by Bru Baker
Crawford shifted the phone, sandwiching it between his cheek and his shoulder as he folded a suit coat and layered it into his suitcase. It would have to be dry-cleaned when he got home, so he wasn’t as worried about wrinkles as he had been on the way here. “I’ll be available by e-mail if you really need me, but I won’t be in the office until next Monday. Davis has my number. He’ll call if anything comes up here, but I’m not expecting any trouble.”
Davis was under strict instructions not to call unless there was a real emergency, and even then Crawford had strongly encouraged Davis to have one of the hotel staff call to relay the message instead of calling himself. Crawford didn’t think anyone would object. He and Davis hadn’t been alone together since the incident in Davis’s room last week, and the tension had been evident to everyone on staff. Crawford had been nothing but icily polite, and Davis, true to form, had needled him every chance he got. But he hadn’t touched him again, and he’d steered clear of Mateus whenever their paths crossed in the lobby, and that was about as much as Crawford could hope for.
“This spontaneous vacation doesn’t have anything to do with your new husband, does it?”
Crawford squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for patience. He’d expected word to get back to George, but after the first week had passed without any comment from him, Crawford had foolishly hoped he’d been wrong. Apparently not.
“Yes, Mateus and I will be taking some time to be together,” he said as cordially as he could. Mateus looked up at the mention of his name but went back to his task when Crawford rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“So congratulations are in order, then? I wasn’t sure what to make of it when Davis relayed the news. It seems a bit sudden.”
Of course it had been Davis. “Not really,” he said, forcing himself not to snap. It wasn’t really any of George’s business. Why would it be? They weren’t friends. George had never expressed any interest in Crawford’s personal life before, aside from a few pointed inquiries about his well-being after the divorce when he and Davis had a few heated scenes on conference calls before their coworkers learned to meet with them separately.
“I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone. I’m happy for you.” He sounded about as thrilled as someone talking about a dentist’s appointment, but Crawford wasn’t offended. He just wanted to get him off the phone so he and Mateus could finish packing and get on the road before dark.
“I appreciate that. I’ll see you next week.”
He hung up before George could draw the conversation out any longer. It was probably bad form, but he didn’t care. George hadn’t shown him any consideration when he’d sent him on this assignment, so Crawford didn’t really feel like he owed George any now.
He tossed his phone on the bed and watched as Mateus sat on his bag to try to zip it.
“I could get you a duffel,” he offered. Mateus was slightly sweaty and flushed from his struggle with his luggage, and he looked absolutely edible. Running down to the gift shop would be a good excuse to put some distance between them before Crawford did something he’d regret.
Mateus huffed. “I’ll make it fit.”
The imagery those words conjured made Crawford choke.
“Throat’s dry,” he rasped when Mateus came over to investigate. Mateus gave him a few hard thwacks against his back and disappeared into the bathroom. He returned a few seconds later with a glass of tap water.
It was warm, but the drink he took was still soothing. At least until Mateus finished the glass when Crawford handed it back to him. It was so absentmindedly intimate—like they’d been together for years. Like they were married for real.
He never shared drinks with Davis. Davis had been big on cleanliness and not sharing germs, which was ironic considering how indiscriminate he was about where he stuck his dick. Crawford had never realized what a turn-on it would be to casually share a drink.
Or maybe it was just that anything Mateus did was a turn-on.
“Feeling better? You still look a little….” Mateus trailed off and made a vague gesture with his hand.
Crawford coughed again and rubbed a hand across his chest. “No, I’m fine. You about ready?”
Mateus nodded. “I have everything. Did you have any work you needed to finish up before we leave?” He gave Crawford a searching look. “We could stay, you know. If you still have things to do here. I appreciate you cutting your trip short to take me back, but I’ll be okay here for a few more days if you need to stay.”
And there he went being stupidly selfless and kind again. Crawford rubbed at his chest. It would be best to get Mateus home so he could get away from him. Not that he didn’t love his company—he did. Too much. Some space would be good.
“I have time off coming, so it’s no problem. And you’re doing me a favor by giving me a good reason to cut the trip short. The less time I have to spend with Davis, the better.”
Mateus’s face twisted into an adorable scowl at the mention of Davis’s name. “I’ll be happier with you away from him too.”
Crawford was a grown man. He had an investment portfolio. Hell, he had an accountant he actually enjoyed talking to. He should not turn to mush because Mateus was being so protective.
He busied himself with doing a sweep of the bedroom and bathroom to make sure he’d grabbed everything. Crawford wasn’t used to feeling so fond, and it was killing him. He had Adam, Brandon, and Karen. He had friends—okay, business acquaintances—he played basketball with on the weekends and went camping with once or twice a year. He was fine. He didn’t need Mateus.
Which was fortunate, because he didn’t have Mateus. They were tied together on paper only. And the sooner Crawford got Mateus back to his own life, the better chance Crawford had of remembering that instead of becoming some pining, ridiculous fool.
Crawford looked at his watch. He had a regular Skype date with his nephew whenever he was on the road on a Monday, but Brandon wouldn’t be looking for him until tonight. With any luck he’d be back in Los Angeles in time to stop by and take him to dinner instead. He and Karen were flying out for Japan soon, and Crawford didn’t want to miss out on any opportunities to be with him before he left. Maybe he could use his week off to help Adam pack up things to ship.
HE and Mateus were technically supposed to be in different lines, but Crawford figured they should stick together to get Mateus through. He had plenty of time before his flight left Seattle for Los Angeles, so if he got tossed out of line and told to go to the US citizen line after Mateus passed through, it was fine.
They shuffled forward every time the line moved, and Crawford’s nerves grew with every step. When it was Mateus’s turn, Crawford dutifully stood behind the line on the floor while Mateus stepped forward and held his passport out to the guard with their marriage certificate tucked inside it. The man flicked it open, scanned it, and looked up, a frown on his face.
“Mr. Fontes, is Mr. Hargrave with you?”
Mateus gestured toward Crawford, and Crawford took that as a sign to approach the window.
“Crawford Hargrave?” the man asked, his face expressionless.
Crawford felt like he was a teenager in the principal’s office. “Yes, sir.”
“You and Mr. Fontes were married in Vancouver?”
“We were, a little over a week ago,” Mateus chimed in. He still had a smile on his face, but it looked strained.
The guard hummed and pulled Mateus’s passport fully into his cubicle.
“Please step out of line,” he said. He pointed toward an area with a metal detector and a few bored-looking guards.
Crawford looked over at Mateus and tried to tamp down the panic building in his stomach. This was insane. How had he thought they’d get away with this?
God, Adam was going to be insufferable over this. The only experience Crawford had with jail was watching police procedurals on television, but he was reasonably sure he was allowed one phone call.
“Sir?” The agent looked at h
im expectantly, and Crawford realized he’d been standing there in paralyzed silence. “Please step over to the officers behind the yellow line.”
Crawford swallowed past his dry throat and nodded. “Of course.”
The guard slid the window on his booth shut and walked out, still holding Mateus’s passport in his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, this window is closed.”
The crowd behind them murmured and balked, but the guard didn’t pay them any attention. He dragged a sign out from behind the booth with an arrow directing the line to move to the booth to the left.
Mateus reached over and put a hand on Crawford’s wrist, squeezing slightly. “We’ll be fine.”
Crawford bit down hard on his lip and followed the guard toward the space behind the yellow line. The guards had perked up and were watching the three of them approach with unconcealed interest, which couldn’t be good. He didn’t want to be their entertainment for the day. That sounded like it would take a lot of time and be unpleasant.
The pressure in his chest built with every foot they advanced forward. Now that they were closer, he could see two of the guards had muzzled dogs on leashes at their sides. There was a small office with a glass front behind them. The door label said Interrogation. Crawford tried not to hyperventilate.
They reached the area a few steps behind the guard, who had already ducked his head to confer with two others, Mateus’s passport open in front of them. It felt anticlimactic. No one ran up to them with a gun drawn, at least.
“I think we’re supposed to go back there to the office,” Mateus said. His hand was still resting against Crawford’s wrist, warm and comforting even through his shirt cuff.
“What if we’re supposed to stay here and we end up getting shot because we moved beyond the yellow line?”
Mateus sighed. “I don’t think anyone’s getting shot. The worst they’d do is issue you a citation.” He cast a sidelong glance at Crawford. “Though if you act this twitchy they’re going to think you’ve got something to hide. Do you want a cavity search?”
Crawford let out a startled laugh. “Well, that would be one way to get some action.”
Mateus grinned. “I have offered you action, you’ve just declined.”
“Chivalrously declined,” Crawford said. Mateus’s teasing had helped him get a handle on things, just like he was sure Mateus had intended. He wasn’t usually this brash.
“Indeed,” Mateus said, inclining his head. “So shall we go in so they can start the cavity searches?”
Crawford’s lip throbbed, which helped him stay centered. He made himself take a deep breath. “You’re getting one now too?”
“It hardly seems fair for you to be the only one getting any action. This is our honeymoon, after all.”
The sad part was that their honeymoon had been awesome. He’d gone to Jamaica with Davis for theirs, and they’d spent a week sunburned, drunk, and naked. And it still hadn’t been as much fun as his platonic version with Mateus.
God, he was pathetic.
“Fair enough.” Crawford let Mateus guide him toward the knot of guards. Even though no one seemed to be watching, he tried to keep his movements nonthreatening and obvious.
“We aren’t walking toward sudden death. You don’t have to look so serious.” Mateus poked him in the ribs as they made their way to the glass-encased office, making Crawford flinch and then panic that the sudden movement would be viewed as a threat.
“We might be walking toward your sudden deportation. How can you not be serious?”
Mateus slid his hand down Crawford’s wrist and grabbed his hand, pulling him to a stop. “Whatever happens, happens. Me? I think we’ll be fine. And if we’re not, we’ll deal with that. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Crawford. I promise I won’t let you go to jail for it.”
Crawford noticed that Mateus didn’t say anything about keeping himself out of jail, just Crawford. Maybe he was taking this seriously. It was hard to tell with his perpetual smile and easygoing attitude. The Suzy Sunshine act would be grating on just about anyone else, but it wasn’t an act for Mateus. It was one of the things Crawford loved about him.
Shit. Loved? He hardly knew him. He didn’t love him. Love didn’t exist. He wasn’t going to let himself confuse lust with love again, especially for someone like Mateus, who was dependent on him.
“Let’s not mention the J-word in there,” Crawford said with a nod over his shoulder.
“Deal. I hope the customs agents agree,” Mateus joked. He took Crawford’s hand and tugged him toward the door. “Showtime.”
The guard from the booth turned as they approached and waved them toward the door, just as Mateus had predicted. “Someone will be in to talk with you in a few minutes. Make yourselves comfortable in the waiting room.”
Mateus grinned at Crawford. “Does that sound like something someone who was about to give you a body-cavity search would say? See? We’re fine.”
Crawford scoffed as Mateus held the door open for him. The waiting room was empty, and there was a television playing Fox News in the corner. At least it was on mute. That was the first thing to go Crawford’s way since they’d gotten off the plane.
“We are not fine,” Crawford muttered. “We are in an office marked Interrogation, for God’s sake.”
“At least it’s not a holding cell!”
Crawford couldn’t help but laugh at Mateus’s chipper tone. “I’ll give you that.”
He started to bite his lip again, but Mateus reached over and cupped his chin. “Stop that. You’re about to make it bleed. They probably just want to ask us a few questions.” His brow furrowed. “You won’t miss your flight, will you?”
Crawford reflexively worried at his lip as soon as Mateus released him, but he stopped when Mateus made a displeased clucking sound. “I’m nervous,” Crawford muttered with a petulant jut of his swollen lower lip.
“I know, but I happen to like your lip in one piece, so please don’t.” Mateus eyed Crawford’s lips, his eyes darkening. “It’s a nice lip.”
Crawford let out a startled laugh. Mateus was flirting with him now? Was it just to get Crawford’s mind off the impending train wreck, or did he actually mean it?
Before he could question him on it, the door swung open and a different guard from the one they’d talked to before walked in. He had Mateus’s passport in one hand and their marriage certificate in another.
“Mr. Hargrave? Mr. Fontes? If you’d come with me, please.”
They followed him down a short hallway to a closed door, which he rapped his knuckles against once. It opened a few seconds later, and the woman behind it had a different badge on her breast pocket. Immigration Services. They’d gotten to the big guns.
“Come in, gentlemen,” she said, sweeping the door wider so they could step inside. The office was clearly shared by several people. It was devoid of any type of personal decoration aside from the nameplate on the desk that identified the woman as Officer Denise Charon.
Officer Charon took the seat behind the desk, and Crawford and Mateus gingerly made their way into the plastic chairs in front of it. “Do you know why we pulled you aside today?”
She had their marriage certificate in her hand. It seemed so insubstantial, but it was the only thing keeping Mateus in the country. And the two of them out of jail, depending on how much of a stickler for the rules whoever they were dealing with was.
Crawford eyed Officer Charon. Her slacks had been so sharply pleated they had to be starched—who did that anymore? She looked like a rule stickler.
“Uh, I’m not exactly sure.” His voice sounded steady, which was good.
Officer Charon looked at the two of them dubiously. “What is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Fontes?”
“We—”
“We’re married,” Mateus said hotly, cutting him off. He leveled a pointed glare at the marriage certificate. “Obviously.”
Crawford didn’t think getting defensive was going to help t
hem. He reached out and closed his hand over top of Mateus’s, lowering his hand, which he’d been gesturing with. He pulled it closer and bent his head, softly kissing his knuckles. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mateus deflate, turning his gaze from the desk to Crawford, his face softening.
Crawford could guess what the immigration officer was asking. She clearly wanted some sort of physical demonstration that they were a couple. He scooted closer to Mateus, letting their legs bump together. He had to give Mateus credit—he was excellent at picking up cues. He twined his arm through Crawford’s, bringing them even closer together.
The desk phone rang, and Officer Charon muttered an apology before picking it up. She took her eyes off them, riffling through a folder on the desk and answering questions for the person on the line.
He understood why what he and Mateus were doing was necessary, but the idea of putting on some sort of peep show in an interrogation room made Crawford’s neck prickle with sweat. Luckily, Mateus seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, because he tugged Crawford closer and went in for a kiss before Crawford could chicken out.
Crawford had expected a peck on the lips, like the cursory kisses they’d exchanged for Davis’s benefit at the hotel. Just something to show that they were comfortable inside each other’s personal space, something quick and intimate that implied a familiarity with each other’s bodies they didn’t actually have. A married person’s kiss. The kind of kiss couples exchange when they know they can kiss each other whenever they like, so there’s no reason to be anything more than perfunctory.
That was not the kind of kiss he got. Mateus’s lips were soft, and they dragged against Crawford’s swollen and sore bottom lip, tentative at first and then bolder once Crawford returned the gesture. Mateus tilted his head and brought a hand up to curl into the short, bristly hair at the nape of Crawford’s neck, his warm fingertips chasing away the chill of anxiety.
Crawford had indulged in a few fantasies about what having Mateus wrapped around him would feel like, but he hadn’t done him justice in them. Their kiss in the hot tub had been amazing, but this was indescribable. Mateus was like a live wire. Crawford’s lips tingled, and a thrill ran down his spine, arousal curling into his core. He’d never been this turned on by just a kiss.
