by Josh Lanyon
“Fine.”
“If you want me to pull over, say the word.”
What word would that be? Mommy?
“No. I’m fine.” If I kept telling myself so, it was bound to eventually be true.
I was grateful that he left it there. Too much sympathy was going to make it harder. The white fields and dark woods flashed by as we drove.
The previous driver of the rental car had left a CD in the player. Jack Johnson’s To the Sea. About as far from Connecticut as you could get. I focused on Johnson’s laid-back tunes of sand and sea.
Eventually the landscape began to look familiar, and I knew we were coming up on the site of the accident. My stomach began to bubble unpleasantly like overcooked Cream of Wheat.
The car slowed a fraction. J.X. said nothing, but I knew he was unobtrusively watching me. It only served to make me more tense.
Up ahead I could see the skid marks in the road, black quote marks standing out sharply against the dull pavement, a statement of disaster. Police tape marked where the car had crashed through the wall of snow along the embankment, and I could see the gray frozen lake beyond.
And then we were speeding past and the scene of the accident was growing smaller and smaller in the side mirror, until it was lost around the next curve in the road.
As we headed up the long drive to Asquith House we passed Luke riding along the side of the road on one of those snowblower tractor thingies. He eyed the car with a dark, unblinking gaze as we tooled past.
“There’s someone it might be well worth checking out,” I said.
“I’d just as soon not hear about other guys you want to check out.”
“I don’t mean check out as in check out, I mean check out as in run a background check. He’s supposed to be romantically involved with Anna, but he’s an ex-con of some kind. His name is Luke.”
“What was Luke in for?”
“It’s not exactly clear. I’ve heard three different stories. The only thing everyone seems to agree on is Anna managed to convince the parole board to release him early, and apparently one of the conditions of his release was that she provide him with employment.”
J.X. raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment.
“He’s also a beneficiary of her will, although that’s not saying a lot. Her will seems to include everyone on the planet.”
“All right. I’ll ask around.” Meeting my gaze, he smiled wryly. “The sooner we figure out what’s going on here with Anna, the sooner we can go home.”
Home. It sounded nice the way he said it.
I said rashly, “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Could that be the pain meds talking?”
I studied his face. “Actually…no.”
I wasn’t sure, but I thought he might have blushed.
Chapter Eleven
I was obscurely pleased to see that even J.X. wasn’t able to defrost Sara.
“How’s Anna doing today?” I asked after the initial greetings were out of the way. I use the term “greeting” lightly. I didn’t get the impression Sara was any more overjoyed to see us than I was to see her.
She hesitated. “At the moment, she’s resting. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what a terrible shock this has been for her. She’s not a young woman.”
No, she didn’t have to tell me. It had been a terrible shock for me too and I wasn’t a young woman either. I refrained from saying so. I’d already noticed Sara wasn’t much for funning, and my tendency to inappropriate humor was a nervous tic I was trying to break.
“Is anyone from the writing group still staying at the house?”
“No. They’ve all gone.” She clarified almost immediately, “That is, Rudolph is still here. He’s leaving Tuesday.” She added without expression, “And Ricky’s here.”
“Who’s Ricky?” There were some gaps in my memory, but I was pretty sure there hadn’t been a Ricky taking part in the Asquith Circle.
“Richard Rosen. Anna’s stepson.” Though Sara’s expression gave nothing away, I had the distinct impression she disapproved of Ricky. “Everyone else left yesterday. Victoria lives on the estate, of course.”
Two miles from the house. Within walking distance. I did remember making a mental note of that.
“I don’t think Ricky and I have met,” I said.
“He’s Miles’s son. Anna’s first husband.”
I’d never met Miles Rosen, but I knew of him. He had been another mystery writer, best known for a very dry but award-winning series about a Midwestern school teacher. He’d died of cancer a couple of years after he and Anna had divorced.
Before I could come up with any further questions about stuff that was none of my business, Sara said, “You’re in the same room. If you’d prefer other arrangements, I’ll be happy to see to it.”
“Why wouldn’t the same room be all right?” I asked, puzzled.
Sara looked at me like I was an idiot. “I mean, per Anna’s instructions, you’re both in the same room.” She looked pointedly at J.X.
“Oh. Right. Yes, same room is fine.”
It was, wasn’t it? J.X. had said nothing, but when I glanced at him, he nodded.
“Of course.”
Of course. ‘Coz we were going to do that relationship thing for real now. I tried not to gulp.
After that, I ran out of things to say. That was okay, because I felt surprisingly tired, even shaky as we made the long trek from front door to second floor. It was funny the way getting thrown upside down a few times and partially squashed could take it out of you.
We reached our room and Sara said, “I know you’re still convalescing, Christopher, but Anna will want to see you when she wakes up.”
“That’s why we’re here.” I was trying to be team-spirited, but I saw from the quick look J.X. threw me that I was probably supposed to be more discreet.
Sara didn’t seem to notice, however. “Dinner is at seven. As before.”
“Thanks.” I wanted her to go away so that I could shut the door and formally introduce J.X. to the monolith. His expression as he took in the velvet draperies and twirling grapevines was priceless.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Sara said. Her tone was not encouraging.
I nodded and kept nodding until the door closed behind her. I slumped against it, letting my head fall back. Between the strain of the trip and a certain amount of reaction, I felt whipped.
I jumped as J.X.’s arms went around me.
His breath was warm against my face. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head.
“Come on, Kit.”
I grimaced. “It’s occurred to me that we’re probably in over our heads. I am anyway. Your head is…well, probably better at this.” I told myself that I was thinking in terms of sleuthing, but I knew that wasn’t all that was worrying me.
J.X. gave a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh.
“Come and lie down, honey. You’re all wound up.”
I eyed him with exasperation. Typical guy. Hopefully he wasn’t thinking we could get up to anything because I was definitely not in shape for fooling around…
So it was as big a surprise to me as anyone when the next thing I knew I was lowering gingerly to the continental plate serving as our bed, turning cautiously—with much wincing and catching of breath—to watch J.X.
He was shaking his head at the production I was making but smiling at me with such affection that it started my heart pounding noisily in my ears. The bedclothes rustled, the old springs gave a rusty groan as he landed limberly beside me. He slipped a careful arm beneath me.
“Looks like we’re getting our weekend together after all.”
“Er, yes.”
“Though I’d be happier if you didn’t look quite so banged up.”
“Did you know in Britain ‘banged up’ means to be jailed or locked up?”
“I didn’t know that.” He was still smiling. I smiled self-consciously back. I felt a startling lea
p of pleasure as he slid my jeans zip down.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he murmured, and I gave a spluttery laugh.
“Well, enough with the talking.”
J.X. grinned. He displayed such a touching tenderness, his fingers not quite steady as he reached in to touch me through the warm cotton of my briefs. The hardness he found there seemed to reassure. Him and me both.
Maybe I was in better shape than I thought. My breath expelled in a long, sighing gust, and I lifted my hips so that J.X. could pull my jeans wider, slip his hand inside the pants to take hold of me.
“Mmm.” I closed my eyes, relying on the sensory impression I was receiving as J.X. fondled me. That over-sensitized-skin thing was happening again as his fingertips trailed gently. Every cell seemed to vibrate. In fact, the intensity of my reaction to him was disquieting.
It seemed like at the least I should reciprocate, but he said, “Relax, Kit. Close your eyes. Let me do this for you.”
It was only too easy to give in. I murmured in acquiescence. He had to shift around to get the angle right. My cock nudged him, trying to nestle into his palm. He rubbed me gently, and I reached out, showing him what I wanted, positioning his hand on my genitals which seemed to throb in heavy response.
That warm weight felt very good as he stroked me. “God, that’s nice.”
He made an inquiring sound.
“Oh, yeah. Just like that.”
“Yeah? How about this?”
My breath caught. “Yes.”
His hand slid down, cupped my balls. Squeezed lightly.
“A little harder. I won’t break,” I urged as J.X. squeezed again. There was a funny fluttery feeling in my guts, like a swarm of butterflies tickling their way through me, filling me with ripples of startled reaction. I wondered if he was going to make me come like this. So much for my invalid status.
“Go on,” J.X. urged softly. “Tell me what you want, Kit.”
I opened my eyes. “Let me count the ways. Jesus, you turn me on.” I pressed against him, needing more, needing this to be both of us together, not just him taking care of me. I suspected he was too often stuck in the role of responsible party. “Do you think you’d want to—?”
Two minds with but a single thought. He seemed to have arrived at the same idea.
He withdrew his hand, murmuring reassurance before disappointment could set in, unbuckling and unzipping his own jeans, shoving them impatiently down so he too was naked from belly to thigh.
“We can’t get too elaborate. You’re liable to be summoned by Her Majesty any minute now.”
“Let’s try this.” I slithered over, ignoring the flash of pain at an unwise move, and spooned against him. He smelled so good, body heat and soap and aftershave, and his arms, closing around me, were muscular and comforting. I leaned my head back on his shoulder, wriggling so my buttocks accommodated the hard prod of his flesh without categorically throwing wide the gates to the city. I didn’t quite feel up to handing over the keys, though I was surprised at how much I wanted to.
Nearly as much as he wanted it, but J.X. maintained his gentlemanly angle of approach though now and again the snub head of his cock poked the entrance of my body. I could feel the flush building beneath his skin, the damp of perspiration as he held me close-pressed against him. He kissed the side of my face, and I turned awkwardly to kiss him back. He slid his hands over my waist, avoiding my painful ribs and shoulder, veering in to take my cock once more from this more penis-friendly angle.
Yes, that was what I wanted. I sighed pleasurably and pushed upward into J.X.’s gripping, tunneled hands, relishing the friction—the exact right amount—while his cock slid rhythmically between my ass cheeks. That felt good too, that thick hardness pressing against the tightness of my asshole was exciting.
We’d never done that—but we were going to, soon. Again, it surprised me how much I wanted it. Especially as I didn’t really have the energy for even what we were doing.
J.X.’s thumb rubbed over the sensitive foreskin of my penis, and it was so good, so sweet. I angled my face toward him, found his searching mouth. It was awkward for a real kiss, our mouths grazing as our bodies rocked against each other. His moist mouth touched the side of my throat, the curve of my shoulder. His heart pounded hard against my shoulder blades.
So little really, but with J.X. more than enough. My pleasure peaked and broke, spilled over into his warm, welcoming hands.
A few thrusts later I felt him tense, felt his rock-hard penis poking hard in the channel of flesh between my ass cheeks, his hands still cradling my limp softness, his thumb still gently, spasmodically stroking me. He was close, I could feel that. I tightened my buttocks, gripped him fiercely and gasped as his cock once more grazed over the pucker of flesh.
Yes, very soon I was going to let him—and I was going to ask for the same from him. I could hear his harsh breaths, hot against my ear as he surged up one final time.
He thrust, went rigid, and spurted out a slippery hot flood.
We drifted. As our bodies calmed, cooled, I thought we should retreat under the tapestry coverlet, but I hadn’t the strength to move yet. I felt boneless, peaceful. J.X. was dozing, his breath light and warm against my ear, his arm possessively draped over my side.
From beneath heavy eyelids I watched the gilded dust motes sailing lazily through the air, watched the sunshine creep across the floor. The light seemed unnaturally bright and lucent bouncing off the snow outside the window. I closed my eyes.
It was some time later that I jerked awake, feeling the bed move as J.X. rolled away from me.
“What?” I asked foggily.
“Didn’t you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
No need to ask again. A sound shattered the silence of the afternoon. From down the hall a woman was screaming.
Chapter Twelve
J.X. was out the door before I managed to get to my feet. I could hear the pound of his footsteps disappearing down the hall.
I dressed quickly, awkwardly, and followed him. The hallway stood empty. In the wake of the final reverberation of that scream, the silence seemed to hang, waiting…
As I reached the head of the staircase I spotted Sara running up.
“Was that Anna?” she gasped, gaining the top. It was the first time I’d ever seen her with a hair out of place. She looked almost disheveled, pale hair spilling over her shoulders, her face flushed.
“I don’t know. I’m on my way to find out.” If Sara hadn’t screamed, my instant assumption was that it had to have been Anna, but of course it could have been one of the servants. I’d have screamed too if my daily duties had included dusting that much bric-a-brac.
I followed Sara along the gallery which overlooked the main entrance hall.
The door to Anna’s room stood open as we burst in on her. She was sitting on the foot of her bed talking to J.X. At the sight of Sara and me, she gave a shaky laugh.
“False alarm, darlings.”
J.X. stepped aside as Sara went to her, saying, “Anna, what on earth happened? What did you scream for?”
J.X.’s eyes met mine. I could see he was trying to tell me something, but I had no clue what it might be. My fly was unzipped? I checked surreptitiously.
“Don’t fuss, darling. It was only a-a nightmare.” Anna was so clearly lying I don’t think any of us could come up with a response. There was an awkward silence.
“A nightmare?” Sara repeated slowly. “What did you dream?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Anna sounded almost impatient. “Anyway, really, I’m fine now. Don’t let’s make a production.”
I started, “Did you want to—?”
“No, not right now, Christopher.” She managed a smile. “I’d like to be on my own for a bit. I’ll see you all for dinner.”
There seemed to be no alternative but to leave her in peace and quiet. The three of us filed out.
“Is she all right?” I asked Sara as, at Anna
’s bidding, she eased the door shut behind us.
Sara shrugged. She seemed as puzzled as I felt. “I suppose so. If she says she is, she probably is.”
J.X.’s hand rested briefly on the small of my back which I read as either he couldn’t wait to get me back to bed or, more likely, he had something to say to me in private.
“I guess we’ll see you at dinner,” I said to Sara.
I don’t think she even heard me. She was still standing in the hall, gazing thoughtfully at Anna’s closed door as J.X. and I departed for our own room.
“What up?” I asked as we reached the sanctuary of our own bedchamber.
That distracted him for an instant. “You’re so street, Kit,” he said admiringly.
“Yo yo yo, homes. Now what did you see in Anna’s boudoir?”
“Nothing. What I saw was a man leaving her boudoir in a hurry.”
“What man?”
He looked heavenward, opened his mouth, and I interrupted, “All right, all right. Describe him.”
“White male. Blond. Approximately six feet. Our age.”
Not Rudolph. Not Luke either. So who the hell was it?
“I appreciate the tact of that ‘our age’,” I said. “But was he my age or your age?”
“Late thirties, early forties. It’s pretty much the same thing.”
“Hmmph.” I thought it over. “Unless one of the servants is taking untoward liberties, it must be the stepson. Richard Rosen.”
“There’s something else. When I walked into Anna’s room, she was rubbing her wrist. Her arm was red as though someone had grabbed her.”
“You think Rosen manhandled her?”
“If it was Rosen, it looked that way to me. Anna had the sleeves of her robe down by the time you and Sara arrived.”
“Did you ask her what happened?”
“I got the same story you did. She didn’t bother to try and explain the guy running from her room.”
“Maybe it’s a common occurrence.” I wasn’t serious, just letting my mouth flap while I thought—a bad habit of mine.
