Without waiting for Trace, David got out of the car and headed up the path to the front door, hoping to buy himself a few seconds alone to compose himself. He struggled inserting the key with his left hand, cursing in frustration when he dropped the keys. “Goddamn it! Fucking idiot.” Slamming his palm against the wooden door, he rested his forehead against the beveled glass inset and took several calming breaths. He hated feeling incompetent, and he hated feeling shaken even more.
Trace stood back, even though he wanted to step up and help. David had become increasingly unhappy with being coddled, and Trace now had to admit that he should probably be thinking about going home before David threw him out in annoyance. “Okay?” Trace ventured.
“Fine,” David ground out from between clenched teeth. Taking another deep breath, he leaned over and retrieved the keys, unsure if it was being forced to use his left hand or Trace standing so close that was making him tremble. Finally on the third try, he got the key inserted in the lock and turned. It was a small victory, but he’d take what he could get.
Standing in the hall, David looked from the hallway leading to the bedroom to the comfortable living room. He wasn’t sure his control was up to Trace helping him undress just yet. “How about a drink now that you aren’t worried about driving us home?” he suggested.
For whatever reason, David mentioning home made Trace feel warm all over and a little on the shaky side. And he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol, whereas David had been drinking quite a bit. “Sure,” he said quietly. “Gonna break out the good stuff?” he asked as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and loosened his tie. Maybe a drink would help him settle what he’d considered in the car.
“You’re worth nothing less.” David walked over to the cabinet and pulled an unmarked dark bottle out of it. “Get us a couple of glasses,” he suggested as he glanced up. He met Trace’s eyes for a bare moment before Trace lowered his lashes and turned away. David’s body reacted to the shy drop of Trace’s eyes with a surge of desire; if he’d been out on a real date, he’d be sure that his companion was interested in him and probably thinking naughty thoughts. With Trace, he didn’t know what to think. Their friendship was deepening in a way that felt different from anything he’d experienced before. Watching Trace leave the room, he worked on shedding his jacket and getting his body under control.
Trace walked into the kitchen and pulled two tumblers from the cabinet, stopping in the shadowed room for a moment to think. What had he been thinking of in the car? He looked down at his hands. Setting aside the glasses, Trace stepped to the sink and turned on the cold water, plunging his hands into it. He had to snap out of this. Yeah, it was definitely time for a night out, ending with a good lay. He was starting to fantasize about David! He sighed, turned off the water, dried his hands, picked up the glasses, and walked into the den. He’d think more about it later. Now, scotch. Lots of it.
Bolstered by his success at that much undressing on his own, David started to work on his tie, draping it over the back of the chair. Toeing off his shoes, he stretched out on the couch and propped his feet on the table, feeling accomplished for a change. Hearing the clink of glass, David bolstered his calm and smiled over his shoulder. “I’ve got a special treat for you. I found this bottle in a little pub in Scotland that didn’t even have a sign outside.”
David’s first words sent a shiver through Trace. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. A laid-back guy in general, Trace knew he got even more pliable and agreeable when drunk. He also tended to say things he otherwise wouldn’t. “I’ll try a bit,” he said, planning to have a taste and then flee to the shower. Right now, just being around David at all was keeping him aroused. He should have calmed by now, he kept telling himself.
Taking the glasses from Trace’s hands, David poured them both a drink. “Sit. Now close your eyes and take a sip.”
Trace sat as instructed and accepted the glass, looking at David with a touch of amusement before closing his eyes and lifting the glass, letting just a tiny amount slip between his lips. He inhaled sharply as the flavor and intensity exploded across his tongue, and he swallowed once, then a second time.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” David purred. Instead of following his own advice, his eyes were open as he savored the rich, smoky, smooth liquor and the memories of obtaining it. Hearing a soft moan, he peered at Trace to see his reaction to the drink.
Having taken another slightly larger sip, Trace sank back into the couch, eyes still closed, a rapturous look on his face as he slowly licked his bottom lip of the drop of scotch that had escaped. Watching Trace’s tongue swipe across his lips, David felt the same irresistible pull he’d felt in the car. He wanted to lean over and lick the rich scotch off Trace’s lips and tongue, but instead he took another drink and closed his eyes again, blocking out at least the visual temptation. Trace had taken off his jacket on his way into the kitchen, and his sprawl rumpled his shirt and tie just a little… just enough to be greatly appealing to David’s eyes. He could still smell Trace’s cologne, feel the warmth of his body, and hear the delicious sounds Trace was making as he enjoyed the scotch. Surely that’s enough.
Trace sighed happily, took another few sips, and propped the glass on his knee. “Maybe I’ll drink some more of this and sleep right here,” he murmured lazily, sinking back into the corner of the sofa. A fuzzy warmth was already spreading, after just half a tumbler. It was easier now to discount his worries and odd reactions and difficult questions. Now he could just relax and… float. “David?” Trace asked, opening his eyes. “Do you need any help before I conk out? Because if I drink the rest of this glass and the second one I’m planning on, I won’t be getting off this couch.”
“Yeah, and you’ll end up on the floor like you did that first night. Don’t you remember how much trouble you had sleeping out here?” David reminded. He’d heard about it extensively at breakfast the next morning. It seemed so long ago now.
Pouring them both another glass, David stood up, and the words were out of his mouth before he could censor them. “Come on. Let’s go to bed. I’ll let you nursemaid me, we’ll finish our scotch, and we can pass out in comfort.” David shook his head and took another drink, a deeper draught than he should have. Luckily, the acute attraction he’d been feeling for Trace had mellowed a little with the alcohol, and as Trace stood, he was able to admire the curve of Trace’s ass without feeling the need to push him against the wall and molest him. Too much.
Blinking a few times, Trace tried not to think about the possible double meaning behind what David had just said. Let’s go to bed. Trace had honestly never given the idea any thought before, not between himself and David; it was like he was sensitized to it tonight. More scotch required. “Okay,” he said, pushing himself up from the couch and picking up the bottle on his way to the bedroom.
David followed him as he stepped into the room and looked at the bed. Walking in front of him, Trace threw back the rest of his drink, gasping and gripping the door frame after swallowing it down. He dragged in a breath and cleared his throat before walking to the dresser, putting down the glass, and refilling it. The crazy night had really gotten to him. He started unbuttoning his shirt, looking at himself unsteadily in the mirror as the scotch visibly started to kick in.
David stood in the doorway watching as Trace started to undress. He’d seen Trace tipsy many, many times. It took a fair amount of alcohol, and David was tempted to take the rare bottle away from him and replace it with one from the corner liquor store, but that felt petty after everything Trace had done for him since he’d gotten hurt. Walking up behind his friend, David laid a hand on his shoulder and caught Trace’s gaze in the mirror. “You okay?” he asked. Trace was downright gorgeous with his hair tumbled loose about his face. David had to swallow past the tightening in his throat as Trace’s tanned muscular chest was revealed by the open shirt, but the expression on Trace’s face was definitely not happy, and it cooled David’s ardor.
Trace raised his
eyes in the mirror to look back at David and tilted his head to one side, sending his hair coasting over one shoulder. He vaguely noted that David was disheveled. And it really looked good on him. “I’m abusing your scotch,” he said apologetically.
David’s eyes were riveted on Trace’s reflection as he felt the heat from the liquor in his stomach spread to his chest and groin. He wondered if there could ever be any chance of Trace seeing him as he saw Trace. Seductively appealing. God, he felt hot. And Trace standing so close just made it worse.
The look in Trace’s eyes softened, his face relaxing into a smile, and David’s body heated in a way that had nothing to do with the scotch. Coughing to cover the needy moan that rose unbidden in his throat, David turned and started working on his own buttons one-handed. “Oh, um, that’s okay. What’s scotch for if not to drink?”
“Mmm. To savor? To sip and feel it burn its way down and up again until you’re warm all over?” Trace drew out in a husky voice as he lifted the refilled glass. He was definitely drunk, but not so much so that he didn’t know it. And Trace could tell his body was remembering how it had felt in the car, though his mind was a step behind.
Still looking back at David in the mirror—studying, maybe even staring—Trace watched David’s lips move, and a question popped to mind unbidden: Would David’s lips be soft and giving, molding against his? Or hard and unyielding like Trace imagined a man’s were?
Trace’s words spread through David like the scotch, warming him to an almost uncomfortable burn. His mind automatically converted the innocent description to images of Trace savoring and sipping him as he sank down to his knees in front of him….
Fuck! He should have left Trace on the couch. There was no way he was going to be able to hide his cock’s very visceral reaction when he had to ask Trace for help. Most of his buttons were undone, but David had tried doing this belt one-handed before, and it just didn’t work.
Without being asked, Trace set down the glass of scotch and walked over to David. First he reached out and finished unbuttoning David’s shirt. He could feel the heat of David’s body radiating. He hadn’t felt it before. Trace pulled the shirt free of the waistband, and he accidentally brushed his fingertips along David’s belly as he dropped his hand to the belt, pulling on the leather just slightly to free it from the crosspiece.
David swallowed, his stomach quivering under Trace’s unintentional touch. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying hard to reverse the swelling that was going on just millimeters from Trace’s fingers.
The belt prong slipped free of the punch hole, and Trace used his other hand to push the leather strap through the buckle before slipping his fingers inside David’s waistband to unbutton the placket and close his fingers on the zipper tab. The heat there was stronger, warming the backs of Trace’s fingers, and Trace slowly lifted his chin. His eyes ran up David’s bobbing throat, chiseled chin, and scotch-wet lips that did, really did, look soft. Trace knew without a doubt that if David were a woman, he’d be kissing him right now.
The chant Trace is not gay. He’s your friend. And not gay. took to repeating itself over and over in David’s mind as he willed himself not to move, not to sway into the strong, magnetic warmth of Trace’s chest only inches away. Closing his eyes, he held his breath until this torture was over. He felt his own light blond lashes flutter against his flushed cheeks. Whether flushed from the scotch or from the arousal, he wasn’t sure, but they sure felt hot.
As Trace lowered the zipper, the side of his hand brushed an unmistakable bulge. The corner of his mouth quirked the tiniest bit. David was aroused too. To Trace, it looked like David was waiting. Waiting with his eyes closed… for a kiss? Heart pounding, Trace gave in to the curiosity. He tipped his head to the side and ever so slightly brushed his lips against David’s.
David was sure that he imagined Trace’s lips brushing ever-so-slightly against his own, warm and dry, with just a hint of scruff too. As quickly as the unexpected touch appeared, it vanished, leaving him wondering if it had ever really existed at all. Maybe his lust-soaked brain had conjured the feeling. Confused, his first impulse was to run—run and pretend that Trace was not aware of how excruciatingly turned-on he was at the moment. Of course, there was no way that Trace could mistake the ridge his knuckles had brushed. That light touch had just about made David come, and his knees were still feeling watery.
He suddenly realized that he’d been living in an almost constant state of partial arousal ever since Trace had moved in. Feeling stupid standing there with his pants open and eyes shut, swaying slightly, he forced himself to drag open his eyes to meet Trace’s. “Um,” he choked out, feeling his cheeks burn. Did you just kiss me? But his lips were frozen. Grabbing his belt to keep his pants from falling to his ankles, he turned and fled for the bathroom.
Trace watched him go, not sure at all what to say, only knowing that David’s reaction had flicked something on inside him, like a light switch, and he was swamped with so much desire it embarrassed him. Once the bathroom door shut, Trace staggered to the bed, holding his head in one hand, unable to keep his other from groping himself. He was hot and hard and he just didn’t know what to do about it. God, what a night. He must be losing his mind. All the innuendo and flirting and talk had certainly gone to his head, hadn’t it? Why else would he be attracted to David all of a sudden? Trace looked up at himself in the mirror. It had to be the scotch. And the circumstances. But the feel of David’s lips—they had been soft and warm. Not at all what he’d expected.
Frustrated both physically and mentally, Trace pushed himself up from the bed after a long minute and left the house, still barefoot and half-undressed, to dig in the glove compartment of his car and come up with rarely smoked cigarettes and a lighter. He walked back to the stoop and sat on the steps, lighting up with slightly shaking hands, wryly wondering what David would say. Christ. What kind of man was he? Teasing David like that. Trace hoped David wouldn’t hold his actions against him.
Hiding in the bathroom, leaning back against the closed door, David’s body quivered as he tried to pull himself together. What in hell was he doing? Trace was his best friend. It was a friendship that had gotten even deeper over the past week. He wasn’t about to let a sudden attraction and his uncooperative body ruin that.
Gripping the edge of the sink, he ran some cold water, splashing it over his face and neck. Wiping at the droplets running down his chest with a towel, he sighed, remembering the light brush of Trace’s fingers. Wetting the entire towel, he scrubbed at his skin with the cold terry cloth until his chest was red. Cursing, he tossed the towel into the hamper, stripped off his fancy suit and dropped it in a careless heap on the floor. The elastic-topped pajama bottoms he’d left on a hook behind the door were manageable, at least.
Praying that Trace had decided to crash and was already asleep, David turned off the light and cracked open the door. Expecting a dark room, he immediately tensed when he saw the light still on. But the room was empty. Had Trace left? Forgetting his embarrassment in a moment of panic, he raced through the house looking for him. Not in the office. Not in the living room. Not in the kitchen; the back door was still deadlocked. He thumped through the house and threw open the front door to check if Trace’s car was gone, and he practically tripped over the man he was searching for.
Trace barely caught himself from pitching down the steps by grabbing the wrought-iron handrail. “Hey, I’m here,” he said, looking up at David in surprise.
Panic subsiding as he realized Trace hadn’t fled, David felt awkward, standing half-naked on his front steps. “Oh, um, sorry.” He seemed to be apologizing to Trace a lot lately. “I just…. Well, you weren’t…. I’d better just say good night,” he finally managed to stammer out. Silently calling himself twelve kinds of fool, he turned and walked back inside. Maybe he could manage to fall asleep before Trace came back inside.
Frowning, Trace took a last drag to finish the cigarette, feeling like he had a better handle on himsel
f. He sighed and stood up, hoping tomorrow everything went back to normal. As exciting as all this was, he wanted his friend David back. He walked back to the bedroom to see David setting an empty glass down on the dresser.
David’s eyes connected with Trace’s as he entered the room. Mumbling a quick, “Night,” David switched off the bedside lamp and crawled into bed, arranging himself carefully on his good shoulder. Trace stood there looking at him through the dark for a minute, and then he took his turn in the bathroom, came out, and climbed into bed.
David, too wired to sleep, could tell when Trace dropped off within a few minutes, albeit somewhat restlessly. Within fifteen minutes, he had rolled to his side and unconsciously scooted across the bed to lie very close to David’s back. Trace’s arm was between them, curled toward himself, his knuckles brushing David’s shoulder.
Still trying to fall asleep, David could feel Trace’s hand against his bare skin like it was a hot brand scoring his skin. He attempted to shift away, but every time he moved, Trace followed, more and more of their bodies coming into contact. Finally, he rolled toward the other man, reaching out to touch his cheek, giving in to his desire for just a moment before he woke him to move him back to his side of the bed. But instead of waking, Trace relaxed, some of the restlessness leaving him, and he seemed to fall into a calmer sleep. Brushing a long lock of dark hair back from Trace’s face, David changed his mind about waking him. His own eyelids feeling heavy, he rolled the rest of the way onto his back and let sleep claim him.
AS TRACE slept, he dreamed. Dreamed of being held, of soft and lingering kisses. He could feel strong hands on his skin, hands with strength he enjoyed. Lips on his neck, his most sensitive spot, making him gasp, and the feel of a rock-hard body shifting against his, rolling on the bed, holding him, just being close.
There were occasional sparks, but for the most part he was content to lie in the strong arms wrapped around him, stealing a kiss now and then as they murmured about something he couldn’t remember.
Dreamspinner Press Year Three Greatest Hits Page 118