by Lisa Worrall
"Okay, I've gone into the boardroom. I'm alone," Grace said in a hushed tone.
"If you're alone, why are you whispering?" Scott drawled sarcastically.
"Shut up," Grace replied at a normal level. "Spill. How's it really going?"
"It's going fine. I told you. We've been playing the perfect couple for the neighbors," Scott said dismissively. "I need you to check out the residents we've already met. Have you got a pen? Okay, we've got, Brent Miller. He owns The Rose nightclub in the city, over on Second Avenue. Next, we have Marcus White. He's a music producer who owns Smooth record label. He's got a studio in the city."
"Got it. Anyone else?"
"Yeah." Scott scratched behind his ear. "Marcus's partner is a guy called Todd Campbell. He's a country singer and he's signed to Marcus's label but there's something not quite right there."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, he just doesn't seem the Laurel Heights type. You know what I mean? He's quiet, almost withdrawn, and he clings to Marcus like he's a lifeline. Something's going on there," Scott said softly, his brow creasing in thought.
"Okay, I'll look into it and get back to you."
"Great. Well, I've got to finish unpacking, and prepare for other drop-ins. I'll call you tomorrow. Email me what you find." Scott swung his feet to the floor and stood.
"Scott—"
"I'm fine, Grace. Tomorrow." Scott ended the call before she could say anything else. He didn't really want to have that conversation right now.
He raised his arms high above his head and paused mid-stretch when Will came into the living room. The other man had changed into a pair of loose-fitting navy sweatpants and a white wife beater that clung to every muscle and curve of his torso. Trying to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat, Scott lowered his arms and forced a smile to his lips. "You all unpacked?" He tried to be casual, but even to his own ears his voice sounded a little strained.
"Yeah." Will flopped down onto one of the sofas, stretching his legs out and settling himself against the cushions. "I used the top two drawers and one half of the wardrobe; the rest is yours." He folded his arms behind his head and sighed. "I heard voices, who were you talking to?"
"Grace," Scott replied, bending to pick up his suitcase. "She's going to look into Brent, Marcus, and Todd." He paused in the doorway and gazed down at Will. "What did you make of Todd? Did he seem a little, I dunno, off to you?"
Raising himself up on his elbows, Will nodded. "Yeah, very clingy, a little agitated, like he couldn't wait to get away. I got the impression that if Marcus had let his hand go, he would have been out the door like a shot." Will's stomach grumbled loudly, and Scott chuckled as the younger man said, "Dinner time? What do you want to eat? Chinese?"
"Chinese sounds good," Scott replied, heading toward the staircase. "Just get a selection. I'm going to take a shower and unpack. Call me when it gets here."
"Go ahead, Princess. Make sure you don't leave your tiara where I'll step on it."
Scott ignored Will's chuckling at his own joke and took the stairs two at a time. By the time he'd reached the bedroom, he couldn't help the twitching of his own lips. Maybe living with Will 'I'm a prima-donna' Harrison wasn't going to be as bad as he'd feared.
Will brushed his teeth and studied his reflection in the mirror above the sink. This was going to be awkward. Understatement much, William? He rinsed his mouth and patted his lips with a towel, squaring his shoulders. Jesus, Harrison, you'd think you'd never got into bed with a guy before. He'd been in bed with plenty of guys, well, maybe not plenty but certainly enough. But none of them had been Scott 'My Shorts are so tight I squeak when I walk' Turner. He heard the creak of a drawer being opened, and glancing up, he could see Scott through a crack in the not quite shut bathroom door. Jesus Christ!
Will's lips dropped open and his tongue stuck to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of Scott sliding his sweatpants down over his hips and kicking them off. Neither could he stop staring at the curve of Scott's rounded ass in tight-fitting, black briefs, or the way the muscles in Scott's back rippled beneath the skin as he pulled the wife beater he'd been wearing over his head and tossed it on top of his discarded pants. When Scott turned toward the bed, Will took a step back and his head collided with the corner of the heated towel rail on the wall. The outline of Scott's cock was clearly defined beneath the cotton fabric of his underwear, and Will found his tongue involuntarily snaking out to moisten his lips.
Gazing up at his reflection, Will noted the flush in his cheeks and shook his head in the hope that the memory of Scott's almost naked body, gorgeous, muscled, tanned, Oh shut the fuck up! body would fall out of his ears. "Get a grip," he muttered at his reflection. "This is Turner we're talking about. Not only is he an asshole, he's a straight asshole." He reached up and turned off the light, feeling much better when he didn't have to look in his eyes anymore, then took a deep breath before walking out into the room and closing the door behind him.
Will noted that Scott had already claimed the right side of the bed, not that it mattered much to him; he pretty much slept in the middle anyway. He hadn't even realized he was hovering until Scott's voice broke through his internal monologue.
"Are you gonna stand there all night?" Scott asked his head tilted to one side as he watched Will shift from one foot to the other beside the bed. "I promise I won't take advantage of you."
"You wish," Will scoffed, the tension leaving his shoulders at Scott's jibe. He lifted the duvet and slid into bed. "You're too short for me." He rolled over onto his side and stretched, luxuriating in the feel of the cool cotton sheets against his bare legs and trying to ignore Scott 'Don't I smell good?' Turner beside him. "I need to set up the study tomorrow—make it look like I'm writing in there just in case anyone wants to see the master at work. I suspect we'll get more visitors tomorrow."
"Uh-huh. I get the feeling these people wouldn't even know how to spell personal bubble, never mind respect it," Scott agreed, settling back against the pillows. "Gracie's going to email me with anything she comes up with. I'm curious to see what she finds on Todd. Brent seems harmless enough." Will snorted loudly in the quiet of the room. "What's so funny?"
"I might be wrong, but I get this strange feeling that, if Brent Miller got you alone in a room," Will countered, keeping his back to the other man, "the last thing he'd be is harmless." He grinned at Scott's derisive snort and reached out to turn off the light, plunging the room into darkness. "Night, sweetie."
"Fuck you."
Chapter five
Scott was hot. Too hot. Why was he so hot? His eyes fluttered open as he was pulled from unconsciousness by the niggling sense that he was going to spontaneously combust. He could feel sweat pooling on his lower back and across the nape of his neck. Scott groaned low in his throat as he slowly woke up, vaguely registering in the dim recesses of his mind, that he had a hard on. Perfect! Stretching out his leg, he froze. Fuck!
He'd just discovered why he was so hot. He was being spooned by two hundred pounds of Will Harrison. God fucking hates me, that's what it is, he thought desperately to himself, is this some kind of test? I suck at tests.
Certain there was enough heat radiating from Will to keep a small-town toasty through the winter, Scott tried to ease his body away from the softly snoring man beside him. He wondered if the asshole was awake and yanking his chain, because every time he moved away from Will, the other man followed him and snuggled against his back. The hair at the nape of his neck lifted with Will's even breaths and he closed his eyes tightly at the puffs of air on his skin. Sighing, he began the insurmountable task of getting out of bed without disturbing the man beside him.
Scott thought he'd made it, but just as he was about to slide free, Will's arm curled around his waist and pulled Scott close to his muscled chest. So close, that Scott could feel the ridges of Will's abs against his lower back. This is so not fair, Scott thought, scrubbing a hand over his face. Just wa
ke him up, Turner. Push him away and wake him up. It'll be fine. He'll be freaked out, but you can laugh it off. Then you can go whack off in the shower and all will be right with the world again.
Any plan of action flew straight out of his mind when Will moaned softly against the back of Scott's neck in his sleep. Then the hand on his stomach drifted lower and ghosted over his now painfully hard cock. Jesus fuck! Scott's hips involuntarily jerked toward Will's fingers and he tried to keep his breathing calm when Will's warm hand cupped his erection through his briefs. At that point, Scott decided that breathing was no longer a problem, because he was certain his heart had just stopped beating altogether. He desperately tried to ignore the part of his brain that told him to just lay back and enjoy the moment, gripping Will's wrist as gently as he could and lifting his arm.
Of course, just like a well written comedy of errors, Will chose that moment to open his eyes. "What are you doing?" His voice was thick and heavy with sleep, the words spoken into the soft skin between Scott's shoulder blades.
"Trying to get your hand off my cock," Scott replied conversationally.
"Holy shit!" Will breathed in horror, pulled his wrist from Scott's grasp and shuffled backwards across the bed. Scott tried not to analyze the sinking feeling in his stomach at Will's total and utter embarrassment as he muttered, "Jesus, Scott. I'm so sorry." Will sat up in bed and ran his fingers through his hair, and Scott levered himself up against the pillows and faced him. "Scott—"
Scott lifted a hand and silenced Will, who closed his mouth abruptly. "You know what." His lips curved into what he hoped was a friendly and reassuring smile. "Let's just clear our throats like manly men, talk about last night's game and forget about it." The poor guy looked horrified and he didn't want to freak him out even more, which is exactly what he was going to do if they spent another minute in the same bed. Yeah, his inner voice chuckled loudly in his ear. Burying your fingers in that gorgeous blond hair and jumping on top of him would definitely freak him out.
"So—how about those Giants?" Will cleared his throat and grinned widely.
To Scott it looked like somewhere between a grin and a weird grimace, like Will had had a stroke. Rolling his eyes, Scott thanked God that his cock had calmed down enough for him to move and threw back the covers. Clambering out of bed, he crossed the room to the chest of drawers and pulled out some underwear and a clean pair of jeans. He ignored Will completely and padded into the en suite, closing the door behind him.
Leaning his back against the door, he breathed deeply, dragging much needed air into his lungs. "If I make it through this alive, it'll be a fucking miracle," he muttered, opening the cubicle door and turning on the shower. Turning to the toilet to relieve himself while the water warmed, Scott tried not to think about sleepy, brown eyes or the way Will's scent had surrounded him, all funky and warm. He groaned loudly as his traitorous cock hardened in his fingers and he reached out to flush the toilet. Stepping in under the cascading water, Scott could no longer fight the images dancing behind his eyes and curled his fingers around his rock-hard shaft. When he came, he almost bit through his lip to stop himself from crying out Will's name as he emptied himself against the tiles, ribbons of hot white sliding down the wall.
He was so screwed.
As soon as the bathroom door closed behind Scott, Will flopped back onto the pillows, and threw his hands over his face. Jesus Christ! I touched his dick! Someone kill me now! "Nice one, Harrison," he mumbled quietly to himself. "Way to go, excellent job of molesting the beautiful straight guy." He groaned low in his throat as his cock twitched beneath his sweatpants at the memory of Scott's sleep warm skin pressed against his. The way his hips seemed to fit snugly against the other man's ass as if they were meant to be there. The scent of the man, filling his nostrils, the sweet combination of the remnants of cologne and masculinity. The little river of drool on Scott's shoulder. Oh Fuck! I drooled on him. Will shook his head in dismay. Never mind the drool, doofus. Aren't you forgetting that, one he's straight, and two, he thinks you are, too? Keep your shit together, Harrison, or the only thing you're gonna be blowing is your career.
Will climbed out of bed and grabbed some clean clothes before heading for the guest bathroom down the hall. He locked the door and turned on the shower, stepping in and leaning his head on the cool tile, reveling in the feel of the water flowing over his shoulders and down his back. Will's hands definitely did not linger on his cock as he soaped his body and he definitely did not jerk off with the image of dark eyes and plump lips dancing behind his closed lids. Nor did a breathy, cut off "Sco—" fall from his lips when his orgasm pulsed from him in hot spurts against the tiles.
He was so screwed.
When Scott finally emerged from the shower, he dried himself with the soft white towel on the heated towel rail and pulled on his clean briefs. After he'd slipped his legs into the well-worn jeans he'd left on the counter, he padded back into the now empty bedroom and scrabbled around in the drawer for a T-shirt. Grabbing his faded Led Zeppelin tee, he put it on and smoothed the material down his chest before slipping his bare feet into his battered hi-tops. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror above the chest of drawers and ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair. Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath and headed downstairs to the kitchen.
As he stepped off the last step, he heard voices, one of which was Will's. He wandered into the kitchen to find David Taylor, and another man, sitting at the table drinking coffee and eating breakfast. Will was at the stove, bacon and eggs sizzling away in a large pan as he chatted conversationally with their guests.
"Morning, Scott." David smiled, getting to his feet and enfolding Scott in a bear hug. "Hope you don't mind us landing on you this early in the morning."
Scott returned the hug and the smile and shook his head. "Of course not," he replied, sliding into one of the vacant chairs. "Mi casa es su casa as they say."
Thanking Will for the plate of bacon and eggs he put in front of him, David picked up a piece of bacon and nodded toward the other man at the table. "Scott, the idiot who is busy stuffing his face, is Erik Walker, the other designer of our little estate." He tapped Erik on the arm, drawing his attention away from the food in front of him. "Erik, swallow and welcome our new resident."
"Sorry, man," Erik mumbled, chewing quickly and washing it down with a mouthful of coffee. "But these eggs are fabulous, you must keep him chained to the stove." He grinned widely at Will, before turning his attention back to Scott. "Nice to finally meet you, Scott." He reached out and shook Scott's hand. "Damon was right."
"Don't tell me, the lips?"
"Well, they're how you got me." Will put a plate loaded with food in front of Scott and leaned down to him. "Mornin', babe," he said softly, kissing him with a teasing glint in his eye that only Scott could see.
"Mornin'," Scott replied, lifting a hand and brushing Will's bangs from his forehead in a gesture of affection. Two can play at this game. He swallowed down the chuckle that threatened to escape his throat at the surprise that flitted across Will's eyes and picked up his knife and fork. "Erik, tell us more about how you and Jay came up with the idea for Laurel Heights? Jay said something about an incident where you lived before?"
Smiling up at Will as he refilled the coffee cup in his hand, Erik nodded. "Thanks. Yeah, it's just like it is all over, I guess. We'd been living together for about six months in our first home when the letters started appearing in the mailbox. Pleasant little ditties telling us to get out. That they didn't want "our kind" living in their building. Then came the slashed tires, the dog shit on the wind shield." He picked up a piece of hot buttered toast and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully and washing it down with some coffee before continuing.
"We reported it to the police but there was little they could do. Then the action stepped up a pace. I was attacked in the underground parking lot of our apartment complex. Some homophobic asshole; worked me over real good. I don't really remember much, thank God." He
smiled softly at David, who patted his arm reassuringly. "Anyway, when I finally got out of the hospital, Jay said he was sick of people trying to make us conform to their idea of "normal". That he wished we could live in a place where we could be ourselves, you know? Where we could be free to express who we are in any way we wanted to, without tongues wagging or fists flying." Laying his knife and fork on the now empty plate, Erik leaned back in the chair and rubbed his stomach contentedly. "The answer was staring us right in the face. Jay's an architect, I'm a designer, and we decided the only way to ensure that we found the place we were dreaming of, was to build it ourselves. And here we are."
"Wow," Will said, sliding into the chair beside Scott and beginning his own breakfast, while Scott tried to ignore the waft of the cologne that drifted into his airspace. "Did they ever catch the bastard who attacked you?"
Erik shook his head. "No. There weren't any witnesses and my brain was pretty much Swiss cheese after that. I still have trouble with my short-term memory, but I've learned to work around it."
David curled a hand around Erik's neck and pulled his head down so he could lay a resounding kiss on his friend's cheek. "Thank God his head took the brunt of the attack; otherwise he'd have been in real trouble."
"You're a fucking comedian, Taylor," Erik snapped back, elbowing the other man in the side. "Anyway, enough about me. I want to know more about you guys. Come on, tell me your deepest, darkest secrets."
They chatted with the two men amiably, finding out that David was also a writer, but obviously a real one. He had been on the bestseller list with his series of detective novels, which both Will and Scott had read and enjoyed.
"So, guys," he said. "Saturday night. What can we expect for our first gathering?" Scott kept his tone as even as he could. He could tell by the way that Will tensed beside him that the man was not looking forward to it.