jamie took a sniff. “Jasmine?”
“Yep.” Remy grinned as he exchanged pans for the curried chicken. “Do you like it on top?”
A faint pink colored Jamie’s cheeks.
Aw, hell. Open mouth, insert foot. Remy’s face heated. He cleared his throat. “The curry. On the rice.”
“That’d be fine.”
Remy piled curry on each plate, poured two small glasses of milk, and set them on the table. “Fire prevention.”
“Made this pretty spicy, did you?”
Remy shook out his napkin and grinned. “Prepare to sweat, my friend.”
* * * *
“He made me dinner.” Jamie juggled the cell phone and leaned back into the patio chaise. The backyard spread out before him in shades of citrine and avocado as the sun dropped behind the Rockies. Remy had urged him to enjoy the atmosphere and privacy outdoors—safely—while Remy finished cleanup in the kitchen. Warm evening air and the faint hum of a lawn mower somewhere in the neighborhood provided domestic background music. Fresh-cut grass, damp concrete, and a patio. Beer optional. It didn’t get any better.
“You sure you want me to come? I’m not cooking Indian for you,” Sarah said. “Maybe I should leave you two alone.”
He rolled his eyes. For an older sister, Sarah could pull off juvenile with the best of them. “It’s not romantic. It’s practical.”
“It’s serendipity. Of all the people you could crash into—”
“Hey. He crashed into me. I just happened to be on skates.”
“Since when do you rollerblade? Hmm… Oh yeah. Never. Must have been a guy. Am I right?”
Jamie rearranged his leg on the lawn chair. “I can meet someone better than Vince.”
“Honey, you don’t have a great track record with men. You just got rid of one domineering doctor, and now you’ve got another one.”
“Remy is nothing like Vince. Did Vince ever cook? No. Would Vince have brought me crutches? No. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have driven me to the ER.”
Sarah snorted. “Yeah he would’ve. He would’ve hoped you broke your ankle in ten pieces so he could operate on it and get the insurance money, the bastard.”
“Hey.” Sneaking a glance at the back door, Jamie lowered his voice. “I left, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, sweetie. And I’m proud of you. Glad you finally saved your hide and got out.”
Toward the end, the bruises had gotten hard to hide, and Jamie had been scared inside the bedroom and out. Experimenting with domination had gotten way out of hand, gone from novel to abusive. “I’m not going back. Remy is nice, and I can’t see that Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing going on with him. Not like Vince.”
“I hope you’re right about Remy. Vince wasn’t good to you, honey, and you deserve good.”
The back door swung open on creaky hinges. Remy started down the steps.
“Hey, Sarah? Gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Use good judgment, okay? Please?”
“Bye, Sarah.” Jamie snapped the phone shut.
* * * *
Remy studied Jamie’s profile in the flickering light from the flat screen. After a pain pill and Oreos he’d drifted off during the ten o’clock news. In sleep, he looked like an angel: tousled curls, classic features, full lips parted in sleep. Long golden lashes rested on his cheeks. A bit vulnerable. Remy hadn’t felt this awareness, this pull of attraction for months.
Not a good direction to let his thoughts wander. The guy was injured, for God’s sake, the ankle plus a dozen other aches and pains he’d not complained about. At least he didn’t seem to have any lingering sign of a concussion, other than asking if Remy had any superhero movies.
Remy grinned and stretched. Better rouse the patient and get him in bed. Er, get him to bed. Talk about innuendo. Wake him up and let him get horizontal. For some sleep. Alone.
“Jamie?” Remy shook his shoulder.
“Hmm?” Eyes closed, Jamie didn’t move.
“Time to wake up.” Remy resisted the urge to grab a handful of curls and kiss Jamie awake. Instead, he clicked on a table lamp.
Sleep dissipated, and like a slow curtain, Jamie’s eyes opened. In this light, they were darker but still arresting. “Hmm?”
“It’s okay. It’s Remy.” Okay, Doctor, ask him a couple of questions. Appropriate questions. “Do you know where you are?”
“Your house.” Jamie gave a slow blink, and his eyes closed.
That pain pill had done too good a job. “Jamie.”
“Yeah.”
“Open your eyes, buddy.”
Jamie complied. “I’m awake.”
“What year is it?”
“The year of the dragon.” A slow smile spread across Jamie’s face. “And I know the president and the season.”
“Okay, I’ll call that good. I think you’ll be more comfortable in the bedroom.” That didn’t sound bad, did it?
“Probably. Can you help me up?”
Remy stood, offered Jamie a hand, and pulled him to his good foot. “Got your balance?”
Jamie nodded.
Remy grabbed the crutches but tucked an arm around Jamie’s waist. Heat radiated from his back. Tempting to wrap both arms around him and carry him to bed. “Here are your crutches. Just let me know if you need help.”
“Okay. I…uh…I need to use the facilities.”
He swallowed. Mind on the job, Marshall. “Okay. First stop, the bathroom.”
Together they made their wobbly way to the door of the bathroom, Jamie wincing.
“Can you manage in there on your own?”
For a moment, Jamie’s eyes widened; then his expression relaxed and he gripped the door frame. “Yeah. I can do it.”
With reluctance, Remy let go. “There’s a new toothbrush on the counter. I’ll wait here and help you to the bedroom when you’re done.”
Jamie nodded, hopped inside, and closed the door. Crutches clattered. A groan of relief was followed by the toilet flushing. Water whooshed in the sink. A shiver of awareness ran down Remy’s spine. This was voyeuristic, soaking in the sounds of his guest getting ready for bed.
He’s not getting ready for me. He’s here because I caused an accident.
Maybe, but Remy was still interested. The door opened. “Done?”
Jamie smiled. “Yep. Thanks.” He steadied himself on one foot, holding the crutches in the other hand. “I’d rather hop if it isn’t too far. These things are hard to use in tight spaces.”
“Sure.” Remy wrapped an arm around Jamie’s waist and breathed in the smell of minty freshness and man. Jamie gripped his shoulder, a heated weight as they made their way to the guest room. At the foot of the bed, Remy halted. “Grab the footboard for a moment, would you? I’ll turn this down.”
Remy slipped from under Jamie’s arm and propped the crutches at the foot of the bed. He pulled the duvet and sheet down and clicked on the bedside lamp. “Here you go.”
“Wow. Turn-down service. No chocolate on the pillow?” Jamie’s eyes sparkled. He took a few hops to the bedside.
“Maybe tomorrow. If you’re lucky.” Remy grinned. “Are you set?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I’m right down the hall. Yell if you need anything.” With reluctance, he headed for the door.
“Remy?
”
He swung around and raised an eyebrow.
“Thanks.”
* * * *
He couldn’t get loose.
Facedown, Jamie pulled against the ropes on his wrists, but the knots held. Oh, my God. Why had he agreed to this? Fear pressed down on his chest as he looked to the side.
At the bedside, Vince came into view from the waist down, heavy cock swinging like a cudgel.
“Vince, I don’t want to do this. Untie me.”
“You agreed.”
“I changed my mind.” The game had gotten too rough. Vince had overplayed it, taken Jamie’s desire to be dominated in the bedroom too far. “You can hold my wrists down.”
“We haven’t started.” Vince stroked himself, and then a hard palm smacked Jamie’s ass.
“Pasadena.”
“What?”
“Pasadena. The safe word. Let me up.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Another smack. He lubed a dildo the size of a baseball bat.
“No. Pass…a…dee…na.” Hot tears ran into the mattress. “Pasadena.”
“Can’t hear you,” Vince singsonged.
“Jamie.”
“No, oh God—”
“Jamie. Wake up.”
He slammed back into awareness and bolted upright. Strange bed, strange room. Strange face in front of him. Short sandy hair, stormy eyes.
“Jamie. Hey, it’s Remy. Wake up.”
Remy. Accident. Weak with relief, he swallowed. “Hey.”
“You were screaming.” Remy’s brows drew down. “Are you in pain?”
Come to think of it, his ankle ached, but not bad. “No. I’m okay.”
“Know where you are?”
“Yes.” He sighed. Safe, that’s where he was. In a blessed safe place with no sadistic monsters. “Your house. Year of the dragon. Same president. Still spring.”
“Okay.” Remy studied him in silence for a moment. “Want to talk about the nightmare?”
“I don’t remember it.” Liar.
Crossing his arms, Remy waited.
Jamie dropped his gaze to the duvet. “I’m fine. Really.”
The silence drew out like a filament. “Okay. See you in the morning.”
Jamie didn’t look up until the footsteps faded in the hall.
Chapter Five
“Not interested, Brett. I’m going to train today, and I need every minute I can get.” Remy tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he scrambled eggs. Bacon popped and sizzled in a separate skillet, filling the kitchen with the delicious scent of applewood-smoked meat. The coffeemaker chugged, contributing the fragrance of French roast. Couldn’t beat the smell of a country breakfast. “Besides, alcohol isn’t on my training menu.”
“It’s just one drink with David. One. He’s to die for, I swear.”
“Sorry, no. Some other time, maybe.”
“You’re going to die alone and celibate.”
Remy laughed. “I don’t think it’s quite that dire yet.”
“Darling, you’re on the way. We missed you at dinner. At least come dancing. We can find you a scrumptious man to wriggle against.”
Yeah, Remy could just see it. Tight jeans, open shirt, crammed against a stranger on a crowded dance floor, a foreign cock grinding against him through layers of denim. Bright lights, deafening music, the smells of man sweat, sex, and beer. The antithesis of romance.
He gave the eggs another stir. “Sorry, man. Maybe after the race.”
“‘After the race.’ But there’s always a race. Race after race after race. You think your daddy cares? Reads the results in the paper?”
Remy bit back a retort. A vision filled his head: his old man reading Remy’s name in the sports section, smiling with pride, calling to congratulate him. Hallucinate much? “Not at all. I like the challenge and the exercise.”
“And here I thought you’d take up rollerblading.”
“Knock it off. Jamie’s usually a runner. That was just a trial.”
“For which you’re paying, Sweetness. Unnecessarily, I might add.”
Remy could picture Brett inspecting his manicure as he drank his skim mocha low-foam latte whatever. Spending tonight with Jamie sounded better than Brett’s clubbing plans. “Gotta go. I’ll let you know about the dancing after the race.” Remy hung up and turned his attention to the stove.
“Dancing?” came from behind him.
Remy whipped around. “Uh, hey. Didn’t hear you.”
“I’m screwing up your life.” In the doorway, Jamie sagged on his crutches. “I really think I can manage at my place. I’m getting good with the crutches.”
“And leave you at the mercy of Simon Naughty Nurse? I don’t think so.” If Jamie had nightmares while asleep, Simon was a day-mare waiting to happen.
“Remy—”
“Have a seat. Scrambled eggs and bacon. Breakfast of champions.”
With hard-to-watch hobbling, Jamie made it to the table and sat down. “Thought that was Wheaties.”
“It is.” Remy grinned and pulled two plates from the cupboard. “But this is better for training.”
“Mmm. If you say so. It smells good.”
Remy loaded the plates, poured two mugs of coffee, and passed out flatware. “Dig in.”
“Ketchup, please?” Jamie sounded like a little kid.
“On my perfectly good eggs?”
A sheepish grin spread across Jamie’s face. “Yeah.”
Who could resist that? Remy got the ketchup. As they ate, he ran through a mental map of his workout route. No park today—hills. Up and down hills, like the race route. Then this afternoon, maybe some cross-training with weights—
“…sister.”
“Sorry.” Remy gave a wry grin. Not a very polite host, off in the ozone. “What about your sister?”
“I was thinking I could call her, maybe go to her place instead of waiting for her to come here.”
A little flutter of panic built in Remy’s chest. No. Not yet. “Didn’t you say something about kids and snakes?”
“Did I?” Jamie’s eyes widened, eyebrows hiked up. “Must’ve been the drugs.”
“This is a kid-free, snake-free household. Stay. I’m enjoying the company.” Remy took a bite of eggs.
For a moment, Jamie chewed his lip. “Sure?”
“Positive. A hundred percent.”
“Okay. Then I’ll need to make a trip to the motel, if I’m going to stay with you.”
* * * *
Accountants worked during the day, didn’t they? God, Jamie hoped so.
“Sure you don’t want help?” Remy leaned against the doorjamb, supervising.
“Almost done.” Hopping around the motel room, Jamie gathered toiletries and sniffed at his clothes. “Some of this stuff smells smoky.”
Before coming upstairs, he’d stopped in the front office; the manager had said one of the washing machines had progressed from noisy to engulfed in flames last night. The air in Jamie’s room had a closed-up smell with an overlay of burning motor oil and metal, but at least his clothes weren’t charcoal and covered with chemical fire extinguisher powder.
“Probably a good thing you weren’t here. Getting down from the third floor on crutches would’ve been hard,” Remy said.
Really don’t want to think about that. Jamie dropped his shaving kit into the duffel on the bed. “Any sign of my neighbor from The Far Side out there?”
Remy twitched the curtain. “He must be off ‘doing it by the numbers.’ You’re safe. On the other hand, someone could start a load of laundry at any minute. Who knows what might happen then?”
Jamie laughed. “True.” Yeah, the place was worth about what he paid by the week.
Slowly, Remy said, “Maybe you should move out completely.”
Jamie froze. Had Remy just hinted Jamie should move in with him? Or was Jamie reading too much into it?
Or…was Remy trying to control him? Jamie’s gut tightened. Either way, h
e wasn’t ready to give up his hard-won independence. “I’ll keep the place for now. Maybe the manager can give me first crack at a ground-level room when one becomes available.” He tossed the last of the supplies into his bag and zipped it shut. “Ready.”
“Okay. I’ll take the bag down and come back to help you, ’kay?”
Why had he chosen a room on the third floor in the first place? Oh, yeah. So no one could come in the rear window at night and kill him in his sleep. “Sure. Thanks.”
Remy looped the duffel over his shoulder. “Don’t try the steps by yourself. Doctor’s orders.”
Straightening, Jamie snapped a salute. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
“That’s Doctor Captain to you, Private.” Remy grinned and swung open the door, paused on the threshold and looked both ways. Jamie’s gaze wandered down the line of Remy’s back, pausing on his taut ass as he disappeared out the door. Running shorts did great things for Remy. The man was in wonderful shape, bulkier than Jamie, but all long muscles and tanned skin. He licked his lips. Under different circumstances, something might happen between them. No taking advantage of the host, no matter how sexy and kind and funny he is. And a good cook. And a wonderful doctor. And an all-around generous soul.
Footsteps pounded up the steps, and Remy strolled in. “Ready?”
“Yep.” Jamie tucked a crutch under each pit and made his way toward the door. He clonked his ankle against the metal table leg and hissed. God, he was klutzy. These sticks were nearly as hazardous as rollerblading.
Remy frowned. “You okay?”
The ankle boomed in an angry throb, and the room shimmered. “Yeah.”
“You look pale. Better sit.”
“I’m okay—”
In two strides, Remy crossed the space, wrapped an arm around Jamie’s waist, and got him to the bed. “Sit before you fall.”
White dots peppered Jamie’s vision, and his head became floaty.
A firm hand pushed his head between his knees. “Deep breaths.”
Obeying, Jamie pulled in air, let it out. In and out, slow and deep. The threadbare carpet came into focus. Remy sat next to him and rubbed from Jamie’s neck down his spine, a warm weight like a heated massage stone. Another stroke, then a pat. “Better?”
“Getting there. Yeah.” The guy had a great bedside manner. A few heartbeats later, Jamie straightened and buried his face in his hands. God, he hated this so much, this helpless feeling. “Sorry.”
