The doors opened and an orderly stepped out, eyes sweeping the waiting room and alighting on Alex. “Mr. Martin? I was told to come and get you.”
“I have to finish up here,” Alex replied, pointing to Paul with his pen. “Would you mind taking him back?” His raised eyebrow dared the orderly to even mention the word “family.”
“Certainly,” the young man replied without hesitation, turning to the quietly sniffling Paul. “If you’ll come with me?”
“Alex?” Those soulful brown eyes appeared so lost, and the last brick in the wall around Alex’s heart crumbled and fell. He’d have gladly given all his worldly possessions never to see such misery there again.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, fighting the urge to offer comfort while trying not let the sinking feeling in his gut show on his face. “You go on and I’ll be there in a minute.”
Rushing through the papers, he handed them over to the nurse. The orderly reappeared at his side. “If you could come with me, sir.” No further words were necessary; Alex read the message loud and clear on the man’s face. Alfred was dead.
The orderly pushed the button to activate the doors and they whooshed open. Alex found Paul slumped in a chair, face soaked with tears. A nurse stooped beside him, attempting to offer comfort. Alex dropped into a chair on Paul’s other side, pulling him into a hug.
Paul buried his face in Alex’s neck, sobbing. “Shh,” Alex crooned. “It’s okay, they’re together now. They’re happy.”
“I don’t want him to go!” Paul cried. “First Uncle Byron and now Alfred! What will I do without them? I don’t want to be alone!”
“You aren’t alone, you’ve got me.” Though he said the words as comfort, he meant them with every ounce of his being. He loved Alfred, too, and would dearly miss his uncle. Right now, instead of sorrow, he chose to focus on the joy of having had such a wonderful person in his life, treasuring the time they’d spent together. The more he’d learned of his uncle, the more he understood that, as much as Alfred loved the living, his heart remained with Byron, and every day he awoke alone had been sheer agony.
Suddenly, it hit home for Alex that he was alone now, too, and though Paul might need him, he needed Paul more.
18
“WHERE’RE you takin’ me?” Paul slurred as Alex navigated him toward the staircase, carefully helping him up each step.
“We both need some sleep.”
Having taken a doctor-prescribed sedative, a drug-induced fog clouded Paul’s mind. He waved a sluggish hand toward the hall. “My room’s down there,” he stated, somewhat mystified that Alex didn’t take him there.
“You don’t want to be alone, remember? Besides, I think it’s better if we avoid the east wing right now, don’t you?”
“You’re right.” Paul nodded overenthusiastically, eyebrows furrowing when he tried to remember something important. Oh yeah. Books. “The bookcase! Someone gotta pick up books!”
Without his glasses, Paul glimpsed Alex through bleary eyes. Alex cocked a brow, and, being too tired to explain, Paul shook his head, mumbling, “Never mind,” and he allowed Alex to lead him up the stairs and into the blue room.
Not much help in his befuddled state, Paul didn’t fight when Alex pushed him back onto the bed and stripped him down to his boxers. Was Alex finally going to take what he’d been offered?
As if reading his mind, Alex said, “You’re upset, you’re exhausted, and you’re drugged to the gills. I’m putting you to bed—alone—to sleep it off while I go make some phone calls.”
Bolting upright, an ill-advised move that caused the room to spin, Paul pleaded, “No, don’t leave me!”
A firm hand on his chest stopped him from scrambling off the bed. Peeling back the covers and tucking Paul beneath, Alex pulled them up to his chin. “Shh…. You get some sleep. I can make my calls from here if it doesn’t keep you awake. Good night, Paul.” Alex bestowed a chaste kiss on his forehead. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Don’t wanna talk,” Paul whined sleepily, “wanna hold you.” Wait a minute! Had he said that out loud? A dopey smile crept over his face. Yes, he had. “In sedatio veritas…,” he mumbled absentmindedly to himself.
“Yes, under sedation the truth comes out,” Alex replied. Before Paul could respond, he fell asleep.
Several times during the night, Paul swam to the surface of consciousness only to plunge back down into the welcoming embrace of oblivion. Once or twice he swore he heard softly spoken words, blaming the phantom conversation on the drugs when his sedated mind fabricated his beloved uncle’s voice.
The night grew quiet and he woke surrounded by warmth. After a moment he registered Alex spooning against his back, one muscular arm thrown around his waist. Even in the early days with Jordan, he’d never felt so safe and secure. Snuggling into the reassuring embrace, he quickly fell back to sleep to the comforting sound of deep, even breathing.
OVER a breakfast that turned to sand in his mouth, Paul listened carefully to Alex, who’d apparently been very busy the previous night.
“I know you may not want to talk about this, but we need to. Alfred made his own funeral arrangements. He’s to be buried next to Byron in a simple graveside service with only family and close friends present.”
Though Alex appeared to have no problem with those plans, Paul wasn’t happy. “Several hundred people attended Uncle Byron’s funeral and Alfred deserves the same!” Paul excelled at event planning and intended to make sure everyone understood how much Alfred Anderson meant to his nearest and dearest, and how much he’d be missed. First Paul needed to call the cathedral downtown….
Alex sighed, nipping ambitious plans in the bud. “He left a letter to be opened at his death, detailing what he wanted, saying, and I quote, ‘Funerals are for the living.’ Paul, Uncle Alfred held Byron’s funeral the way he wanted. I know you’d go to any length for the man, as I would. He knew that, too, which is why he made his wishes known. Do you want to go against them?”
Defeated, Paul slumped back into his chair. “When’s the service?” he muttered, agreeing under duress.
“Tomorrow, followed by the reading of the will. We have a lot of work to do in the meantime.”
Once again, Alex cut off Paul’s indignant protests. “Uncle Alfred left specific instructions. We both loved him dearly, but I never went against him in life, and I don’t intend to now.”
“Well, why listen to me?” Paul snapped. “It’s not like I’m his family or anything!” As much as the truth hurt the night before, coming from an irritating nurse, he regretted them the second the words left his mouth. He took a deep breath, then, in a much calmer voice, said, “I’m sorry, Alex. I don’t know what came over me.”
Under-eye circles betrayed Alex’s weariness, along with drooping shoulders. He leaned in to gain Paul’s full attention. “Let’s take things with a grain of salt, shall we? We’re both on edge and bound to say things we don’t mean. Make no mistake; you’re Alfred’s family, just like Martha, Bernard, and Isaac. You’re part of the family he created for himself when his birth family turned their backs. Oh, they may not have disowned him outright; they chose instead to deny him their love and support. He replaced them with better people. You’re one of those people.”
Unexpectedly choked up by Alex’s show of acceptance, Paul found himself at a loss for words. After a moment he quietly murmured, “Thanks.”
The briefest hint of a smile flickered across Alex’s face before quickly disappearing. “Don’t mention it. Now, go take a shower. William’s bringing some of your clothes to my room.”
“You don’t have to,” Paul protested, “I can get them myself.”
Alex once again provided the voice of reason. “Do you honestly want to be in that part of the house right now?”
He had a point. Paul didn’t think he could bear to walk down the east hallway anytime soon, knowing what he’d find if he opened the door to the room across from his. Never again would he carry in a tea tray
or a good book. Never again would he have a heart-to-heart chat with a dear father figure. Finally, he answered, “No, not really, and thanks.”
Hurrying upstairs for a much-needed shower, he mulled over Alex’s forcefulness and how he’d come to depend on the strength of another. Paul excelled at planning and organizing, but when the chips were down, the man he no longer considered his adversary had risen splendidly to the occasion. Together, they made one hell of a team.
After a brief shower, he toweled off and entered Alex’s bedroom. Clothing from his closet hung inside the massive walk-in, and two open bureau drawers revealed his socks, boxers, and T-shirts.
Paul dressed casually, for comfort. The day, no doubt, would be grueling. He spared a moment to give quiet thanks he didn’t have to go through the ordeal alone. His uncle had once told him, “Andersons make great guardian angels once you manage to get the pompous ass out of them.” Paul agreed.
He glanced toward the warm cocoon he’d emerged from earlier. Long hours would pass before he could slip back between the cool, crisp sheets of the big bed. Since being invited, he intended to stay until asked to leave. If and when Alex evicted him, he’d have to convince the man otherwise. He mentally planted a flag and claimed the right side of the bed in the name of Paul Sinclair.
AS STATED in Alfred’s letter, funerals were for the living, and while Paul slept, Alex contacted everyone on his uncle’s painstakingly prepared list. Alfred wanted his ending observed by only those closest to him and then for all involved to get back to the business of living, as he would have done, being a consummate businessman above everything else. Organizing such a hasty funeral, while a daunting task, didn’t prove as impossible as Alex feared.
He spent the day with lawyers, accountants, a reporter, a security service, and numerous business associates of the deceased, while Paul met with haberdashers, morticians, florists, and family friends. As expected, the day taxed both their limits, and though he’d caught an occasional glimpse, Alex hadn’t exchanged two words with Paul since breakfast. He’d barely managed to grunt out his thanks for the sandwich that arrived at lunchtime, eaten while tuning out the ravings of his great-aunt, Helena. For an entire hour, he listened to her whining and feeble excuses about why she couldn’t fly out for the funeral, interspersed with personal opinions about everything from the casket to the venue, all arranged by Alfred months prior. That had been fourteen phone calls ago, and Alex feared the numbness in his ear might be permanent.
He’d been hopeful about the possibilities of a shared dinner, but Paul hadn’t even brought the meal himself, something Alex trusted he’d have done if able to. Instead, William brought a plate loaded with a variety of fragrant dishes, explaining that Berkley’s had sent a selection of their most popular menu items and a large bouquet of gladiolas. Though Alex hadn’t particularly liked Thierry, he appreciated the gesture and made a note to send a thank-you before recalling that Paul usually took care of social niceties and more than likely had already sent a card.
With the day’s tasks as finished as he’d had the energy to make them, Alex sat alone and contemplated the past twenty-four hours, allowing his personal grief to finally surface.
The invincible hero of his childhood was gone, pronounced dead on arrival at the emergency room, and Alex hadn’t been holding Alfred’s hand when his uncle died. However, when the doctors allowed him to see the body, his worries about a lonely death were put to rest. Lying still and quiet on the gurney, Alfred wore a brilliant smile. Deep in his heart Alex knew why. Byron had been waiting, just as Alfred had insisted mere days ago, and death no longer separated the two lovers.
Throughout the ordeal, Paul clung to him, refusing to let go. Alex didn’t mind. Despite the circumstances, having a warm body pressed close provided comfort, and having a focus other than his own grief had given him purpose enough to survive the next few hours.
Wearily climbing the stairs to his bedroom, Alex recalled waking up to unruly hair and an armful of Paul. The words from their earlier conversation came back to him: Don’t you ever want to wake up next to someone who you love, who loves you? For the first time in his life, not only was the answer “yes,” but Alex also had a candidate in mind.
Entering his darkened bedroom, Alex breathed a sigh of relief to find his bed already occupied, as he’d privately hoped. By the moonlight shining in through the windows, wary eyes watched him undress as though expecting a reprimand for assuming the invitation to share the room was open-ended. That’s exactly how Alex had intended the offer, though, and the big bed had never looked so inviting. Paul appeared incredibly young without his glasses, left sitting on the nightstand, and he lay among the satin sheets like he belonged there. Perhaps he did.
As Alex approached, mouth stretched wide in a yawn, Paul lifted the covers and he slid gratefully into the inviting warmth. When his guest would have retreated to the far side of the bed, Alex stopped him, murmuring, “Don’t go.” Questioning eyes locked with his instead of bashfully turning away as they normally did. Taking that as a “yes” to his unvoiced question, Alex swooped down, claiming Paul’s mouth. Paul returned the kiss without hesitation.
Keeping his arms fully around his prize, a prize he had no intention of giving up anytime soon, Alex drew back enough to say, “I’ve decided to take your words to heart.”
“Oh? What words?”
“I’m no longer going to sleep with people who don’t care about me.”
“Oh, that’s good. Now get back over here.” Paul pulled Alex closer with surprising strength.
The murmured demand was all the declaration Alex needed, and he rolled on top of Paul, bracing his weight on his elbows and grinding his stiffening erection against his lover’s answering hardness.
Paul squeezed his hand between them to pull their cocks through the openings in their flimsy boxers, wrapping around both and sliding them provocatively together.
Alex hissed in pleasure, his mouth descending again in a demanding kiss, matching the rhythm of their bodies. Paul released their cocks and rocked their hips together. His image brought to mind a straight-laced librarian, but in bed he burned hotter than any club trick Alex had ever encountered, all the more enticing because he didn’t do casual fucks. Having someone everyone else couldn’t have was a heady rush, fueling Alex’s libido and ego.
Fingers tangling in a rich mass of silky mahogany strands, he caressed Paul’s tongue with his own, pulling it into his mouth and suckling, imitating a far more intimate act. He smiled at his partner’s lusty groan. Slowly sliding down the tempting body beneath him, Alex moaned, his hard flesh finding friction against toned runner’s thighs. If Paul could lay waste to his shirt, turnabout was fair play—he grabbed hold of Paul’s cotton boxers and split the fabric apart with a satisfying rip, hoping they weren’t the royal blue ones. Before Paul could protest, Alex took half of that amazingly full cock into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the head and working the underside with steady laps of his tongue.
Paul bucked and Alex grasped his hips, holding him in place and making him wait, to repay Paul’s teasing during their last encounter. A frustrated whine was music to Alex’s ears. Desire took precedence over finesse, and he worked Paul’s cock like an eager novice, gaining as much pleasure from the giving as he would have from the receiving.
“I want you,” Paul gasped. “Let me play too!”
Never breaking his rhythm, Alex shifted until his cock hovered inches above Paul’s lips, slightly out of reach. Powerful arms wrapped around his hips, and with one swift lunge, his cock sank into Paul’s mouth clear down to the root. Paul hummed with Alex buried deep in his throat.
If Alex hadn’t known better, he might have thought Paul the slut he’d once accused the man of being. Now he understood that Paul’s expertise wasn’t the result of numerous partners. Any prowess stemmed from the fact that whatever Paul Sinclair did, he gave his all, wholehearted enthusiasm making up for any lack of skill.
The pent-up frustration
s and sexual tensions of the past few weeks resolved with Alex and Paul thrashing upon the bed. Climax building, it took every ounce of willpower for Alex to pull away. “Not like this,” he growled, crawling up the bed to gaze into lust-glazed eyes. “Can I fuck you?”
“No,” Paul replied matter-of-factly.
What the hell? The man had teased him and brought him to the edge and…. Suddenly, the proverbial light came on, and Alex amended his question. “Can I make love to you?”
Instead of answering, Paul presented his exceptionally appealing backside, scrambling to the nightstand and then noisily rummaging inside. He handed Alex a square package and a familiar bottle. Worried about a coming accusation, Alex stammered, “I… I have absolutely no idea how those got in there.”
Paul’s teeth gleamed like pearls in the moonlight. “I do. It’s where I put them.”
The time for talking ended. Paul took control, tugging Alex’s boxers off and then throwing them aside. He used his mouth to roll on the condom and then pushed Alex back on the bed before climbing on top. With a wicked grin, he lightly bit a pebbled nipple, a not-so-subtle reminder of who’d been the master before.
Alex’s cock throbbed at the memory of that mastery, and he watched, puzzled when Paul’s lithe body straightened, back arching, Paul hissing in pleasure/pain. What’s he doing? The answer nearly stole Alex’s control, mesmerizing him with the erotic image of Paul using fingers to prepare for something larger. Suddenly, tight heat gripped his shaft and Paul hissed, sliding down Alex’s length, eyes closed tightly in concentration.
Wrapping his hands around slim hips, Alex fought the instinct to push up and bury himself in Paul’s body, unwilling to take his own pleasure at the risk of causing pain.
Paul stopped midway down, panting, weight braced with his hands against Alex’s chest. After a moment, he let gravity pull him down.
“I… don’t… bottom… often…,” Paul groaned through clenched teeth.
The Wish Page 19