Blood Winter

by S. J. Coles

  The man held out a thin, dry hand, which I shook with a polite nod. “Pleasure,” he stated in a rich, deep voice.

  “Karlsson is a very old friend. A very good friend to have,” Ogdell said, giving me a wink. “And this,” he continued, indicating the tall, slim figure just behind him, “is another good friend and perhaps one…more to your taste? Brody Harris.”

  “Hey there,” Harris said with a swaying Californian twang, shaking my hand more warmly than Karlsson. He had ocean-blue eyes and a devastatingly beautiful smile, his teeth extra white in his sun-browned face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to call you?”

  “Alec is fine,” I said.

  “Think I can handle that.”

  I told myself I was imagining the intentness of his gaze, but I wasn’t imagining the effect it was having on me.

  “Jon says you’re some kind of aristocrat or something?”

  “No. Not even slightly.”

  “Really?” he said, tilting his head, sculpted auburn waves brushing his forehead whilst his eyes searched my face. “I mean, all the English seem like lords to me, but there’s something especially…lordly about you.”

  “I’m not English.”

  “No,” he laughed. “Of course not. Scottish, right? My apologies.”

  “You’ll have to forgive Mr. Harris,” Ogdell said. “He’s not been over here long. Brody, you’ll just have to think of a way to make it up to his lordship.”

  I flushed furiously. I opened my mouth but Harris laughed—a light, unfettered sound—and drew me aside.

  “Ignore him. He’s drunk.”

  “Drinks are on me,” Ogdell called and the bartender began gathering bottles from behind the bar. “What say we all get comfy? Joining us, Alec?”

  “I wouldn’t want to impose—”

  “Nonsense,” Ogdell said, gesturing. “I don’t want it said I don’t know how to throw a party. This way.”

  He made for one of the booths, his sister at his side talking animatedly into his ear whilst sliding glances at me.

  “What’s going on, Meg?” I whispered.

  “Nothing,” she said, squeezing my arm. “They’re just starstruck.”

  “They’re setting me up.”

  “For what? A date?”

  I glared at her.

  “What’s your problem? Tall, toned and handsome not your type?”

  “Meg—”

  “Come on,” she said, pulling at my arm. “I’m sure he doesn’t bite. Not without asking first, at least.”

  I let her drag me to the table, where I was wedged in next to Harris. His hip was warm against mine. The waitress came over with the drinks and I swallowed more whisky, the pleasant burn now starting to fuzz the edges of my awareness.

  “I bet you’ve got better stuff in your cellars, huh?”

  I tried to read the American, but the only thing evident on his face was curiosity. “My father preferred wine. But he drank most of that himself.”

  The waitress returned with a glass board on which sat a silver dish of white powder and a miniature serving spoon.

  “This is direct from my man in Columbia,” the old European, Karlsson, said with a paternal smile. “Please, everyone”—he gestured—“help yourselves.”

  “Now it’s a party,” Ogdell said, spooning the white powder onto the board.

  “Only the best for you, hey, Jon?” Harris said with a wickedly charming half-smile.

  “It pays to have high standards,” Ogdell said, scraping the cocaine into lines with a credit card. “I’m sure Lord Alec would agree.”

  Meg watched everything with a carefully schooled expression. I knew then that she must be a brilliant lawyer. Ogdell bent and snorted the first line.

  “Good?” Karlsson asked.

  “Hell yeah,” Ogdell laughed, blinking and pinching his nose. “Here,” he said, pushing the board toward Harris. “Tell me how that shit compares to the stuff you got for the wrap-up party.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Harris leaned in, his leg brushing mine, and snorted the second line. Blood rushed into his cheeks. He grinned. “Okay, that’s some good shit.”

  Olivia took her own line with the delicate precision of someone sampling an expensive perfume. “Alec?” she said, holding her nose and pushing the board toward me.

  “Not done that in years.”

  “Go on,” Harris said, winking. “Live a little.”

  I felt Meg’s eyes on me but could also feel Harris’ leg pressing against my knee. He wore an encouraging smile. The alcohol was swirling through my mind. I pulled the board over. The coke burned and stung my nose and throat. Blood rushed to my head. Electricity crackled through my brain and down my neck. It stirred memories that would have been painful, had I been sober.

  “Good, huh?” Harris murmured.

  I nodded, swallowing the sharp taste in the back of my throat. When my focus returned, Ogdell was handing around glasses of champagne. I drank mine and held it out for a refill. The meaningless chatter bubbled on around me. Harris drew me into a conversation about the classic Ford Mustangs he kept at his home in Santa Monica. He’d shuffled closer to me and was watching my mouth as often as he watched my eyes.

  My throat was suddenly dry. I swallowed what was left in my glass, trying to remember how many I’d had.

  “Alec, do you want go?” Meg’s steadying hand was on my arm.

  “Did something happen?”

  She shook her head. “No, I just think Mr. Ogdell is, well…beyond business now.”

  Ogdell was snorting more coke. His face was ruddy and his eyes watery. He beamed at Karlsson, nodding and waving his flute for more champagne.

  “You going?” Harris asked.

  “Yeah,” I replied, glancing at my watch. “Yeah, it’s late.”

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  “That’s really not necessary.”

  “I insist.”

  Meg raised her eyebrows and we slipped away together. The public levels of the club were heaving, hot and far too loud. My pulse thundered in my throat and the sweat stood out on my forehead. It was a relief to get out into the cool night air.

  “I’ll call a car,” Meg said, taking a pointed step out of earshot.

  “It was nice meeting you, Alec,” Harris said, holding out his hand. His wavy hair was just the perfect amount of disheveled. He’d undone a button on his shirt, revealing a smooth sweep of brown collarbone.

  I shook his hand, fighting to loosen my tongue. “You, too.”

  “I may be going out on a limb here, but how long are you in town for?”

  I took a second to steady my voice. “Until Monday.”

  “Uh-huh. So…you wanna meet up tomorrow?”

  I rubbed my mouth, staring at the pavement beneath my dress shoes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what they told you about me—”

  “Just that you were cute.” His smile tilted up on one side, dimpling his cheek.

  “I don’t date.”

  “No?” He raised an eyebrow. “What do you do?”

  “Car’ll be here in five,” Meg said, rejoining us with a questioning glance “You joining us, Brody?”

  “I better get back to the party,” he said, his smile still in place. “But maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?” He was holding out a card. I stared at it for a long moment then took it.

  “Goodnight.” Meg shook his hand. He put his hands in his pockets, nodded at me then sauntered back inside.

  “It was worth you coming after all.”

  “I’m not calling him.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “And why not?”

  “I have to go on Monday.”

  “So?”

  I rubbed my temples. My head was starting to pound. I kept my mouth shut.

  “Go on, Alec. Tell me why you won’t see him.”

  “I don’t trust him…them. Any of them.”

  “Oh my God,” she said. “Seriously?”

  “That man
Ogdell is a property developer.”

  “One interested in hiring my firm.”

  “So, what? Them knowing I was gay and just happening to invite along a good-looking surfer-type who, wow, is also gay? That was all, what? Coincidence?”

  She shook her head. “Alex, Brody Harris works for Jon. He manages his West Coast office in the states.”

  “That doesn’t change my point.”

  She stared at me a moment longer then looked away. “Living up in Dracula’s castle for so long has made you paranoid.”

  “I wasn’t paranoid about Bastle and Hisks—or that Visions Inc. before that? They all try the friendly routes first—the invites, the gifts, the exclusive offers. Then they move in with the less-friendly ones.”

  “This is nothing to do with you, Alec…or Glenroe. I was invited tonight. I took you along as a favor.”

  “I thought I was the one doing you the favor.”

  Her face was full of equal parts hurt and anger. “David wasn’t the only reason you stopped doing drugs. Remember?”

  I closed my eyes, guilt sour on my tongue. “I’m sorry.”

  The car drew up. Meg got in without speaking. She spent the drive back messaging on her phone and not meeting my eye. I turned Harris’ card over in my hands and didn’t speak either.

  Chapter Two

  By breakfast, Meg appeared to have forgiven me, more or less. She warmed croissants, made a pot of very good coffee and chattered about her plans for her new department.

  “You really should call him.”

  I blinked, realizing I’d been staring at Brody Harris’ card on the counter. I finished my coffee, relieved to feel it start poking holes in my hangover. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “Come on, Alec,” she said, gently. “So what if he works for a property developer? No one’s saying you need to marry the guy. Just have lunch. What’s the worst that could happen? You told him yourself you’re heading home tomorrow.”

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “What about you?”

  “I’m sure I can manage without you for a few hours.”

  I turned the card over in my hands a few times before catching the knowing spark in Meg’s eyes, so I retreated to my bedroom to make the call. Two hours later I sat shifting in the seat at a table near the window of a Mediterranean restaurant, still not entirely sure what I was doing. I talked myself into and back out of leaving three times before Harris showed up. He smiled at me across the busy room whilst hanging his coat. I caught myself watching the way he moved, all strength and controlled confidence. He was in tight black jeans and a blue shirt that brought out his eyes. He sat and smiled at me in a way that made my skin ripple.

  “You came. I owe myself a drink.”

  “Meg virtually kicked me out the door.”

  He smiled wider. “Well, I guess I owe her a drink then. You can drink it for her.” He caught the attention of the waitress and ordered tapas and a bottle of rioja. Harris poured whilst he continued to watch me closely. “It’s not too early for you?”

  I took a mouthful instead of answering. It was rich and fruity and went some way to easing the lingering fog of the night before, though not my strung-up nerves.

  “You don’t talk much, huh?”

  I swallowed. “I’ve not got much to talk about.”

  “Sure,” he said, “an estate in the Cairngorm mountains, a famous father, a title, land, educated at Cambridge. Nothing of interest there.”

  The knot had re-formed in my belly. “Have you been googling me?”

  His eyes glittered. “Mainly image searches.” The blood rushed to my face and farther down my body. I coughed, internally cursing my dry spell, and he grinned. “But your Wikipedia article is informative.”

  “I have a Wikipedia article?”

  “Sure,” he said with an easy shrug. “But don’t let it go to your head. Jon has one too.”

  “What about you?”

  He laughed. “I’m not important enough.”

  “I mean…” I fumbled, glancing around the crowded room. “Tell me about you.”

  The food arrived whilst he was giving me another of his loaded looks. I busied myself with olives and battered squid rings, waiting for him to speak. He didn’t until I met his eyes. Then he leaned forward, poured more wine and began to talk about Santa Monica, his work renovating hotels, his cars, his boat. None of it was anything that I would normally find remotely interesting, but his voice was smooth, his manner easy, his face open and so ready to smile that I both stared and listened intently.

  It was what David had been like, at the beginning.

  The thought caught me by surprise. I paused with a forkful of spiced potato half-way to my mouth. I laid down the fork and finished my wine, my throat suddenly dry. Brody ordered another bottle as the waitress cleared our plates.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?” I said, stupidly.

  “Not exactly,” he replied, filling his own glass then mine. “But last night you seemed to relax more after your drink. I like you relaxed.”

  I made myself hold his look. “Is Ogdell making you do this?”

  “Do what?”

  “This,” I said, gesturing between us.

  “Jon’s my boss,” he replied easily. “He pays me well, but not well enough to make my private life any of his business.”

  I watched him for a long moment. He watched me right back, still smiling. “I’m sorry,” I said, looking out of the window. “Property developers and me? Well…we usually have different agendas, let’s say.”

  His honey-colored brows drew together in a slight frown. “If I wasn’t so sure this was something very important to you, I think I’d be offended.”

  “Sorry. I don’t do this much.”

  “Do what?” he asked, his smile back.

  “This,” I said, gesturing again.

  He laughed. “What? The brooding Heathcliff thing doesn’t have all the guys in the neighborhood lining up at the door?”

  “There are no guys like me in the neighborhood,” I murmured, swirling the wine around my glass, “and there is no neighborhood.”

  “You’re not a virgin, right?”

  I gave him a look.

  “Okay, okay. I figured not. Look… I’ll lay it all out, shall I?” He put his elbows on the table and leaned close, lowering his voice. “I would very much like to kiss you right now.” I froze with the wineglass to my lips. “I’d like even more to take you back to my hotel for the evening. And I think you’d quite like that too.” I gripped the glass tighter. “But if you wouldn’t, say the word. I’ll pay the check and you can head back to your castle and carry on roaming the moors or whatever it is you do for fun. I’ll let you go with no hard feelings, other than a little disappointment, to which I think I’d be entitled.”

  My skin was hot. It had been so long since anyone had looked at me that way. The neglected parts of my body and brain were clamoring for attention. His hot blue eyes held mine for a long time, but when I still hadn’t spoken, he sighed and gestured to the waitress for the bill.

  “Shall I get us an Uber?” I heard myself saying.

  He grinned. “You do that.”

  * * * *

  Brody’s hotel suite was one of the finest that the Blythswood Hotel—if not all of Glasgow—had to offer. The furnishings were dove-gray and white. The bathroom gleamed with marble and glossed ceramic. There was a large kitchen area and several big-screen TVs, and the delicate smells of Egyptian cotton and branded hand soap were threaded in the air.

  I barely noticed any of it. Brody had a full mini-bar and a chrome cigarette case filled with Karlsson’s finest cocaine. He talked and laughed with the easy grace of someone who’d never doubted anything in his life. He made it so easy not to think. I battled daily with the effort of not thinking, but Brody took the fight right out of me, leaving me prone, unburdened and raw in all the right places. His smile was warm, his skin was hot and his body that of someone who had grown up in the
sunshine and the sea.

  We didn’t talk much. When we did, he did most of it. Like Olivia, he knew the art of holding the conversation without having to say anything of significance, which was good because, under it all, I knew we had nothing of any significance to say to each other.

  We started as soon as he shut the door. First it was hands and mouths, hot and heavy. We rid ourselves of our clothing without breaking stride. I heard buttons ping free but didn’t know if they were from his shirt or mine, and I didn’t much care. He drew me onto the bed and we groped each other with increasingly demanding need. The small part of me that wasn’t completely caught up in the moment was quietly pleased when I didn’t come the minute he touched me, so long had it been since I’d done this with another human.

  His mouth tasted like wine and cocaine. His skin tasted like salty ocean air. I breathed him deep, bright and hot, like a midsummer’s day on a sunbaked, foreign shore, unfamiliar and yet entrancing. I sank myself into it, reveling in the touch of his knowledgeable hands and the sound of his arousal-tightened groans. But when he drew me on top of him and whispered in my ear that he wanted me to fuck him, I had to pull away.

  “What’s the matter?” he said, voice gravelly with need. “I’ve got protection.”

  “It’s not that,” I managed to get out. He pressed against me and the friction as his body rubbed against my cock made me gasp.

  “Then what is it?” His breath was hot in my ear. “I’m guessing you like to top, right?”

  “Yes,” I rasped into his neck. “I do… Christ, I do. I just…”

  He put his finger under my chin and lifted my face to meet his eyes. “It’s cool,” he said, smile dimpling his flushed cheeks. “Too soon, I get it. I’m a patient guy. Next time, then.”

  I swallowed his smile with a deep kiss and he reached for me with both hands. I came in hot explosions of white light, like breakers crashing on a beach, the sound of him calling my name as he joined me nearly drowned out by the rushing in my ears.

  He grinned up at me from the pillow, his cheeks flushed and eyes hot. He drew me down, kissed me deeply and rolled me under him.