Nash

by Lynn Hagen

  The idea didn't sit well with him. Too many panthers lived in Kendall, and any one of them would be all over Layne if Nash left. He was surprised there weren’t a line of panthers ready to get at Layne already.

  His panther snarled at the idea of anyone other than Nash touching Layne. He scratched at his unshaven jaw, mulling the idea over before they spent the next hour bouncing other ideas around, but the pub was stuck in Nash’s head. He wasn’t even sure how much Mr. Creegy wanted for his bar or what it would cost to run the place.

  “I can get some numbers together for you,” Layne offered. “Mr. Creegy would probably give you a fair price since no one else has made him an offer.”

  “Whoa, slow down.” Nash grinned. “How did you even know I was still considering that idea?”

  Layne gave him a pointed stare. “Because the other ideas were lame.”

  Nash had to admit Layne was right. The other ideas didn’t even come close to interesting him.

  “I don’t know anything about running a business.” Nash reached over and touched Layne’s hair then realized what he’d done and pulled his hand back. “You had something in your hair.”

  Layne was blushing profusely as he jumped up. He turned sideways, but Nash had spotted the boner his mate was sporting. “Well, lucky for you I know all about running a business. You can hire me if you want, at least until you find someone who knows what they’re doing.”

  And Nash could keep an eye on Layne to make sure no other panthers went near him. It was a selfish motive, but if Layne was flustered by a simple touch, Nash was sure the guy would have a meltdown if he found out that not only did panthers exist but they could impregnate males.

  That needed to be discussed over a few hard drinks.

  Nash stood and extended his hand. “Deal. You get all the numbers together, and we’ll go from there.”

  When Layne laid his hand in Nash’s, fireworks exploded. That was what it felt like. He wanted to pull Layne into his arms, but instead, Nash ran his knuckles down his mate’s cheek.

  “Two days?”

  Layne blinked several times and then closed his eye and nuzzled Nash’s hand. He must’ve realized what he’d done, because his eyes suddenly flew open and he stepped back so fast he tripped over his own feet.

  Nash caught him around the waist before Layne could hit the ground. “Careful, darling.”

  “I just…and you were…this whole day…” Layne righted himself and looked around, as if embarrassed. “Two days.”

  With a nod, Layne took off like Satan was after him. He jumped into his car and sped away. Nash grimaced, hoping his mate didn’t get into an accident.

  His thoughts shifted to the pub, and the idea put a smile on Nash’s face. A business owner. He liked that thought, until his phone rang. Nash didn’t recognize the number but answered anyway.

  “Nash O’Brien.”

  “Long time, no hear,” Duke Rawlings said.

  Nash was blown away by the sound of Duke’s voice. He was the only other survivor from that roadside bomb. He never thought to hear from Duke again.

  For a long moment Nash didn’t know what to say. “How’ve you been, Rawlings?”

  “Not good,” he admitted. “Can’t stop thinking about Landon, Browning, and McGee.”

  The men who had died that day. Nash sat back down, rubbing his chest as those haunted memories surfaced. They never should’ve been on that road to begin with, but they’d gotten the wrong intel, and Nash had driven those men to their deaths.

  To this day the guilt still ate him alive. He cleared his throat. “How’d you get my number?”

  “I have my ways.”

  Nash wasn’t going to ask him to elaborate. It didn’t matter anyway. If the brother was reaching out, the least Nash could do was be there for him.

  “You just call to talk?”

  “No.” Rawlings voice had gone deep and dark. “You were good to me back then. That’s why I’m giving you fair warning, O’Brien. I’m coming for you. Get your affairs in order.”

  Nash jerked from his seat, a snarl vibrating his throat, but Rawlings had already hung up. He felt bad for what had happened back then, had even blamed himself for the longest time, but fuck if he was going to allow Rawlings to put all the blame on his shoulders.

  With a clenched jaw and his hand wrapped so tightly around his phone that he should’ve broken it, Nash went inside to find Hayward. If Rawlings wanted a fight, then the O’Brien men would give him one.

  * * * *

  “Why do you look so flushed?” Horace asked when Layne got home. “Your eyes are a bit wide.” He pressed the cleaning cloth to his chest. “Did you and Nash have sex? Is that why he invited you over?”

  Layne went to the sink and poured a glass of water, chugging it halfway down. After wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he set the glass aside.

  “He wanted to talk about starting a business.” Layne’s cheek still tingled where Nash had touched it. His ear still burned where Nash had tucked Layne’s hair. Had the guy really called him darling? They lived in the South, and people used that word all the time, but his gut told him that Nash hadn’t used it in an innocent sort of way.

  Stanton entered the kitchen, a bowl in his hand. He set it in the sink and stared between Layne and Horace. “What’s going on?” He looked at Layne. “Didn’t you have a date with Nash? Why’re you back so soon?” His eyes widened as he gripped Layne’s arm. “Oh, sweetie. Don’t tell me he tried to make a move on you and you chickened out.”

  Layne shook off Stanton’s hold. “No.” He made a noise in the back of his throat. “That wasn’t what happened.”

  “I think Layne is making things up,” Horace said. “He told me Nash just wanted to talk business, but that must be a euphemism for sex.”

  Layne seriously wanted to strangle them. He wished Nash had made a move on him, and not the subtle one, either. “There was no sex, no moves, and no euphemisms,” he argued. “Apparently his aunt left him some money and he wasn’t sure how to invest it.”

  “And he asked you?” Stanton wrinkled his nose. “What do you know about investments?”

  “My parents do own a restaurant,” Layne reminded him. “I keep the books for them. I know how to run a damn business.”

  Stanton and Horace looked at each other.

  “Nash wanted to have sex,” Horace said.

  “I agree,” Stanton replied. “Layne just didn’t pick up on the cues.”

  “You two are hopeless.” Layne grabbed his glass of water and stomped from the room, wondering if they were right and he was just that clueless.

  Chapter Four

  Layne busted his butt to gather as much information as he could about running a pub. He’d even gone to Mr. Creegy and sat down with the elderly man. The guy was sweet and had shown Layne a spreadsheet of his overhead costs and profits.

  “An Irish pub?” Mr. Creegy gave Layne a wide smile that made his eyes shine. “Wish I would’ve thought about that. I bet that will go over great in Kendall.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.” Layne picked up the papers Mr. Creegy had set down in front of him. “Do you mind if I get copies of these? I want to show Mr. O’Brien that he could do great if he decided to buy the place.”

  The guy’s gaze landed on Layne’s wrist. The birthmark was showing. Layne pulled at his sleeve. It seemed lately a lot of men were noticing it. He thought about the fairy tale his mom and grandmother had filled his head with but dismissed the crazy idea. Panthers didn’t exist, and his birthmark was just a freaking birthmark.

  “If you can get this done right away, I can get the papers to Nash.”

  Mr. Creegy’s gaze drifted from Layne’s wrist to his face as the old guy pursed his lips. “How have I never noticed that before?”

  Layne always kept it covered, even when it was hot as fuck outside because the mark garnered strange reactions. Like now. Mr. Creegy pushed to his feet.

  “Follow me and I’ll make copies.�
� He shuffled across the bar floor, heading toward the back. With no customers in the bar, the place felt a bit eerie. Layne’s chair scraped as he pushed it back and got up.

  With the papers in his hand, he followed the old guy. As soon as Layne cleared the doorway, Mr. Creegy pinned him to the wall inside the office and groped him, trying to press his wet, wrinkled lips against Layne’s.

  At first Layne was too stunned to do anything. Then he shoved the guy off him, ready to vomit in his mouth. “You’re old enough to be my grandfather!”

  “But I’m still virile and can impregnate you.” Mr. Creegy reached for Layne’s crotch. Layne slapped the guy’s hand away and raced from the bar, the original documents still in his hand.

  What the hell just happened? Layne stopped outside the building to catch his breath. Even though the old coot hadn’t kissed him, Layne brushed the back of his hand over his mouth. Oh god, he was gonna be sick just thinking about those withered lips coming anywhere near him.

  Stevie had been waiting in the car. He jumped out and hurried over, a little baggie of cheese puffs in his hand and a light dusting on his lips. “What’s wrong?”

  Layne shivered with repulsion and told Stevie what the creep had done to him.

  “You’re kidding!” Stevie pressed a hand to his mouth. “He’s like what, seventy? I’m surprised he’d be able to get it up.”

  Layne glared at Stevie. “That’s not the point, and he’s more like sixty-five.”

  Stevie grabbed Layne’s hand and tugged him down the street. “We’re reporting that nasty old bastard. He’s not gonna get away with this.”

  Layne yanked his hand free. “Are you serious? I’m not going into the sheriff’s station and tell them some diaper-wearing grandpa copped a feel. Hell no. That shit will get around town, and I’ll be a laughingstock.”

  “Then I’m telling Nash.” Stevie crossed his thin arms over his reedy chest.

  This time it was Layne who dragged Stevie down the street. “And have Nash attack an old man? No thanks. We keep this between ourselves. Besides, I don’t want to screw this deal up for Nash.”

  If Layne could talk Nash into buying the bar, it would mean his life-long crush wouldn’t leave town. It was a selfish motive, but it was also a win-win situation. Layne could keep lusting after Nash, and Nash could be a proud business owner.

  Secondly, Layne wasn’t even sure Nash would come to his rescue. They were acquaintances at best, and people didn’t stick their necks out for someone they hardly knew.

  When they reached the car, which was parked in front of the bar, Stevie tried to rip his wrist free. “Let me go in there and throw a drink in his face. At least let me bitch-slap him.”

  Layne had known Stevie his entire life, and he’d never seen the guy this riled. “Come on, wildcat. I have to deliver these papers, and you need to wipe all that cheese dust off your mouth.”

  Stevie gave the bar door such a heated glare that Layne half expected the entrance to catch fire. “I hope you grow boils on your balls,” he shouted at the door as he wiped his mouth.

  Layne stuffed Stevie into the car and drove to Nash’s house, pulling to the curb. “I’ll get a ride home from here or just walk home. Promise me you won’t go back to the tavern.”

  No goddamn way would Layne admit that some geriatric had overpowered him. If Mr. Creegy could pin him to the wall, Stevie’s twinky ass didn’t stand a chance.

  “I make no such promises.” Stevie got out and walked around to the driver’s side. “But I do have to get dinner started. It’s my turn to cook tonight. That flaming bag of shit should consider himself lucky I have obligations.”

  Layne hugged him. “Thanks for being my hero.”

  “Anytime, sugarplum.” Stevie drove off, leaving Layne standing on the tree lawn. He squared his shoulders and had turned to head toward the house when he stopped dead in his tracks.

  Nash was on the porch watching him, his hands tucked into his front pockets.

  Layne held up the papers. “I got it done a day early, so I wanted to bring these by.”

  When he climbed the porch, Nash’s brows furrowed. He leaned in and sniffed Layne, his face a mask of confusion. “Why do you smell like another man has been near you?”

  The question wasn’t asked in a polite way, either. Nash sounded downright pissed. Layne hadn’t smelled anything, and Stevie hadn’t told him that he smelled like geriatric cream. Was that what Nash smelled, because there was no way he could “scent” the old guy on him.

  “I was just in the car with Stevie.” He pressed the papers against Nash’s chest. “Take a look at what I brought you.”

  Nash gripped Layne’s upper arm when he tried to pass. It wasn’t a bruising hold but enough to let Layne know Nash wasn’t done talking yet. “Who was it?”

  Layne yanked his arm free. “Can we do this, or should I go home?”

  Nash didn’t look pleased that Layne wouldn’t answer him. He took the papers and glanced at them. “What’s this?”

  “Come inside and I’ll tell you.” He was thankful for the central air that cooled his heated skin. He also noticed how quiet the house was. “Your brothers home?”

  “No.” Nash closed the door. “They had things to do.”

  He still seemed like he had an attitude. Layne hoped to brighten his mood. “These are the overhead reports of the tavern. If you take a look at them, you’ll see Mr. Creegy’s profit margin supersedes his expenses.”

  Layne hated even saying that name, but he couldn’t let Nash know the man he might be buying from was a total creep. That was if Nash even cared. He didn’t seem the type to do business with a guy like that, but Nash had been gone for a decade, and Layne truly didn’t know him anymore.

  Not that he’d known Nash well enough to begin with.

  When Nash looked confused, Layne sat, patting the space next to him on the couch and went over everything, explaining what all the numbers meant.

  Nash looked at him. “What do you think?”

  He was flattered that Nash once again looked to him for guidance. “Well, it’s not my money, and I really don’t want to tell you what to do with it.”

  Nash laughed. “You jumped at the chance.”

  A blush stole over Layne’s cheeks. “True, but if it was me, I’d take a chance.” Layne held up a hand. “But if your business doesn’t succeed, don’t come after me. I’m just giving you my opinion.”

  Nash placed his hand on the middle of Layne’s back. Layne jerked and gave a nervous smile. “I value your opinion, Layne. You were always the smart kid in class. That much I do remember.”

  He was shocked Nash recalled that. More than once he’d helped others with their schoolwork and was even paid a time or two for his efforts.

  But Layne lost the ability to think with Nash’s hand on him. He said the first thing that popped into his head. “You’re smart. Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “When it comes to life or handling a problem I can get my hands on, but math was never my strong suit.” Nash shrugged. “Nothing wrong with admitting my shortcomings.”

  “Like I said, that’s what you have me for.” Layne’s lips parted when Nash started to lean in. Oh fuck! Was the guy about to kiss him? His heart beat wildly as he licked his lips, whishing he’d tossed a breath mint into his mouth before getting out of the car.

  But Nash didn’t close the distance. He was sniffing at Layne again. “I smell him all over you,” he said with a low growl. “Was it Hartley?”

  Nash’s face was so damn close that Layne felt small puffs of the guy’s breath skittering across his mouth.

  “I haven’t been with anyone in months.” Why in the hell had he just admitted that? It was like Layne was under Nash’s spell. His brain told him to get up and leave, but his dick wouldn’t let him off the couch because this was Nash, the guy Layne had been in love with since high school.

  Even knowing Nash would leave town soon, Layne couldn’t stop whatever was happening. His heart would be
broken again, but for a chance with Nash, he was willing to suffer afterward.

  He waited to see what the guy would do. The seconds felt like decades, and Layne’s heart had yet to slow down. They stayed like that, their lips close, time suspended, and Layne’s ticker going crazy.

  Finally, Layne summoned up the courage to ask, “Are you gonna kiss me or keep smelling my mouth?”

  Nash cupped the back of Layne’s head and swept him up in the hungriest kiss imaginable. Oh fuck! The kiss was better than any dream he’d had. The rough scrape of Nash’s whiskers, his soft, warm lips, his tongue that probed at Layne’s mouth was enough to send him into overdrive.

  And get carried away. Layne moved forward, making Nash tilt back, but Nash wasn’t having it. He gripped Layne’s arms and pressed his back against the couch cushions, refusing to let Layne dominate a damn thing.

  And Layne was happy to concede. He wasn’t the dominant type and reveled in the feel of being trapped between Mr. Stud’s body and the couch.

  Nash reached between them and unfastened Layne’s jeans and then shoved his hand inside and curled it around Layne’s hard cock.

  Anyone could’ve walked in. They were in the living room, for crying out loud. Did Layne care? Not really. Not when he finally had Nash noticing him like he wanted to be noticed. He’d even forgotten the guy was straight. Clearly Nash had forgotten he was straight, too.

  Nash let Layne’s cock go long enough to spit in his hand. He curled it back around Layne’s pulsing dick and started jerking him. Nash’s mouth devoured Layne’s, their tongues dueling as ripples of pleasure shot through him.

  This was better than any fantasy Layne had conjured up in his head. Nash was there, right there with him, bringing Layne so much pleasure that he could die right now and be a happy man.

  Layne didn’t want to technically die, not until he’d felt Nash’s cock pounding into his ass. Then Layne could go to the pearly gates with a big fat smile on his face.