by Tinnean
I unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Yeah?”
“Watch out.”
“Huh?”
He glowered at me and stepped aside to reveal a dolly with a number of boxes stacked on it.
“Moving in?”
“Just get out of the way, would you?”
I stepped aside. “What’s this?”
He wheeled the dolly into the foyer. He saw the Glock in my hand and curled his lip in a sneer. “I don’t know what Portia—Mrs. Mann—”
“Oh, come off it, Novotny. I know she’s more to you than just an employer.”
“Why, you dirty-minded—”
“Huh?” I realized what he thought I meant, and I was tempted to clock him. “Are you out of that pea-brained Czech mind of yours? I meant I know you’ve been part of the family for forever.”
“Uh….”
“Never mind. What is all this?”
“Uh….” He looked blank for a moment and then seemed to recall what he’d been saying. “I don’t know what Portia is thinking to let you feed her, but I’m going to make damn sure you don’t poison her.” The vitriol had left his words, and I was willing to bet that pissed him off.
“Oh?”
“I’ve brought everything you’re going to need for a good dinner, including directions on how to cook the turkey and put the dinner together so everything comes to the table at the right time and the right temperature.”
“Your confidence in my ability to provide a decent meal for Quinn and his mother underwhelms me.”
“Fuck you.”
I was tempted to tell him that was Quinn’s privilege, but that wasn’t any of his business.
“Look, Vincent. I don’t trust you any further than I can throw you, but Portia and Quinn do, and they mean a lot to me. I want them to have a pleasant Thanksgiving….”
“Okay.”
“… and spending it at the hospital getting their stomachs pumped doesn’t qualify for that.”
“Y’know, Novotny, in spite of what some people might think, sending Quinn and Mrs. Mann to the ER isn’t my idea of a fun ending to an evening either.” He continued to glare at me. “What?”
“Are you going to let me put this in your refrigerator anytime soon? It is big enough to hold all this?”
“Fine time to worry about it now. But yeah, it should be.” There wasn’t much in it beyond a loaf of bread, a carton of half-and-half, a crate of eggs, and some leftover bacon and pineapple pizza. “And what do you expect me to do with all the food I ordered?”
I waited for him to tell me to shove it up my ass, but instead he looked thoughtful. “One of Portia’s charities is a local food bank. They’re putting something together for the holiday, but no matter how they try, there’s never enough. You could always drop it off there.”
“What, even the wine?” I’d opened one of the boxes he’d brought and discovered it held bottles of wine.
“Never mind.” He shrugged. “I imagine it’s an expensive donation.”
Was he trying a little reverse psychology? Screw him. “That is a good idea. Why don’t you donate your food to it?”
“Listen, Vincent—”
“Oh, really nice touch, Novotny,” I sniped. The bottles had Post-its on them. Some of them read “Do not chill” and others said the opposite. I closed the box and hoisted it back onto the dolly.
“Yeah, well….” He picked up the box and put it on the countertop again, then tried to thrust a handful of papers at me.
“What’s this?”
“These are all the directions, as well as which wine to serve with each course.”
“What’s with the phone number?”
“It’s my cell phone. I’m going to be up in New York, but I’ll keep it on. If you have any questions, call me!”
“No.”
“What?”
“You deaf all of a sudden, Novotny? I’m not taking the food or the wine.” I put the box of wine bottles onto the dolly again. “I have a perfectly good meal being delivered by a perfectly good catering company. It’s not that I don’t appreciate your offer”—I didn’t—“but it isn’t necessary.”
His face turned red, and for a second I thought the top of his skull would explode. I watched with interest to see if that would happen.
It didn’t. He growled, turned on his heel, and stalked toward my front door, pushing the still loaded dolly ahead of him.
“You’re not going to tell Portia, are you?” he asked over his shoulder, as if it didn’t matter to him in the least.
Which was bullshit. It mattered to him a lot. But Novotny asking for a favor? Would wonders never cease?
Still, the season of good fellowship was coming up, and I could be a good guy. “Tell her what?”
He grunted, paused at the door, and glanced back. “I know you don’t ride elevators.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Portia’s a lady. She wouldn’t want to put you out in any way. But she isn’t going to be able to take three flights of stairs.”
“She won’t have to.”
“In spite of—”
“Yeah, in spite of.”
He studied my eyes for a minute, then nodded. “Happy Thanksgiving, Vincent.”
The door closed behind him before I could say anything. I flipped the locks, then picked up my cell phone—I’d put all the contacts in Quinn’s phone into mine—and texted him.
Back atcha, Novotny.
IV
IT TURNED out to be a more intimate dinner than I’d anticipated, not that I had any objections to that. Early in the day before Thanksgiving, Quinn called to let me know something had come up on the West Coast, and his uncles would be unable to come east.
“What happened?”
“I might as well tell you what’s going on. You get me to talk even when I have no intention to.”
“I’m not twisting your arm, Mann.”
“Don’t be such a pain in the ass.”
Not many people dared to snipe at me like that. I liked that he felt comfortable enough with me not to guard what he said. “So are you going to tell me?”
“Cara Mia’s ex-husband turned up.”
That son of a bitch. “Want me to—”
“No. My uncles are dealing with it.”
“Okay, but if you change your mind—”
“It isn’t likely, but thanks for the offer.”
“Wait a second. What about your mother?”
“What about her?”
“If your uncles aren’t coming, she’ll be all alone after you drive her home.”
“She’s a grown woman, Mark. She’s been alone many times.”
“Yeah, but not when she’s dependent on a cane.” Since that “accident” in mid-October, she’d needed a small-base quad cane to help her get around. Her orthopedist had promised it wouldn’t be for much longer.
“Well, what do you suggest?”
“She can stay in my guest room.” Of course that would kill any plans for Quinn and me making love, but I could deal for a few nights.
“Mark—”
“Make sure she packs a bag, okay?”
“Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s no big deal.”
“It is.”
“Stop arguing with me, would you? It’s not a big deal.”
“Of course it isn’t. You just need someone to christen your guest room.”
“There you go.”
“You’re a good man, Mark.”
“Ah, Jesus, you’re not gonna get mushy on me now, are you?”
“Heaven forbid. Just let me say thank you.”
“If I do, will you shut up?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. You’re welcome.”
He chuckled softly, and I felt something curl in my gut. Dammit, I probably needed to take some—
No, I wasn’t going to lie to myself and say I needed some Tums.
“Are you there, Mark?”
“Yeah. Where e
lse would I be?”
“I thought I’d lost you for a moment.”
Not fucking likely.
We chatted a bit more, and since we weren’t going to be able to sleep together—okay, correction, since we wouldn’t be able to have sex until Sunday—I told him in explicit detail what we’d be doing after Novotny came home and Mrs. Mann returned to Great Falls.
Quinn’s breath started coming in short, harsh pants, and as much as he tried to bite back a groan, he didn’t succeed. I grinned, proud that I could make him come apart just with words.
“It’s a good thing I haven’t left for work yet! I need to change my shorts and trousers.”
“So sorry.”
“No, you’re not!”
I laughed. No, I wasn’t. Why hadn’t we had phone sex before? “Don’t work too hard, baby.”
“No. Holmes has been giving me a wide berth.”
So the man wasn’t as stupid as I’d thought.
“Don’t you work too hard either, Mark. I’m looking forward to what you have in mind for me.”
V
WHEN my cell phone rang at work a few hours later, I saw it was Mrs. Mann.
“Let me call you right back?”
“Of course.”
I shut down my computer and headed out. Even though the temperature had dipped, I didn’t want to take my overcoat, since it might arouse curiosity.
“Ms. Parker, I’ll be back shortly.”
“Yes, sir.” She probably thought I had to hit the john.
I jogged down the stairs, through the lobby, and out into the parking lot. Once in the Dodge, I turned on the heater and called Mrs. Mann back.
“Good morning, ma’am.”
“Good morning, Mark. I’m sorry; I seem to have caused you some difficulty.”
“Not at all. It’s always a pleasure to talk to you.”
“That’s kind of you to say.”
Didn’t she know by now that “kind” was the last thing I was? Still, if she wanted to see me that way….
“I wanted to thank you for your gracious offer—”
“Well, you’re welcome.”
“It’s unnecessary however. Allison—I’ve mentioned my TZE sister, haven’t I?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“She’s going to be at loose ends, so I’d invited her to spend the weekend with me.”
“Where’s that husband of hers?”
“She doesn’t know.”
“Want me to look into this?”
“Thank you, but no. Allison’s a big girl, and while I hate to say this, I have a feeling she’s been expecting something like this.”
“Well, I’m sorry, and if you need me to track down the son of a bitch—”
“I’ll be sure to let you know.” The tone of her voice was grim, and I wondered if she planned on tracking down her friend’s husband herself.
“Listen. Did you want to invite her to join us tomorrow?” Since Quinn’s uncles weren’t coming, we’d have plenty of food.
“Thank you, Mark, but she’ll be visiting with her children.”
“Okay. Thanks for letting me know. But you know you’re more than welcome to stay with us.”
“I know, and I appreciate it. Are you sure I can’t bring anything?”
“Just your lovely self, Mrs. Mann.” I was going to have Quinn all to myself after all.
“You are a charmer, Mark. I’m not surprised Quinn—Oh, my, I don’t want to keep you. You must be very busy. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good-bye!”
“Uh….” What wasn’t she surprised about? “Bye, Mrs. Mann.”
I turned off the engine and returned to my office. Ms. Parker looked up from her computer. “Mr. Matheson needed to speak to you, sir.”
“Okay, thanks.” I went into my office, put thoughts of what Mrs. Mann might have meant out of my mind, and got down to business.
VI
WHEN Quinn buzzed late the next morning from the lobby of my condo—I’d given him the code to get past the community’s gates—I went down to meet them.
Quinn was holding a bouquet of orange and bronze chrysanthemums mixed in with branches of red maple leaves.
Tasteful. I’d made him promise not to bring food or wine, but this…. I hadn’t even thought of something to use as a centerpiece.
“Happy Thanksgiving.” I smiled into his eyes, then took his mother’s hand in mine and held it. “How are you feeling, ma’am?”
“Happy Thanksgiving to you, Mark. I’m well, thank you.”
“Are you?” I tucked her hand in my arm and walked toward the elevator.
“Mark?” Quinn would know I never took the elevator.
“The stairs are out of order.” I turned my attention back to his mother. “This cold weather we’ve been having hasn’t gotten to your hip?”
“Just a twinge now and then.”
The elevator stopped on the third floor, and Quinn and I both kept our pace leisurely as we strolled down the hallway to my door.
“I’m sorry my brothers were unable to join us, Mark. They were looking forward to meeting you.” Mrs. Mann looked concerned. “I know you went to so much trouble—”
“It’s not any trouble for you, ma’am.”
“That’s kind of you to say.”
I smiled blandly, although I wanted to bury my face in my palm. If word ever got out that I was being kind, I’d never live it down. Quinn turned away, hiding a smile, and I scowled at him, but he pretended not to see.
“Simply the truth. Put the flowers on the counter. I’ll find a vase in a minute.” I took Mrs. Mann’s coat and hung it up, then turned around to find Quinn rummaging in the pantry. “What…?”
“Got it!” He pulled out a vase I didn’t even know was in there. After filling it with water, he smiled at his mother. “Why don’t you do the honors while Mark hangs up my coat?”
She chuckled and went to arrange the mums and leaves while I took Quinn’s coat. Just to show him… whatever, I copped a discreet feel. I wasn’t sure how he would react to being groped, but he leaned into me for a second, then straightened and cleared his throat.
“Mark!” he whispered.
“Yeas?” I drawled.
He bumped his shoulder against mine.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Mann had finished with the arrangement and had gone to examine the changes that had been made to the kitchen and dining room.
“What do you think, Mother?”
“I like it.” She came back to us slowly. “I’m pleased to see you removed that mural.”
I grimaced. Cows in my kitchen—I’d had to draw the line at that. Theo had taken one look and started to laugh so hard he collapsed on the floor. He got rid of it and had the spot where it had been painted over.
“Let me give you the dollar tour of the condo, Mrs. Mann.” At her raised eyebrow, I grinned. “Inflation.”
She chuckled again, and damned if I didn’t feel proud of myself.
We paused in the living room. “Much more suitable than all that pink,” she murmured as she crossed to the French doors and moved aside the curtain. “Ah.”
I still didn’t think the view was that great, but I basked in her approval.
“No rug in front of the fireplace, Mark?” Quinn took the opportunity to murmur in my ear.
“Not when your mother is coming to visit.”
“I’m disappointed.”
“Don’t be. There’s one in the master, and it’s got your name on it.” He flushed, and I couldn’t help grinning. I turned to his mother, making sure all trace of deviltry had been wiped from my expression. “Come see the master, Mrs. Mann.”
VII
AFTER the tour, I saw to it she was settled on the couch. “Are you comfortable?”
“Yes, thank you, Mark.”
“How’s your hip?” I picked up the remote and turned on the TV. The last fifteen minutes of the parade were being aired. “Do you want to put your legs up?”
“My hip is fine, and no, I’m qu
ite all right like this.”
“Are you sure?”
My fussing over her amused her. “I’m very sure, Mark. I could do with a glass of wine, though.”
“Okay. C’mon, Quinn. You can take out the hors d’oeuvres. I’ll go get the wine.”
He followed me into the dining room, where I’d found space for not only a wine cooler but a wine rack as well.
“Quinn, the hors d’oeuvres are in the—” Before I could tell him they were in the fridge, he pulled my mouth down to his and started kissing me stupid. “Huh?”
“Thank you.”
“What? What for?”
“For being so concerned about my mother.” His lips caressed mine in one last, lingering kiss before he went back to the kitchen, leaving me standing there, watching him through the pass-through and willing my erection to deflate.
Damned spook.
I licked my lips, wishing I could taste him on them, and then put a bottle and three glasses on the tray he’d given me as a housewarming gift—along with a night of passion that blew my mind—and strolled into the living room. I poured out the Beaujolais and gave Quinn and his mother each a glass.
She took a sip. “Mmm. I’ve always found this vintage goes well with the Edam. You chose well.”
“You like it?”
“Oh, yes. It’s one of my favorites.”
In that case, I’d have to give At Your Service a bonus.
“Oh, look!” Quinn said. “Here comes Santa Claus! You won’t want to miss this, Mark. It signals the conclusion of the parade!”
Was he fucking nuts?
“And speaking of Santa, Mark, I know Quinton has told you we want you to have dinner with us on Christmas. Have you given any more thought to it?”
Hah! I recognized a setup when I saw one!
The woman was like an iron butterfly. She looked so fragile, so delicate, yet underneath she was stronger than most men. There was no point in arguing with her. Like her son, she’d find some way to overturn any objection I could come up with.
And I didn’t want to come up with an objection. I wanted to spend Christmas with my lover and his mother.
