Nexus

by Mary Calmes

  “I haven’t had coffee,” I warned Joe, “so don’t screw with me.”

  He grunted.

  “Yes,” his mother agreed, standing up to hug me. “Leave Marcus alone.”

  Her I liked. It was my boyfriend who was the grouch.

  “How ya doin’, Deb?” I asked as I enfolded her in my arms.

  I loved to look at my boyfriend’s mother: her dark blue eyes; short, wavy blonde hair; and sweet smile. I could see her in Joe, and I liked that.

  She squeezed me tight, arms around my neck, and kissed my cheek, breathing out some tension. We had always gotten along well, even at our first meeting. I was always a big hit with parents; the word “lawyer” worked wonders.

  “How was your flight?” Deb asked, leaning back to look up at my face, her arms dropping off my shoulders and resting on my chest. She was comfortable standing there in the circle of my arms. I was as much her kid as either Barbara or Joe, and that had been making me happy since I met her five, almost six years ago. I had lost my own mother when I was fifteen, so she was the only one I had.

  “I had ‘the guy’ sitting next to me, you know, that ‘guy’, the one who wants to chat.”

  “On the redeye.” She was annoyed for me. “My goodness, why didn’t he just let you get some sleep?”

  “I know why,” Joe grumbled.

  “Shhh,” I shushed him.

  “Oh honey, you didn’t tell him you were a lawyer, did you?”

  “That’s not the reason, Mother,” Joe snapped irritably.

  “It was,” I lied, smiling suddenly, leaning to kiss her cheek. “I think he overheard me on the phone before we boarded.”

  “How rude,” she continued.

  “I’m never letting you fly alone again,” Joe muttered.

  I ignored the love of my life in favor of his mother. “You look great by the way.”

  “Guys hitting on you—what the hell, you wear a ring, for crissakes!”

  “And I really love the haircut,” I continued.

  “Finally!” she almost shouted. “Somebody noticed.”

  “You got a haircut?” Barbara asked, sounding shocked.

  Deb’s exasperated snort made everyone laugh as she gave me a last squeeze before releasing me to her husband, who came up behind her to hug me as well. I liked that my boyfriend’s father didn’t just shake my hand; it was nice that he had to hug me too.

  “How are you, Marcus?” he asked when he let me go and looked up at my face. “You took the redeye out, huh? Tired?”

  I groaned. “Yes, sir, but just get some coffee and food in me, and I’ll be ready to go.”

  “Good.” He smiled before he stepped sideways so Joe’s sister Barbara could hug me.

  I lifted Barbara Locke off her feet and crushed her against me.

  “God, Marcus,” she giggled as I put her down, her hands on my face. “Why can’t I find one like you?”

  “Oh sweetie, don’t worry. There’s the perfect guy out there just waiting for ya.”

  And there was. Barbara was smart and funny and classically beautiful with big blue eyes and high cheekbones and full lips. If I were straight, she would have been mine. But as it was, her brother was the one I pined for.

  “Suck-up,” Joe said under his breath.

  “Joseph,” Barbara snapped at him as she stepped back beside her mother.

  “Did you guys at least give him a snack this morning?” I asked his sister.

  “No, so that’s why he’s like this. He needs food, and coffee too.”

  “Marcus, honey, let me introduce you to Ellen—”

  “Wait,” Joe snapped, reaching for me.

  I grasped the questing hand, wrapping mine around it, noticing as always the warmth and the strength of his grip. This was not a man who sat in an office all day. He worked with his hands and he worked hard. As the owner and operator of Bumpy Road Limited, he could have taken a less physical role in his company, but he considered himself and everyone he employed to be part of the same team. He stocked shelves, talked to vendors, and called on accounts. He did every job in his company equally, which was why, I was certain, he was so beloved.

  I squatted down beside the bench, hand on his knee as I looked up into his gorgeous clear blue eyes.

  They were the first things I had ever noticed about him. They were pale, almost opaque cerulean with flecks of India ink in them. I had been out drinking, had turned to head back to the table from the bar—there to buy the last round—and he had suddenly been in front of me, and I was swallowed up in his gaze.

  I had forgotten to breathe.

  “You have a great laugh,” he’d told me. “I’ve been listening to it all night.”

  I had tilted my head, realizing almost instantly that he was blind. “That’s the worst pick-up line I’ve ever heard.” I smiled at him.

  “Are you sure?” he teased me. “The very worst?”

  The arch of his eyebrow was wicked, his dimples were sweet, and his plump parted lips, wet now as he licked them, were making my cock hard. The man made my mouth go dry.

  I’d noticed the way the light hit his auburn hair, a play of brown and red. I’d appreciated the splatter of freckles across the bridge of his short, upturned nose and had seen the way his eyes narrowed seductively, the long, thick feathery lashes hooding them. I’d heard the soft moan under his breath. I’d wondered, with the part of my brain that was still working, why someone had not put a ring on the man’s finger. That fast, I thought I might want to keep him.

  He knew what he was about, because standing there, head tilted, waiting, cute and sexy all at once, he’d had an agenda. I liked that. Men who played games, who weren’t sure what they wanted, were not for me. With the no-nonsense attitude he had going, already he had my undivided attention. I’d let my gaze go everywhere, missing no part of him. He was smaller than me, leaner-muscled, prettier, but solid and strong. I liked the daring tip of his head, his lips that were pale and pink and full, and the effect I had on his breathing. He was holding onto the back of the bar stool beside him, flexing and un-flexing his hand, waiting to see what I would say. As if there were ever any doubt. I wanted to eat him.

  “I’m Marcus Roth,” I said hoarsely.

  He let out a breath and thrust his hand at me. “Joseph Locke.”

  I took the offered hand in mine, holding tight. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “And you,” he said, stepping forward, inhaling me.

  I had thought that because he couldn’t see that he would be timid about his desire, as well as reticent to trust. But the man knew what he wanted, and when he’d asked me to get something to eat with him, I’d found that I couldn’t say yes fast enough. I liked the laugh lines in the corner of his eyes, found myself charmed by his rakish grin, and felt my pulse jump at the way he laced his fingers into mine. I was a big guy, six six, two hundred and fifty pounds of hard, heavy muscle; I was normally not on the receiving end of possessiveness. But Joe couldn’t see me, and so he didn’t know that he didn’t need to stake his claim in front of other people. He was all of five ten, trying to yank me after him wherever we went. I had been charmed completely.

  Now five, almost six years later, he still had to show anyone who was looking that I belonged to him.

  “I knew it was you,” he sighed as his hand slipped around the nape of my neck, pulling me closer to him. “I told my cousin, but she didn’t believe me.”

  The man’s sightless eyes were really the most beautiful shade of blue I had ever seen. And I could gaze at them endlessly and enjoy them without him ever flushing with embarrassment and looking away. His eyes warmed me, and I was certain, everyone who ever met him.

  “Yeah, well, it’s a damn parlor trick that you can tell a person by their frickin’ walk, so who could blame her?”

  She gasped, but Joe and his family, the people who knew me and got me, started laughing instantly.

  I arched an eyebrow for poor Ellen, who was the only one not getting the joke.
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  Deb was snickering as she looked at me with smiling eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here. Joe’s been missing you,” she finished, patting my shoulder.

  “I’m so embarrassed.”

  I turned my head to look at Ellen, who was now standing on the other side of Joe.

  “I didn’t mean to imply that—I just, no one told me that you were—”

  “Black?” I asked her.

  “Oh God,” she groaned, head in her hands.

  Poor girl, she was turning a very vibrant shade of red. Joe’s father Elliot started laughing. Deb put her hand over her mouth, and Barbara giggled.

  “What I meant to say—”

  “Is that you were not expecting me to be black,” I teased her unrelentingly.

  She opened her mouth to say something but shut it fast.

  “I’m kidding.” I smiled wide. “You know that, right?”

  She looked horrified.

  “Oh sweetie,” I soothed her, standing up, lifting out of Joe’s embrace. “I—”

  “Marcus’s friends didn’t expect me to be blind,” Joe cut me off, sounding annoyed. “But he’s the catch, not me, so if everyone could just drop it, I would love it.”

  The area went silent, and I shook my head. It had been playful until he made it not so, and that wasn’t usual. There was actually something eating at him.

  I leaned forward, offering my hand to his cousin. “Marcus Roth, pleasure to meet you.”

  She surged forward, grasping my hand in both of hers. “I’m Ellen Rowe, and the pleasure is all mine, Marcus.”

  I smiled at Ellen to reassure her and saw her stare at me. I forgot sometimes that to some people, an interracial couple was cause for surprise. For Joe’s parents and his sister, it had never been an issue. And they didn’t need to understand why I wanted to date him; the question was why more people didn’t. They got that Joe was a catch and loved me because I realized it as well. There was no dysfunction in my boyfriend’s family, and I was thankful for them all.

  “Everyone in your family is nicer than you,” I told my boyfriend to make him smile.

  He just scowled.

  I could see how uncomfortable he was making everyone feel, so I reached out and put my fingers through his thick hair, dragging it back from his face. “Lighten up, Joey.”

  “Sit down for a second,” he almost whined. “Dad, can you get Marcus’s garment bag, please, and his duffle? They’re the Louis Vuitton ones, and the tag has his business card on it. If the tag came off, there’s another one in a pocket in the back in Braille.”

  “Course,” the older man said, turning to go.

  “Elliot, I’ll get it,” I called out to him.

  He waved at me to stay put, though, and then mouthed words at me. I read that Joe was upset? I looked up at Deb.

  She cleared her throat. “This weekend has a lot of outdoor activities like horseback riding and a touring distillery and dancing at a friend’s house. I think Joe was slightly concerned about all that he would be able to do.”

  And even as I nodded I realized that there was no way that this bit of news was what had my boyfriend in a twist. Joe was always up for anything, and he accepted help whenever he needed to. Something else was wrong.

  I sank down onto the bench beside him, and instantly his knee was against mine.

  “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me too, baby,” I told him. Normally, at home in San Francisco, I would have put my arm around him and given him a kiss, but we were not there, and I didn’t feel comfortable here.

  “Marcus?” Ellen smiled at me.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “How long have you and Joe been dating? He didn’t get a chance to tell me.”

  “We don’t date,” Joe answered before I could. “We live together, have lived together for over four years. We’re partners. We have a civil union and rings.” He held up his left hand for her so she could see the thick gold ring. It was engraved inside, just as mine was, with our initials and the date we had made our love official in front of a crowd of our best friends and Joe’s parents and sister. So far, it had been the happiest day of my life.

  “Oh.” She looked suitably educated.

  “We dated for a year, and then he begged me to move in with him, and I said yes.”

  “Begged?” I groused at him.

  His lopsided grin, the one he gave me often, was suddenly there doing the wicked thing to his eyes where they heated and softened at the same time. I noticed that he hadn’t shaved and found the face I knew even sexier than usual.

  “And what is it you do, Marcus?” Ellen asked me.

  Joe supplied the answer before I could. “He’s a criminal lawyer at one of the biggest firms in San Francisco. He will make partner this year, the youngest in the firm’s history.”

  And that was it. She was impressed.

  I leaned sideways as the women started talking. “Could you stop being an ass now, please?”

  Joe ran his fingers over my jaw, and I watched him suck in his breath. Someone had definitely been missing being in bed with me.

  “What’s with you?” I asked, dropping my voice low, making it sound sultry on purpose.

  “I just… I don’t like it when I don’t touch you every day. I think my mind started playing tricks on me, and besides, it’s really hard to sleep without you.”

  Which I liked more than I would confess.

  “I’m used to having your hands on me at night.”

  And that fast, as it always happened, I felt the blood rushing to my groin. “Jesus, Joey,” I groaned softly.

  “When we get back to my folks’ place, promise you’ll hold me down and fuck me.”

  I was suddenly awash in memories of his head thrown back, eyes closed, his skin moist and feverish, pale against the dark that mine was. I was seriously uncomfortable. “Baby, please, you’re gonna make things awkward for me if you don’t stop.”

  The throaty laughter didn’t help.

  “I wish we didn’t have to meet everyone for breakfast,” he told me, hand slipping under the collar of my sweater to the skin underneath. “I’d rather just go back to the house with…. God, your skin’s warm.”

  I loved him all squirmy and needy, the ache in his voice, the way he clutched at me.

  “I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

  “You don’t have to make anything up,” he sighed, fingers like the touch of butterfly wings over my face. “Just make sure you get in bed with me. Stay with me.”

  “I will. I’m all yours,” I said, sliding my thumb over the silky curve of his bottom lip. I released a deep breath as what he said finally registered. “Wait, what do you mean your mind is playing tricks on you?”

  I got the “Joe face,” the squinting, the head tipping, all of it designed to make me drop whatever I had asked about.

  “Joseph,” I pressed.

  He scoffed. “Fine. I think I hurt this guy at my dad’s shop.”

  “What guy?”

  “A guy who came in to try and get money.”

  I was so lost. “What?”

  “I gotta fill you in later. Dad didn’t even want me to tell you at all because he’s worried that you’ll want him to go to the police.”

  What the hell was going on? “Joe,” I growled. “Tell me now.”

  “I can’t,” he insisted, “not in front of my folks or Barb or El.”

  And he wouldn’t tell, no matter what I said or threatened him with. But I could skip to the second problem. “Hurt him how?”

  “Hurt who?”

  “You said you hurt some guy at your––are you listening to me?”

  “Of course.”

  “So how did you––”

  “I accidentally touched him.”

  “You touched some guy at your dad’s store and hurt him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hurt him how?”

  “You know how, Marcus.”

  And just like that, I was tense. “Hon
ey, we both know that there would only be one reason why you touching anyone would hurt them.”

  The branding touch.

  A warder could hurt a demon just by touching them. The same was true for the hearth of a warder. As a hearth carried the heart of a warder in their hand, that same hand touching a demon made their skin sizzle. It was a demonic litmus test. If my boyfriend touched you and it burned, you were a preternatural creature from the pit. There was nothing else you could be.