by Anne Tenino
“Sorry. I needed some space.”
She patted his arm. “I know, baby. But I’m telling you, you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Morgan, we all have something to worry about. Even if Finn doesn’t win this battle, this show can’t last forever. At some point it’ll be over.”
She shrugged. “So? That’s the nature of this business. We didn’t get into it because we wanted to sit at the same desk for forty years in exchange for a gold watch and a retirement party.”
“I know, but . . .” Damn it, he’d started putting down roots—or at least entangling himself with a guy who had roots so deep they went back over a century. “I gotta pee before we head back.”
“Take your time.”
Nate was so exhausted that for a moment, standing at the urinal, staring at the wall, he didn’t register what he was seeing. Bathroom graffiti was a given at dives like this—crude dick pictures, unimaginative insults, misogynistic bull-crap. The words and numbers scrawled in front of him were typical: For a good time, call: followed by a phone number.
A phone number he recognized. Seth’s phone number. Not Seth’s handwriting.
Nate’s brain snapped back on line with a vengeance as anger curled in his chest like a rabid tiger. This was on par with the way Seth had been outed in high school—an involuntary advertisement, a total invasion of privacy. Nobody had the right to do that. Not to Seth. Not to anyone.
He zipped up, washed his hands, and stalked out of the john. “Morgan. I need your Sharpie.”
“What makes you think I have a Sharpie?”
“You always have a Sharpie. You always have three. I need the black one.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him, but pulled a black Sharpie out of her go-bag. “Remind me to stop being so damn predictable.”
“Dependable, not predictable.” He all but snatched the thing out of her hand. “Thanks.” He stormed back to the john, shouldering one of the grips out of the way at the door. “Sorry. Won’t be a minute.”
Once inside, he locked the door. Uncapping the Sharpie, he changed all the threes in the phone number to eights. For good measure, he changed the one to a seven. There. Even if that was a real number, no way would it be local enough to get anyone in trouble. Later he could come back with some industrial-strength cleaner and remove the whole thing. He froze with his hand on the doorknob. How many other johns from here to Sequim have the same graffiti, the same implicit claim that Seth is nothing but a good-time, no-strings guy?
“He’s not that,” Nate muttered as he flung open the door and scared the grip into fumbling his coffee cup. “He’s more. So much more.” And he’s mine.
Finally—at about two in the morning—they’d managed the fire effect. It went off without a hitch, thank God, and they were able to strike the set by three thirty. By the time Nate got home, he was dead on his feet, so he should have fallen into bed and passed out.
But for some reason—maybe the coffee he’d sucked down on location just to keep his hands from freezing—as soon as he walked in the door, he got an unwanted second wind, so he stomped upstairs to his computer. When he woke up the monitor, the first thing he saw was an email from Bailey, his online genealogy friend with the hard-on for Hollywood history. He opened the message. Three attachments? Seriously? Christ, Bailey got more wound up in his research than Nate did, which was saying something.
Nate opened the first attachment, containing a series of articles about the two suffragists and their actions in the Los Angeles area. Harriet and Mamie Rose apparently had found their calling, working with the young women who’d flocked to Hollywood for a chance to be stars in the fledgling film industry, but instead ended up penniless, starving and/or victims of the male-dominated studios. They frequently mentioned their housekeeper, Mei, and why she’d been raising her grandson. Nate was relieved to note that the boy, although he’d been named after his father before Adeline’s ill-fated visit, was now going by Morey Larson.
The next attachment was all about Morey. Apparently, he’d gotten in on the ground floor of the film industry too. At first he’d just been a driver for Famous Players-Lasky, but apparently had been so adept at keeping volatile stars out of trouble that he’d risen in the studio management hierarchy. The list of “incidents” he’d helped cover up—with connections in the corrupt police force and DA’s office—was truly hair-raising. He’d married a Swedish silent film starlet, had three kids—a son, named after him, and two daughters—and died of a heart attack at fifty-eight.
His son had stayed in Hollywood too, although he’d been a director, not a “fixer” like his father. He’d gravitated to television and married an heiress, for God’s sake, but not until later in life. They’d had only one child, a son, whose name was—
“Holy shit.”
Finn Larson.
Seth’s grand scheme to get them the heck out of Dodge on Halloween—the day the haunting story came out—didn’t go exactly as planned. To crab this time of year, he had to take them past the Tatoosh-Bonilla line. Seth got them out in the open ocean and looked over to see the excitement on Nate’s face, only to discover the guy’d gone green.
Under questioning, Nate confessed to being afraid of large bodies of water. Seth tried to take them back to shore, but Nate wouldn’t let him. “I’ve gotten this far, the least you can do is catch me crab.”
So Seth did. Because if Nate wanted it, he wanted to provide.
Plus, knowing the guy had gone crabbing with him just because it made Seth happy was a huge turn-on.
Watching a sexy man eating crab . . . that was almost more erotic than Seth could handle. They’d begun dinner with Nate’s spectacular cioppino, which was the only reason Seth had gotten any food in his stomach. After that, his own crab lay in front of him, half-forgotten, because he couldn’t stop looking at the guy next to him. The dab of butter on Nate’s chin highlighted his cleft, and he kept closing his eyes as he ate, savoring the taste. To add to Seth’s enjoyment, Nate proved, over and over, that he could suck the meat right out of a crab leg.
By the time they’d finished, Seth was half-hard simply from good food, good company, and good tongue technique. A mind-movie began on his internal screen—straddling Nate in his chair and riding him.
Instead he jerked himself out of his seat, then, since he was standing anyway, took their plates to the sink and scraped them, his heart attempting to lunge out of his rib cage the entire time.
So far, they’d only been together that once, due to conflicting schedules, and Seth had been following Nate’s lead, then.
If Nate started something, Seth was at least assured that Nate wasn’t—say it—making love with him only because he wanted it. Nate wanted it too. And the way Nate looked at him and how he touched Seth’s naked skin was almost reverent.
He wants me. Not sex, but sex with me.
It was of paramount importance to Seth that he was making love with Nate.
Earlier today, just being with Nate had been enough for him. It gave him what he’d ached for most when they hadn’t been together—closeness. Intimacy. Being able to touch Nate whenever he wanted, even if it was just a hand on his arm or a kiss dropped on his cheek, had been enough at first.
Tonight he wanted more, though, a lot more. He wanted to see Nate respond to him. Be affected by his touch. He just didn’t know exactly how to begin.
He was afraid. Of making a move. He hadn’t figured out what was okay and what wasn’t between them, hadn’t found the boundaries.
He’d never find them if he didn’t take a chance.
Done rinsing the plates, he set them carefully in the sink, then considered taking out the trash—they’d need to tonight so the place didn’t start to smell. Not now, stop stalling. Turning, he braced his hands on the counter behind him, ready to make his move.
Nate stopped him, though. Or rather, this view of Nate—his black wavy hair streaked with just a little gray and still tousled from their day on the water. Those
long, strong fingers idly fiddling with the salt shaker while his beautiful lips quirked up with the glimmer of a smile.
He was so . . . amazing. Perfect in some ways and perfectly flawed in others.
This is probably what love feels like. Being in love.
I’m in love with Nate Albano.
Does he love me? Heart now trying desperately to jump up his throat, Seth went back to the table, standing next to Nate. When Nate looked up, he straddled one of his thighs and leaned down closer to him, moving in for a kiss. A real one, not the small, affectionate kind. Taking the initiative for the first time.
If Nate rebuffed him, it might kill him.
Nate kissed him back, though, tilting his head up and stroking Seth’s beard with his free hand. He opened right up when Seth nudged his lips, asking to be let in.
Success. When Seth ended it, pulling away to gaze into Nate’s gray eyes, he was lightheaded. Too dizzy to go further right now—too dizzy to stand—he ass-planted in the seat next to him.
Nate didn’t seem to notice his dorkiness. He turned sideways toward him and trapped one of Seth’s legs between his own, then reached out, cupping his hand over Seth’s knee and squeezing it, fingers resting on Seth’s jeans. “You wanna move this into the bedroom?”
“In a minute.” Seth took his hand, playing with the thumb, caressing it. “Did you have fun today?”
Nate quirked an eyebrow. “You know I did.”
Because he’d already asked, a couple of times. “Except for the, you know, terror of the high seas.”
Leaning closer to him, Nate said, “Today was amazing. Thank you for taking me,” then kissed him briefly, pulling back just far enough to look into his eyes. As if he understood Seth needed to drive things tonight.
“They don’t call me the good-time guy for nothing.” Seth could feel his face heating up, but he didn’t drop Nate’s gaze. “Thank you,” he murmured, then lifted Nate’s hand and swirled his tongue around Nate’s thumb before sucking it into his mouth. From under his lashes, he watched Nate’s pupils dilate and his eyelids lower.
That was a hell of a beautiful response to his touch. It made him want to do a lot more of it.
Releasing Nate’s thumb with a last slurp, Seth stood and held out his hand in front of him. His erection was right in Nate’s line of vision now, and Nate gave it a flattering amount of his attention.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked Seth’s groin.
Seth took the liberty of speaking for his dick. “Bedroom.”
Nate stood and let Seth lead him away from the table and into the bedroom. Not like their first time, in a stumbling mass of tangled bodies and hormones. More sedately, until Seth reached the edge of Nate’s bed, where he turned to slide his arms around Nate’s shoulders and kiss him, pulling him down onto the mattress with him. There was nothing sedate about that.
After their first time together, Seth had worried that the piñata effect was a one-time thing. That, once burst open, his heart was spent. Now, he was happy to find that it was a self-healing organ, already swelling with happiness. He’d never felt that before, that sex involved much more of him than his physical body. It was as if he’d discovered a sixth sensory organ. Or an extra penis. Heart penis.
Yeah, no.
“What are you laughing about?” Nate whispered, kissing Seth’s smile. Pressing on his shoulders, he propped himself over him when Seth lay back.
“Just—” He kissed Nate’s insistent mouth before finishing. “I was thinking dorky things. About myself. About how you make me feel.”
“How’s that?” The words were as much of a caress as Nate’s lips and fingers, brushing gently across Seth’s skin and making him shiver.
“How do I feel? About you?” Working his hands under Nate’s T-shirt, he peeled it up his back, tracing the bumps of his spine. Before he answered, he pulled the shirt over Nate’s head, skimming it along his arms and watching the skin pebble up at his touch. “Does it matter?” he teased.
“Yes.” Nate’s brows bunched, as if he actually thought Seth might be serious.
Seth smoothed them out with his fingertips, soothing the inner Nate with words. “I know it does.”
“So how do I make you feel?” Nate wasn’t playing any more, he needed an answer.
Gah. Just say it. “Cared for.” Definitely blushing. He could barely keep his gaze connected with Nate’s. “And caring.” As a declaration it was kind of weak. His self-protective instincts skittered away from saying it outright—the L-word—though he knew one thing he had to tell him now. Seth placed his palms on either side of Nate’s face and held him still. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone else. Ever.”
“Good,” Nate breathed. “That’s a—a good thing.” Nate kissed him for real, then, no playing around anymore. Then he began the serious business of working Seth’s shirt over his head. After, Seth executed a sneaky leg lock and rolled them both, still wrapped around each other, so that he was on top.
He pulled away until their lips were barely separated. His rubbed against Nate’s as he spoke. “There’s something I want to do.”
He felt rather than saw the muscles in Nate’s jaw tense up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Holding his breath, he waited a second for Nate’s response.
“Okay.” Nate swallowed.
As Seth worked his way down Nate’s naked chest and abdomen, muscles all over him got more tense rather than less, even with Seth using his gentlest touches. “Relax,” he whispered, then dipped his tongue in Nate’s belly button.
Nate squirmed. Okay, yeah, not the most calming caress. Seth switched his focus, tracing the lines of Nate’s ribs with his lips, speaking as he did. “It’s nothing weird. Not kinky. I just want to . . . taste you.”
Why he chickened out at the last second he wasn’t positive, but it probably had to do with the term blowjob seeming so out of place when talking about them, together. Nate would understand, wouldn’t he?
Seth tangled his fingers in the thickest line of Nate’s hair, the one that arrowed down from his navel. Following it until he could dig his fingertips under Nate’s waistband, he pulled open the top button of Nate’s jeans. That pop was such a satisfying sound. Also satisfying was the way Nate rolled his hips as Seth unwrapped him slowly. Now he was relaxed.
Time to wind up his sexual tension.
When he pulled Nate’s pants off, he followed them all the way down, rubbing a cheek against Nate’s erection while exploring his legs. They were as furry as the rest of him, of course, and strong. He took off Nate’s boxer briefs in the same teasing way, only coming back up to his dick when he had him completely naked.
Nate’s skin reached its full glory on his cock. A delicious shade of purple red. “Fine wine.”
“What?” Nate gusted a brief laugh.
“The color of your dick.” Seth kissed it. “It’s burgundy.”
When he pulled it into his mouth, Nate gasped. Like everything else with Nate, this was completely different. That extra sense guided him, and for the first time in his life, sucking cock was emotional as well as physical. Underneath all the normal sensations—the taste of Nate’s skin and the smell of his body and the stroke of Nate’s fingers on his face—was another layer Seth had never known was there. A part of Nate that was more energy than mass, and responded to Seth’s touch, and even shared the sensations with him. When he moved his tongue a certain way or took him especially deep, he could feel it as a ghost touch on his own dick, and it made him crazy. He wanted it to be good for Nate, because he wanted everything to be good for him, but also because that made it better for himself, which made him want to make it better for Nate and so on, until Seth was writhing, nearly ready to come against the sheets, heart deafening in his ears.
Just as Nate was about to explode—Seth could sense it, right there, reaching for him—he sat, curling his body over Seth’s, and touched him everywhere he could reach, all at once, as if he couldn’t stand coming on his own and
he was trying to increase that biofeedback loop. Nate’s groan vibrated in Seth’s throat, and when he came, Seth only had to touch his own dick before he was too, a beat behind Nate’s orgasm and surfing its waves.
When he hauled himself up Nate’s body and snuggled up to Nate’s chest, they were both breathing hard. Nate worked his hand under Seth’s chin, into his beard, and tilted it so he could kiss him. So deep it felt almost like sucking him off again. He rolled so they were side by side, gentling his kisses slowly. Seth wasn’t sure when they stopped exactly, just that eventually they were lying there, his forehead against Nate’s chin and Nate’s arm weighing him down. Keeping him there.
Good. Seth wasn’t planning on letting go of him, either.
When Nate awoke the next morning, Seth was cuddled against his side, his head on Nate’s chest. Seth hadn’t put any product on after his post-crabbing shower last night, and now his hair was soft and a little flyaway against Nate’s neck and chin. Nate found it incredibly endearing—as if Seth had lowered all his shields, trusting Nate to see him without artifice.
Last night had been . . . unexpected—a word Nate was starting to associate entirely with Seth. It could be his epithet—the unexpected Seth Larson. Or his superhero power: Seth the Unexpected, surprising even the most jaded of opponents. Nate had no desire to be an opponent though—after last night, partner echoed in his heart as a deep contentment settled into his bones.
Seth murmured in his sleep and snuggled closer, and Nate tightened his arm around him. Wonder what he’ll decide to do, now that he’ll have the chance to follow his dreams? What were his dreams, exactly? It wasn’t like he’d ever had the opportunity to do anything about them, not with his family using him as unpaid labor for the last decade or more. With his eclectic skillset, he could do anything he wanted.
Nate cataloged possible careers for Seth in his mind. Would he be interested in a job on Wolf’s Landing? Excitement tingled in Nate’s belly. That would be perfect. If Seth got into one of the tech departments—set construction, for instance, which he could totally do, if his work on Sentinel House was any example—then he’d be qualified for other jobs in Hollywood once the show wound down and they had to leave Bluewater Bay.