by Bru Baker
“I’m going to stay out here a bit longer,” Mateus said, his gaze cast down at the water.
Crawford didn’t have to be able to see his face to know he’d hurt Mateus. That was worse than the unemotional mask from a moment before. He needed to bite the bullet and do something about this before it spiraled out of control. He didn’t want Mateus to hate him, but he also didn’t want to delve into any complicated conversations when he was in this state.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” he said, his heart in his throat. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I didn’t have the right to put you in that situation. I just got carried away in the moment.”
Mateus looked up, and Crawford was surprised to see he looked angry. “The moment?”
Crawford swallowed hard. “The atmosphere. I had a nice night with you, despite the company we shared it with. And sitting out here under the stars, it just felt like the right thing to do. So I apologize. I’ll do better in the future, I promise.”
Crawford wasn’t sure what exactly he was promising with that. Was he giving his word that he would respect Mateus’s boundaries and stay away? Or was he promising that next time it wouldn’t be an ill-thought-out, fumbled kiss in the dark? He didn’t know. The only thing he was certain of was that he needed to make his exit now, before he said anything he couldn’t fix later.
“I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch. If that doesn’t fit into your plans, leave a message for me at the front desk, okay?”
He didn’t wait for Mateus’s response. It was cowardly, but Crawford was at his limit for the night. He’d been on edge all day thanks to Davis, and then barely able to contain the urge to pounce on Mateus all evening. He’d been pushed to his breaking point, and he’d broken.
Unfortunately, it had come at the cost of Mateus’s trust and his own self-respect.
Crawford grabbed a towel from the bench on the way back in, leaving the sliding door open as he walked into the suite. He needed a shower and a good night’s sleep, but he was only likely to get one of them. Especially knowing how badly he’d fucked up tonight.
Crawford darted into the bedroom, gathered up his things, and shoved them haphazardly into his suitcase. If he was quick, he could snag the sofa before Mateus came inside. It was only fair, since he’d gotten the bed last night. And since he was likely to be tossing and turning the whole time anyway, it made sense. There was no reason for both of them to suffer.
He tossed his things next to the couch and used the blankets in the closet to make a small bed for himself. He added his open suitcase to the top of the pile for good measure, making it clear that he’d staked out the space for himself. Maybe Mateus would come in while he was showering and get the hint that the bedroom was his. It would probably be in both of their best interests if they didn’t talk again tonight.
The suite’s only bathroom connected to both the bedroom and the sitting room, and Crawford made sure to lock both doors. He didn’t want Mateus coming in to confront him while he was in the shower, which was another act of self-preservation. It was hard enough to resist Mateus when he was clothed. All bets would be off if one of them was naked.
Though Mateus had been practically naked out there. The swim trunks he’d been wearing hadn’t left much to the imagination—and Crawford had a very active imagination. He turned the shower on full blast. The hot water pounded against his chilled skin, and he had to bite back a groan of appreciation at the sensation. He didn’t want to linger too long under the spray, but he indulged in a solid minute of standing with his eyes shut, just letting the heat and the water relax him. The hot tub had been nice, but he’d been so high-strung thanks to Mateus’s nearness that he’d been wound even tighter when he’d gotten out than he had been going in.
Crawford tried not to think about the way the trunks had hugged Mateus’s hips and framed his ass, but it was difficult. Especially knowing he was still out there, the thin fabric clinging to him in the swirling eddies of hot water.
Crawford groaned and palmed himself. He’d resisted getting himself off since this fiasco began, but he didn’t think there was much hope of getting out of the shower without taking care of his growing arousal.
Chapter Ten
DESPITE having been in the comfortable bed, Mateus hadn’t slept well. Crawford had already been wrapped up in a burrito of blankets on the couch when he’d come in from the hot tub last night, though he highly doubted Crawford had actually been asleep.
He’d left him in his cocoon and shut himself in the bedroom. The sheets smelled faintly of Crawford’s cologne, and that, paired with how disappointed Mateus had been when Crawford had practically fled after the kiss they’d shared, had kept him tossing and turning for hours.
He finally gave up around seven thirty, figuring Crawford had already left for his early-morning meeting. Davis had said something about seeing him at seven in the hotel restaurant, so Mateus waited until he was reasonably sure Crawford would have had time to slink out of the suite.
Mateus shucked off his boxers and wrapped the towel he’d worn in from the hot tub last night around his waist. There was a coffee pot in the small kitchenette area, and all he wanted at that moment was a hot cup of coffee and a shower.
He came up short when he opened the frosted doors and saw Crawford’s adorably tousled head hanging off the edge of the couch. His blanket burrito had shifted during the night, exposing a smooth bare chest that had Mateus’s sleep-slow pulse speeding up.
Should he wake him? Crawford was probably late for his morning meeting, but if he was still sleeping, he probably needed the rest. His phone was on the floor next to the sofa, its LED blinking madly. It started to vibrate while Mateus was looking at it. The screen lit up with Davis’s name.
Crawford had forgotten to turn the sound back on after their dinner with the bigwigs last night.
The screen went dark and then lit up again almost instantly. Davis was probably one call away from coming up to the suite himself to rouse Crawford, and Mateus didn’t like the thought of that. He didn’t want anyone, least of all Crawford’s asshole ex, to see him like this.
He crouched down next to Crawford, one hand holding up his precariously tied towel, and tentatively touched Crawford’s shoulder. It was chilly from being exposed to the morning air, and Crawford made a soft sound and scooted closer, like he was subconsciously seeking out the heat of Mateus’s palm.
“Crawford,” he murmured, not wanting to startle him awake. He didn’t know how Crawford woke up in the morning. Was he the kind of person who came awake instantly? Or maybe he was more like Mateus, who usually swam toward consciousness reluctantly.
Crawford nestled deeper into the blankets, and Mateus sighed. A stronger approach, then.
He ran a hand through Crawford’s hair, indulging himself in the need for some sort of tactile connection. It’s what he wished he’d done last night when Crawford kissed him, but Crawford had pulled away before Mateus had gotten the chance. His salt-and-pepper hair was bristly under Mateus’s hand, tickling the tender skin. The scruff on Crawford’s chin would probably feel even better, but that was crossing a line.
“Hey, Crawford,” he said, raising his voice a notch. “Crawford, you’re late.”
Crawford’s eyes shot open, and Mateus had to brace himself against Crawford’s chest to prevent himself from tumbling backward into the coffee table. Crawford’s hands burst out of his cocoon and wrapped around Mateus’s free wrist, steadying him.
“Whoa,” Mateus muttered, his body thrumming with adrenaline from the almost-fall. Somehow he’d managed to keep his death grip on his towel, and he flushed, his skin heating with the realization that he was a flimsy piece of terry cloth away from flashing Crawford. He flexed his fingers, making sure he had all the fabric clutched tight.
Crawford blinked blearily. “You okay?” His voice was hoarse with sleep and an octave deeper than usual, which didn’t help settle the flip-flopping in Mateus’s stomach.
“I’m fine,” he said
quickly, tugging his hand out of Crawford’s grasp now that he wasn’t in danger of braining himself on the table. “But you’re late. It’s after seven thirty, and Davis has been calling.”
Crawford muttered a low expletive and tossed the blankets off, revealing that he’d been sleeping in a pair of well-worn cotton boxer briefs that hugged his morning erection. Mateus’s throat went dry, his gaze fixed on the delectable sight in front of him.
Crawford didn’t seem to notice at all. He was a blur of motion, darting up off the couch and throwing open the suitcase he’d left on the chair next to it. “Shit, shit. We were supposed to have breakfast to go over some numbers this morning before our morning meeting.”
Right on cue, his phone lit up again. Mateus picked it up and held it out to him. Crawford snatched it out of his palm and answered it in a rush. “Davis? No, I’m just late.” He paused, and Mateus wished he could hear what Davis had said, because Crawford’s eyes flicked over to him and then his cheeks went ruddy before he hastily broke eye contact. “That’s really none of your business,” he said crisply. “I’ll be down in ten.”
He sandwiched the phone between his ear and his shoulder and tugged on the trousers from the suit he’d worn last night, which had been draped over a chair. Mateus jogged toward the door and grabbed the blazer Crawford had left there last night to bring back to him.
“I don’t care, Davis. Just order me something. You know what I like.”
He hung up before Davis could respond, but the warm happiness that had been seeping through Mateus’s bones at the utter domesticity of their situation evaporated at the unintentional reminder that Davis knew Crawford much better than Mateus did. He’d seen Crawford splurge on a ridiculous junk-food pretzel, and he knew his steak order thanks to dinner last night, but he didn’t know what Crawford ate on a daily basis. He wouldn’t have been able to order him coffee, let alone a whole breakfast.
He really needed to get to know Crawford, and fast. And not just because the immigration officer would probably ask things like what kind of cereal Crawford preferred or whether or not he took cream in his coffee. Mateus wanted to know those kinds of mundane things about Crawford. And maybe if they got to know each other on that level, it would be easier for Crawford to accept that Mateus wasn’t returning his affection out of obligation.
Mateus watched Crawford shrug into a clean shirt and button it with an efficiency that sent another thrill through him. Crawford’s motions were practiced and quick, and the simple act made Mateus wonder what else Crawford could do with those beautiful fingers.
He held out the suit coat wordlessly, a small smile playing across his lips when Crawford let him help him into it without hesitation.
Crawford ran a hand over his jaw. “Guess I’m going sloppy today,” he said ruefully.
“It looks good on you,” Mateus said honestly.
The stubble was a bit out of place with the sharply tailored suit, but it worked. It looked intentional.
“Good, because I don’t have time to do anything about it. Thanks for waking me.” He flashed a smile at Mateus. “Do you mind if I brush my teeth really quickly? Then the bathroom is yours.”
Mateus glanced down at his towel and only barely resisted the urge to cross his arms over his bare chest. He was more covered up than Crawford had been a moment ago, standing there in his boxers, but he still felt extremely exposed knowing that he had nothing on under his towel.
“Go ahead,” he said, uncomfortably aware of Crawford’s eyes on him. He forced himself to stand up straight and keep his shoulders back instead of hunching in on himself, and he met Crawford’s eye with an appreciative look of his own. Standing there in next to nothing while Crawford was completely decked out in his business suit felt illicit in the best way, and if Crawford didn’t leave soon, Mateus would make a fool of himself.
He busied himself getting the coffeemaker started. The small kitchen was equipped with one that had sufficient buttons to launch itself into space, and it provided enough of a challenge to keep Mateus’s mind out of the gutter while Crawford finished getting ready.
Crawford’s phone started to light up again from its spot on the coffee table, and Mateus bit back a sigh. He was tempted to answer it and tell Davis to go to hell. It annoyed him that Crawford deferred to him and let Davis treat him so poorly, but it really wasn’t Mateus’s place to get involved. That was something a real husband would do, not a fake one.
He looked up as Crawford yanked the bathroom door open and stalked over to his phone, glaring at it before he jabbed a finger at the screen and put it up to his ear. “I said I’d be down—”
Crawford’s color had already been high from rushing around to get ready, but his cheeks went even ruddier at something Davis said.
“Davis, God,” he muttered. He brought a hand up and covered his eyes. “You’re impossible. No, don’t do that. I’m on my way.”
He disconnected the call and tucked the phone into a pocket inside his coat. “Fucker,” he muttered. It was more annoyed than angry, which only made Mateus more irritated himself. Why did Crawford let Davis talk to him like that?
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to slip away for lunch like we’d planned,” Crawford said as he gathered up the papers that were stacked on the table. The apologetic tone in his voice made it seem even more domestic. Mateus had the feeling that if they really were married, his days would be filled with apologies like that. “Why don’t you order breakfast and enjoy it out on the terrace? Maybe go do some sightseeing today? I’ll be back for dinner. They should send the key to the new room up whenever it’s ready. Don’t worry about clearing out of here, we can do that after dinner tonight.”
He grabbed the satchel he’d just filled with paperwork and shot Mateus a heartbreakingly earnest smile before climbing into the elevator that was already open and waiting for him. Davis had obviously had someone send it up since only someone with a room key could access the penthouse floor. At least he hadn’t come up with it.
“Have a good day!” Mateus called out just before the doors closed.
He sighed and looked down at the mug of coffee he’d just brewed. Was it pathetic that he was looking forward to moving rooms just because it would give him something productive to do? He felt ungrateful for being bored in a place that offered so many amenities, but he wasn’t really a sit-around-and-watch-daytime-TV kind of guy. He’d e-mailed his boss yesterday and formally resigned, and he’d skyped with the couple who was subletting his apartment in Lisbon to make arrangements for them to take over the lease permanently. His things were already in storage, so he’d have to arrange to have them sent to Washington, but he was paid up for another three months, so it wasn’t a priority.
He was bored. Painfully, horribly bored.
He’d had fun rushing around getting clothes for last night’s dinner, but that was mostly because Julie had been funny and he’d enjoyed hanging out with her. He wanted to go out and explore the city, but he didn’t want to do it alone. Mateus had no problem with keeping his own company when he was focused on a task, but wandering around a city looking at landmarks felt empty when he didn’t have anyone to share it with.
Hadn’t the clerk at check-in said the concierge could book him on city tours? Mateus perked up at the thought of joining in with a group of tourists seeing the city. He’d have someone to talk to, at least. He carried his coffee with him to the bathroom. He’d shower and pack up his stuff and then head downstairs to see what could be arranged for him today. With any luck there would be a good walking tour that wasn’t too expensive. Getting some exercise seemed like a good way to burn up some of the sexual frustration that seemed to be Mateus’s new normal.
THERE were two new hotel key cards and a fruit basket with a card signed by the front desk staff congratulating them on their marriage when Mateus let himself back into their room after spending the afternoon walking around the city. Most of the people on the tour had been couples, but he hadn’t minded. His wedding
ring had gone a long way to making things less awkward. He’d even tagged along for lunch with a group from the tour, and they’d spent the afternoon at the Vancouver Art Gallery together.
It had been a nice break from the tension of being cooped up with Crawford and the ever-present Davis cloud that followed them around.
Mateus was eating a pear on the terrace when Crawford made it back. He didn’t turn when he heard Crawford walk up behind him.
“I packed your toiletries up for you. The bag is on top of your suitcase.”
Crawford didn’t respond, so Mateus turned around and quirked a curious eyebrow at him. He looked taken aback. Mateus reviewed what he’d said and flushed a bit. He hadn’t thought anything of packing up Crawford’s things in the bathroom when he’d been packing his own, but he could see how that could be construed as something intimate. “I was already doing mine,” he said with a shrug.
“Thanks,” Crawford said after a beat. “That was nice of you. I meant to do it this morning, but you know, the running late thing.”
Like Mateus needed a reminder about how adorably flustered Crawford had been this morning.
He wanted to tell Crawford so many things—that the two of them getting involved wouldn’t be Crawford taking advantage of him. That he wanted Crawford, and that he’d wanted him from the first moment he’d sat down next to him in the airport with his greasy, butter-dipped monstrosity of a snack. That marriage was a big deal to him, and that he wanted to do his best to make theirs real and not just a sham. That he needed to know if Crawford’s end goal was getting back with Davis because that changed everything.
