by Jo Davis
Why couldn’t he have that for himself? Not just the mind-blowing sex — great as it was, sex could be had anywhere — but the intimacy. Love. Because even in sleep, love radiated from the couple, in the way they snuggled tight, unwilling to ever let go. He didn’t begrudge them their happiness in the least, and knew he would never be more than a fond playmate for them. Which was okay, because he felt the same where they were concerned. But he wanted, needed his own lovers to—
God, he needed to leave. Right fucking now.
Slipping from the bed, he gathered his clothes as quietly as possible, glad he’d thought to bring them up from the basement playroom when they roused him to come upstairs. Not wanting to wake them, he padded into the living room to dress. In less than a minute, he was ready, and had pulled out his cell phone to call the agent outside when a deep voice startled him.
“Leaving so soon?”
He spun to face Blaze. The man stood in the darkness, a huge form, black hair spilling over his shoulders. “Yeah. I need to get going.”
“You’re welcome to stay, you know.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it, but…”
Moving forward, his friend gave him a brief hug. “I understand, believe me. Just know we’re here for you. Give us a call anytime.” His smile slashed the darkness. “For any reason.”
Despite the ache inside, he couldn’t help but smile. “I will.”
Blaze saw him out and waited with him on the porch while Bastian made his call and stayed until the agent’s car pulled up. Once he was safely ensconced in the vehicle, his friend waved and headed back inside.
“Wild night, huh?” Agent Chapman commented. The older man sounded tired, but his voice held no real rancor.
“You could say that.” He paused. “Thanks for taking me back to the estate.”
“No problem.” The man yawned. “Gotta say, I’ll be glad to hit my own pillow, though.”
Bastian agreed. Only the bed at Michael’s estate wasn’t really his, was it? As much as he wished differently, his best friend’s place wasn’t his home.
When he let himself in a short time later, turned off the alarm, and stood in the darkened foyer by himself, the reality hit him hard. Michael wasn’t here, was probably off with Katrina. The two of them having a great time.
Once again, I’m on the outside. Always have been where he’s concerned. Always will be.
This wasn’t his home, and he didn’t belong here. He couldn’t stay one second longer than necessary. It just hurt too fucking bad.
Jogging upstairs, he grabbed a duffel from the closet and shoved as many of his clothes in it as possible. Next, he gathered all his suits, leaving them on the hangers. He’d need those for work. The toiletries in the bathroom and anything else he’d left behind, Michael could toss out.
Slinging the bag over one shoulder, he picked up the stack of suits and took one last look around. The burning started again, the lump in his throat the size of a grapefruit. He couldn’t breathe.
He fled down the stairs, pausing only long enough to set the alarm and lock the house again. When he went in to work on Monday, he’d return Michael’s spare house key. Outside, he unlocked his rental car, threw in his stuff, and jumped into the driver’s seat. As he sped out of the gate, he told himself he wasn’t running. He was being realistic, taking himself out of a painful, futile situation.
Nobody’s going to look out for you, Bastian, old boy. You have to do it yourself.
This was self-preservation, and he had to go.
And if he had tears running down his face? Nobody would ever know.
Or care.
Seven
Humming, Michael walked into the house. Given the previous night’s activities, he should’ve been exhausted. But this morning, he felt energized. Hopeful. The extra spring in his step and the adjustment in his attitude could be attributed to one person. Well, make that two.
Katrina. God, what a revelation the woman had turned out to be. Beautiful, with a streak of kinkiness under her classy exterior and an open-minded outlook that surprised him. Ever since she’d planted the suggestion of a ménage in his brain, the wheels in his head had done nothing but churn.
A threesome. With a woman he admired and who was rapidly getting under his skin, and the best friend he… loved. Yes, loved. Even though he stumbled over precisely which definition of the word to apply to him and Bastian. In any case, after a lot of soul searching, he had no problem envisioning the scene Katrina had described of the three of them together. On the contrary, the idea made his cock twitch in anticipation, though it couldn’t manage much more than a nod of agreement after last night.
This really could work. And as she’d said, he and Bastian didn’t have to have sex for the three of them to enjoy being together. It would be perfect. As for the fact that he’d let his friend blow him in the limo? A moment of weakness — that’s all. Bastian would understand once he explained how good things could be.
Tantalizing breakfast smells were coming from the kitchen, as Mrs. Beasley was no doubt fixing something spectacular. He decided to head upstairs first, see whether Bastian had made it home yet and was conscious. They needed to talk — the sooner, the better. At his friend’s door, he knocked lightly.
“Bastian?” No answer. He tried again, louder. “Hey, Bastian?”
The man never locked his bedroom door, so Michael turned the knob and eased it open a crack. If the guy was still asleep, their talk could wait. Peering through the crack, he blinked at the sight of the perfectly made bed, and pushed the door all the way open. He walked inside. Empty. Which meant he’d never come home, or had come back and left early.
“Damn, you must’ve had some wild night if you never came home.” And hell, that thought sat in his gut like a rock.
As he turned to leave, something stopped him. He scanned the room, struck by a sudden sense of the space being completely devoid of life. As if the emptiness was more than Bastian not being here at the moment. Stalking to the dresser, he yanked open the top drawer and stared.
Where socks and underwear should be neatly folded, there was nothing. Next drawer, same story. No T-shirts or shorts.
“What the fuck?”
Heart lurching, he moved to the bathroom. A razor and shaving cream sat on the counter, and there was a bottle of shampoo in the shower. That meant Bastian hadn’t necessarily left for good. Right? Hurrying to the closet, he stepped inside, flipped on the light.
Gone. Every damned suit, shirt, tie. He’d cleaned his shit out of Michael’s life almost as though he’d never been there.
In a fog, Michael walked to the bed and lowered himself to sit on the side. “Why? Was it because of last night?” Stupid question. Obviously, it was.
He’d screwed up by allowing what happened between them in the car. Had set some sort of expectation on Bastian’s part about where their relationship might go. And then he’d pulled the rug out from under his friend not once, but twice. First by shutting him down after the incredible blow job, and then by whisking Katrina right out from under the man’s nose to have her for himself.
Okay, Michael was a selfish bastard. But he could fix this.
Fishing his cell phone from his pants, he speed-dialed his friend’s number. The call went immediately to voice mail, and Michael took a deep breath. “It’s me. We need to talk. Please don’t shut me out.” He paused. “Okay, I’ll try your landline.”
Ending the call, he waited a couple of minutes, then dialed Bastian’s number at his condo. On the fourth ring, he got the answering machine. After Bastian’s taped greeting and the beep, he spoke more urgently. “Please pick up. Come on, don’t do this to me. Dammit, I know you’re there.”
Nothing. Well, shit! He’d have to go over there, because this tactic wasn’t getting him anywhere. Hanging up again, he pocketed his phone and bounded down the stairs, yelling, “Simon!”
The older man was hurrying through the living room as Michael reached the bottom of the stairs. “
I say! Whatever is the matter?”
“Bastian’s gone!”
The butler hesitated, uncertain. “Perhaps he had a pressing errand—”
“No, I mean gone. As in packed his stuff and left.” Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. “I guess that means you didn’t see him go.”
Simon stiffened, appearing affronted. “Of course not, sir. I would have phoned you straightaway had I known.”
“Damn, I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I know you would have. I’m just worried. I didn’t expect him to take off like that.” Though the guilty little voice in his head whispered that he should have.
“Really?” Was that a note of censure?
Michael didn’t have the inclination to listen to Simon’s pearls of wisdom, or a lecture on how he took Bastian for granted. Besides, that wasn’t true. “Yeah. Listen, I’m going to look for him. If you hear from him, call me.”
“Immediately.” The butler eyed him sharply. “And I do hope you can convince him to return. The estate won’t be the same without him.”
The truth of that statement hit Michael hard as he headed for his Camaro. He tried to imagine the house without Bastian’s teasing, his sunny smile, his laughter. The absence of that special light was a depressing prospect.
“Hey, boss?”
Car keys in hand, Michael stopped and turned to see his head of security bearing down on him. A man on a mission. “John?”
The man halted a few steps away, frowning. “I’ve been waiting for you to get home. Thought you should know that Mr. Chevalier tore out of here in the wee hours this morning. One of your agents trailed him and—”
“Why didn’t you call me?” he snarled.
“I tried,” the man replied evenly. “Kept getting one of those out-of-service messages.”
“I didn’t notice any glitch in my cell service. But, then, I was occupied for a while. When did Bastian leave?”
“The gate records show he arrived at five fifteen and departed at five forty-two, with one of your agents — Thompson — right behind him. Thompson tried to notify you, as well, but when he couldn’t reach you, he called me. Mr. Chevalier went straight home and hasn’t emerged since.”
Michael nodded. “Thanks. My phone seems to be working fine now, so call me if anything else comes up.”
“Will do.” With a wave, the man walked off.
Michael got in and started the car, grateful that his men had his wayward friend under tight surveillance. Thinking of the danger Bastian had placed himself in by moving off the estate, Michael’s blood began to boil. By the time he arrived at the man’s first-floor condo, his head pounded from being torn between thanking God he was safe and the desire to bitch him out. Stepping from the car, he resisted the natural urge to look for Agent Thompson’s sedan, which would give away his location to the bad guys, should there be any lurking.
At the door, he let his fist fly, not caring if he disturbed all the neighbors with the commotion. “Bastian!” Bang, bang, bang. “Open up! Let me in, goddammit!”
Silence. Bang, bang. “Let me in right now, or I swear to God I’ll break in this fucking—”
The door rattled, swung open. Bastian stood there scowling. “Jesus, I was asleep. What the fuck do you want, Michael?”
“What do I—” He heaved a breath, attempting to gain control. “You cleared your shit out and left without so much as a note, and you ask what I want? What the hell do you think? Tell me why, dammit!”
But he pretty much knew why, didn’t he? Which didn’t improve his position. He’d have to do better to reach his friend.
Bastian’s lips twisted in a bitter parody of a smile. “You’d better come in before we give a free show to the neighbors.”
Fuming, Michael followed the man inside, and, without waiting for an explanation, began with the strongest argument. “Are you crazy? You’re not safe from Dietz here, especially now. You’re a rabbit in a hole, waiting to get torn apart by his rabid wolves.”
“Thanks. Your vote of confidence warms my heart.”
“Don’t give me that crap! Are you forgetting I nearly died after the hit he put out on me?”
Bastian’s face paled. “If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget. I was the one begging you not to die, remember?”
As if Michael didn’t feel like a big enough pile of dung already. “Then we both know firsthand what he’s capable of,” he said, softening his tone. “Come home, where you belong. Where I can protect you.”
The other man barked a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Tell me, who’s supposed to protect me from you?”
His fists clenched, but he forced himself to remain calm. “Okay, after last night, I deserve that. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“Mighty big of you to admit. I’ll mark the calendar.”
“But you’ll also recall that you looked right into my eyes after I’d been shot and admitted I’d never once lied to you about my feelings.”
“Yes. I said you had nothing to apologize for, and you don’t,” he said in a clipped voice. “But that doesn’t change what you mean to me and always will. I can’t turn off how I feel like flipping a switch. You think I wanted to fall in love with my straight best friend? What a joke.”
Michael swallowed hard. Bastian hadn’t said those words since the day he’d driven Michael into Maggie’s arms by uttering them. He hadn’t been able to run fast enough. And now? God, he was so confused.
“It’s not a joke. Your feelings could never be funny to me.”
“Good to know.” Cocking his head, he studied Michael, hope flickering briefly in his green eyes. “Tell me something else — besides the danger from Dietz, why should I return to the estate with you? Because my plans for today are to catch a nap, take care of some personal stuff around here, then move to one of the empty living quarters on the SHADO compound until he’s caught. I’ll be safer there than anywhere.”
He’s testing you. Don’t fuck this up.
Meeting his friend’s gaze, he said, “Come back. Because I need you. Because my whole world is off-kilter without you there, and I want to protect you.” The hopeful light dimmed, changed to sadness, and his gut flipped. “What?”
“There was a whole lot of ‘I’ in those sentences. What about me?”
“I don’t get you! What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing you don’t mean.” He started to turn. “Go home, Michael. I’m tired.”
His hand shot out and he grabbed his friend’s arm, yanking him around. “For God’s sake, give me a clue!”
“No. If I have to tell you, the words will never hold any value. And I’m not talking about ‘I love you,’ either. Though I’d be the happiest bastard alive if you said and meant them.”
“Then I must be an idiot, because I don’t understand what else there is.”
This was not going according to plan. What more did the man want? He tried a different tack.
“You said you can’t turn off how you feel like flipping a switch? Well, I can’t come to grips overnight with how I feel.”
“About?”
“Us.”
“You made it crystal clear last night there is no us,” he whispered, shaking off Michael’s grip. “Why are you doing this to me? Ripping my heart out two, three times isn’t good enough for you? You want blood?”
“That’s not completely fair to me. You can’t expect me to change on a dime,” he repeated. “But I think I am changing. Something’s happening to me, Bastian. I look at you and I have these weird, overwhelming feelings. I get feverish, like — like I have the flu or something. I picture my home without you in it, and I can’t breathe. You confuse me, and I don’t know what to do.”
The hope he’d glimpsed before flashed again, but Bastian shook his head. “I’m not going to be your guinea pig while you figure out why I make you sweat. I’m my own man, I have a shred of pride left, and I’m done.”
His mouth
fell open. “Done. With me?”
“I’ll always be your friend, but I have to distance myself from you for my own good. For a while, anyway. I think it’s for the best.”
“And if I do figure it out? What then?”
“I may be here… or I may not. I guess that’s the chance you’ll have to take,” he said softly. Walking to the door, he opened it, the message clear. “See you at work.”
Michael found he could barely speak. “Okay. If that’s the way you want it.”
“I seriously doubt it was ever a question of what I wanted. Good-bye, Michael.”
As soon as Michael stepped outside, the door shut and locked behind him. He stood for a long moment, completely stunned. And more bereft than he’d been since Maggie was killed.
As he walked away, he thought he heard a sound like a muffled sob.
But it was probably his imagination.
Bastian leaned against the door. Hung his head and tried to stifle a sob, and didn’t quite succeed. “Oh, God.”
That had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. If you love something, set it free…
What total bullshit. He’d probably just made the biggest mistake of his life. Now Michael would happily retreat back into his nice, safe hetero world with his virtue mostly intact — the illadvised, experimental, guy blow job notwithstanding. Katrina would no doubt be glad to help scrub the memory from his brain.
But Bastian remembered the man’s passionate kiss. The raw desire on his face as he watched Bastian’s lips slide up and down his cock. A man couldn’t fake loving the sex.
No way was Michael faking the pain on his face a few minutes ago as he’d tried to bare his soul to his best friend. And you shut him down, practically kicked him out.
His heart screamed at him to go after Michael, call him back. Tell him that he didn’t mean any of it, that he didn’t want any distance between them.
His head advised that would be the exact wrong move. Deep down, he knew Michael needed this time to work out whatever was going on in that head of his.