Tall, Dark, and Deported

by Bru Baker

  Mateus couldn’t hold back a soft moan. Crawford hummed triumphantly, but before he could pull away and claim victory, Mateus wrapped his arms around him and kept him close, deepening the kiss.

  Crawford stumbled and hit the wall behind them hard enough to make the picture frames rattle. Part of Mateus’s brain was screaming at him to stop, but he couldn’t seem to remember why kissing Crawford was a bad idea. Kissing Crawford was brilliant, and clearly, he should never stop.

  When Crawford’s hips pressed against his own, Mateus moaned again, a pang of pure need singing through him as he felt how much Crawford wanted him. He shifted his hips slightly and was rewarded by a groan from Crawford. He carded his hand through Crawford’s hair, fingers rubbing against his scalp as he tried to draw him in even closer.

  He canted his hips forward again, but this time instead of returning the pressure, Crawford pulled away.

  “So it’s a draw, then,” Crawford said breathlessly, and Mateus blinked, confused.

  “I giggled, you moaned, we’re even,” Crawford explained, and Mateus belatedly remembered the bet that had prompted their runaway kissing session.

  “Right,” he said, swallowing hard. What was he doing? Kissing Crawford when they’d both been drinking had been a mistake.

  Crawford cleared his throat, making Mateus feel even more awkward. He always managed to be at loose ends around Crawford.

  “So are we both sleeping in here?”

  Mateus followed his gaze to the queen-size bed that had felt perfectly adequate up until now. The bed they’d shared last night had been larger, but this one should work.

  “It would be weird if we didn’t. There’s a guest room, but this is an old house.” Mateus shifted, making the floorboards squeak. “You can’t get anywhere without the whole house knowing.”

  Crawford didn’t seem too upset by the prospect. “Do you want the bathroom first or second?”

  He wanted to go first so there was at least a chance he might be asleep by the time Crawford slid into bed with him, but that was a slim chance. “You go ahead. I’m going to get some clean sheets on the bed for us.”

  Bree met him in the hallway, still wearing her makeup from earlier. It had smudged when she’d fallen asleep, and it made her look like a sad panda. Not that he was going to tell her that.

  “Do you need anything?”

  He didn’t know why she bothered whispering. Crawford was in the bathroom down the hall with the water running, and Duarte slept like the dead.

  “No. Did we wake you?”

  “The baby woke me,” she said with a grimace. “I have to pee every five minutes, I swear.”

  “I’m just getting clean sheets. You should go back to bed.”

  She nodded sleepily. “I will. I just wanted to give you these,” she said, pressing a box into his hand.

  He looked down, squinting in the moonlight as he tried to make out what was written on it. Mortification bloomed as soon as he did. “Condoms? Bree!”

  “Well, it’s not like Duarte and I need them right now. Someone may as well get some use out of them.”

  “Bree,” he whined.

  She grinned. “Have a good night,” she sang. She blew him a kiss before disappearing back into her bedroom, closing the door behind herself.

  He looked down at the open box of condoms he was holding, wishing he could take back the last minute. He’d stay in his room and they’d sleep on musty sheets. It would have been preferable to what had just happened.

  He shoved the condoms to the back of the linen closet when he heard the bathroom door open. Who knew what Crawford would do if he saw them. Probably accuse Mateus of planning to seduce him. Not that Mateus wouldn’t love to, but he wasn’t going to make a move unless Crawford stopped running so hot and cold. The mixed signals were killing him.

  He gathered up fresh sheets and made his way back to the bedroom, cursing Bree all the way for putting images he didn’t need in his head.

  IT was a little disconcerting how well Crawford melted into their daily routine. He couldn’t tell a weed from an herb, which made him useless in the garden, but he was more than capable of hauling away branches and other debris and patching fences.

  Mateus’s resolve not to jump him was waning every day. It was hard to remain resolute when faced with the sight of a shirtless Crawford sweating in the sun as he lifted hay bales and moved hundred-pound bags of fertilizer. The man had more muscle than any desk jockey had a right to, and it was driving Mateus crazy.

  Not that the nights were any better. They were worse—far worse. After the second morning waking up spooned together in Mateus’s bed, they’d given up all pretense of not cuddling. Last night Crawford had snuggled right up to him the moment they’d climbed between the sheets, and it hadn’t felt platonic in the least.

  Not that they’d talked about it. Mateus didn’t want to push, not when Crawford was finally starting to loosen up around him. But he wanted a hell of a lot more than mutual cuddling with Crawford. He just didn’t know how to get to that point without scaring him away.

  Mateus held his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked down the row of Cameo trees he’d been staking. The storm the night before had done some damage, and Mateus was out doing what he could to mitigate it. From where he was, he could see Crawford repairing a fence in the far field.

  He looked just as at-home with a hammer in his hand as he had with his laptop and spreadsheets. There didn’t seem to be much Crawford couldn’t do. Bree’s morning sickness had become all-day sickness, and last night Crawford had even stepped in and made dinner. He was so perfect it hurt. Mateus was already mourning the loss of his company, and he still had him here for another week.

  “You’d better go shower,” he yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Duarte’s taking you to the airport in an hour!”

  Crawford was flying back to LA for Brandon’s going-away party. He’d complained about being the only one Brandon invited who was old enough to vote, but Mateus knew he was happy to be there for him. He’d only be gone a day and a half, but it would be good to get a break from each other. Maybe it would give Mateus a chance to gain some perspective.

  He watched as Crawford finished the rail he was working on and wiped his hands on his jeans. He wasn’t close enough to fully appreciate how the movement pulled the fabric taut across his ass, but he was blessed—or maybe in this case cursed—with a fabulous imagination.

  Crawford jogged toward him, cradling the toolbox against his chest. “There’s a tree two rows over that snapped in the wind last night,” he said as he approached.

  Mateus sighed. There wasn’t much he could do if the trunk had actually snapped. “I’ll take care of it. Thanks for working on the fence. Duarte’s been trying to get to that for weeks. The neighbor has cows that get into the orchard sometimes.”

  Crawford grinned. “That I’d like to see.”

  They’d spent three hours herding them back to the fence last time. “Trust me, it’s less fun than you’d think.”

  He felt his back pocket, pulling out Crawford’s phone. “You left this in the barn. It’s been buzzing on and off for the last hour.”

  Crawford made a face and scrolled through his messages. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

  His eyes flashed when he looked up, his jaw tight. All the easy relaxation from a minute earlier was gone. “George needs to talk to me. He’s got another assignment for me. He wants Davis and me to work together on a hotel that’s struggling in Brussels, since we did such a good job in Vancouver.”

  Mateus’s stomach dropped. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known Crawford would go back to his real life and his job, but hearing about it in stark terms made it a lot more real. Especially since it meant throwing Crawford back in with Davis. “Do you have to?”

  Crawford’s lips were a grim, bloodless line. “No, I don’t. And I’m going to make it clear to George that if working with Davis is going to become a
regular thing, he can take this job and shove it up his pompous ass.”

  “You don’t mean that. You’re angry, but you don’t want to quit.”

  The tension bled out of Crawford’s shoulders. “Actually, I do. I haven’t been happy there for a long time, and if this is going to be how he rewards me for years of hard work, then I don’t want to work for him anymore.”

  A thrill went up Mateus’s spine at the thought of Crawford quitting. It was ridiculous; of course Crawford leaving his job didn’t mean he’d move to Beverly. He’d get another job and probably move even farther away. But Mateus couldn’t help but be a little giddy at the prospect.

  The bubbly, happy feeling was at odds with the niggle of guilt that sat heavy in his stomach, though. He was responsible for uprooting Crawford’s life. It seemed like Crawford was happy about it now, but would he still be in a week? A month?

  “I’m going to go shower and call George. I’ll see you Sunday,” Crawford said. He hesitated, and then stepped forward and pressed a soft kiss to Mateus’s cheek. “Thanks.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  CRAWFORD had insisted on renting a car when he came back from LA, and after two round-trips to Seattle in less than a week, Duarte hadn’t argued. Crawford hadn’t splurged on a fancy car this time because he didn’t know how long he’d have it. He hadn’t booked a flight back to LA yet either. He had all the time in the world, now that he didn’t have a job to get back to.

  It had been cathartic to hand in his letter of resignation. He’d gone in on Sunday before heading to the airport, and George had been there to try to talk him out of it. He hadn’t backed down from his insistence that Crawford work with Davis again, and if Crawford was being honest with himself—something he had promised himself he was going to do more often—he was glad. It was a relief to leave Chatham-Thompson, even though he’d built a successful career there over almost two decades. He was ready to move on and try something different.

  Mateus had been oddly distant since Crawford’s return, but it wasn’t until Crawford accidentally eavesdropped on a conversation between Mateus and Bree that he figured out why. They’d been outside the open window arguing when Crawford walked into the kitchen to grab a drink.

  “—you happy about this?”

  Bree’s tone was muted but sharp, and it had caught Crawford’s attention before he’d even realized Mateus was also there.

  “I am.” Mateus sounded miserable for someone claiming to be happy. “But it’s fast, Bree. What if he wakes up tomorrow and regrets it? What if he ends up blaming me for quitting? I don’t want to be the reason he gave up his career.”

  Crawford had slunk back into the living room without his drink, feeling awkward. Mateus had voiced that fear before Crawford had quit, though not in quite such blunt terms. Was that why he’d been so reserved? He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, afraid Crawford would regret quitting his job and blame it on Mateus? This was a good change. A sudden one, sure. But it was for the best. Crawford hadn’t felt this free in years. It was ironic, but he felt like his life had more direction than it had in a long time, even though he didn’t know where he was going. He’d tried to express that, but Crawford was afraid he had fallen short.

  When Bree and Mateus came back inside a few minutes later, Bree had shoved Mateus into the living room to sit in an awkward, polite silence with Crawford, and gone to work in the kitchen.

  “I—you know this was a long time coming, right? I wasn’t happy being an internal auditor.” Crawford wasn’t sure how to broach the subject without making it obvious he’d been listening to their conversation. “You gave me the courage to finally quit, and I owe you a huge thank-you for that.”

  Mateus looked up and fully met his gaze for the first time since he’d gotten back from LA. “You don’t think it’s just you reacting to all the stress?”

  Crawford grinned. “Are you kidding? This is the least amount of stress I’ve been under in months. Maybe years. Mateus, this is a good thing.”

  Bree appeared in the archway to the kitchen, holding a gigantic wicker basket. “See, Mat? Crawford is happy about leaving his job,” she said, emphasizing the word happy and giving Mateus a significant look. She held the basket out. “I made you lunch. Go celebrate.”

  Mateus stepped forward to take the overburdened basket. “You didn’t need to do that. I could have made us lunch.”

  She waved him off. “I didn’t have to do it, but I did. I’m happy to. Go show him how beautiful the orchard is, Mateus. Give him a reason to stay here now that he isn’t tied to LA!”

  They’d walked a fair bit, through the orchard and out into land far enough away that Crawford didn’t know whether it was still Duarte’s. Mateus hadn’t been worried, so Crawford figured the neighbors must be friendly. They’d stayed out of the pasture with the cows, but other than that, they’d just wandered without a clear plan.

  It had been nice, at least up until a few minutes ago when they’d chosen a spot to eat and the skies promptly opened up over them.

  The rain pattered down around them, fat drops splashing against Crawford’s skin and soaking into the quilt Bree had put in the basket.

  “We should pack this up,” Mateus said, casting a worried glance to the west. “I think it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

  The warm rain wasn’t a problem, but the dark clouds and occasional lightning flashes a few miles in the distance spelled trouble. Crawford agreed with Mateus—he didn’t want to be caught out in a pasture with a thunderstorm closing in.

  Mateus was already on his knees gathering up their uneaten picnic. Crawford stood and waited until he’d gotten all the food before starting to fold up the blanket, scooping it up off the ground as soon as Mateus finished his task and stood as well.

  A huge clap of thunder rolled above, loud enough that Crawford felt it reverberate in his chest. The storm was closer than he’d thought. “Should we make a run back to the house?”

  Mateus shook his head, wiping wet hair out of his face. “We won’t make it. We could try to find some shelter in the orchard, but I don’t know if we should be under trees. We might do better going that way,” he said, pointing off toward the other end of the clearing. The trees there were taller and denser.

  Lighting scissored through the sky, and moments later the gentle rain became a downpour. “Better than standing here,” Crawford yelled over the pounding rain. He folded the blanket in close to his body and took off toward the copse of trees after making sure Mateus was right behind him.

  The canopy of leaves kept off the worst of the rain, but the lightning was still worrisome. Crawford dug his phone out of his pocket once they were both safely under the trees. No service.

  “I can’t pull up a radar,” he said, showing Mateus the screen. “Should we stay here or try to find a barn or something on the property?”

  Mateus squinted out into the rain. “Duarte’s property ends there,” he said, nodding toward the split-rail fence they’d climbed over when they’d stopped in the meadow. “I don’t know what’s out here. But there isn’t anything on Duarte’s land that could be a shelter other than the barn by the house.”

  Crawford was certain Mateus knew Duarte’s property at least as well as Duarte himself, if not better. If he said there weren’t any shelters, then there weren’t any. “Should we explore on this side, then? Is this an orchard too?”

  Mateus shook his head. “Just land, I think. No fields, just a wooded lot. Duarte said there was a house somewhere, but I’ve never seen it. It must be back pretty far from the road.”

  Thunder boomed, close enough to rattle Crawford’s teeth. A house sounded pretty damn nice right about now. “Maybe the owners would let us hang out there until the storm passes.”

  “It’s empty,” Mateus said, his brows furrowed. “Has been since Duarte and Bree bought their place. But maybe there’s a barn or shed that’s unlocked.”

  Crawford was soaked to the skin, and while the rain had felt
warm coming down, he was well on his way to being chilled now. Mateus was shivering, clutching the basket to himself like it could warm him. They had no way of figuring out how long the rain would last or if the storm would worsen. They needed to try to find shelter, even if it was just the covered porch of an abandoned house.

  Wiping his sleeve across his face to dispel some of the droplets that were streaming from his hair and impairing his vision, Crawford asked, “Which way do you think we should head?”

  Mateus looked around. “North.” He spun in a half circle and cocked his head. “This way,” he said after a moment, inclining his head deeper into the trees.

  Their situation should have been enough to keep Crawford’s libido under control, but he felt a pulse of arousal at the easy way Mateus had been able to figure out which way to head. Who knew orienteering was a kink of his? Maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t joined the Boy Scouts with Adam. That could have made for some awkward camp-outs.

  “Lead on,” he said, biting back a smile as he followed Mateus through the trees. There wasn’t a path, but the foliage wasn’t too heavy, though they had to climb over more than a few mossy tree trunks where trees had fallen and been swallowed up by the forest around them.

  It was still raining, but they were protected enough that only a few drops were leaking through the canopy overhead. The trees also blocked out their view of the darkening sky, for the most part. What he could see through the gaps wasn’t encouraging. The sky was nearly black, and the thunder was much more frequent. The storm was almost directly above them, and Crawford hoped they would be able to find shelter soon.

  Rain pelted him, and he blinked, realizing the trees were getting less dense. That meant they were providing less protection, but it also meant they might be coming up to a clearing. He hoped it was the farmhouse Mateus had been talking about.

  Mateus drew up short, and Crawford almost crashed into the back of him, skidding on the wet leaves. He hooted when he saw what had caught Mateus’s attention—it was the house. It was gorgeous, and not just because it looked like a lifesaver right now. It had dormers and garrets that made it look like something out of a fairy tale, right down to the low fieldstone fence that ran around its perimeter. The porch had an overhang that looked inviting, but the wind had picked up and the rain was coming in horizontally, pelting against the house’s windows and soaking the whitewashed floorboards. It wouldn’t provide them with much protection from the rain, but it should shelter them from the lightning.