Forever Read online

  By TINNEAN

  NOVELS

  Bless Us With Content

  SPY VS. SPOOK SERIES

  Houseboat on the Nile

  Not My Spook!

  Forever

  NOVELLAS

  Call Me Church

  No One Should Be Alone

  To Love Through Space and Time

  Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  Copyright

  Published by

  Dreamspinner Press

  382 NE 191st Street #88329

  Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Forever

  Copyright © 2012 by Tinnean

  Cover Art by Paul Richmond http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 382 NE 191st Street #88329, Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  ISBN: 978-1-62380-118-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  November 2012

  eBook edition available

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-62380-119-9

  Dedication

  As always, this is for Bob, who empties the dishwasher, folds the laundry, picks up takeout, runs the vacuum over the carpet, and walks the pup when he visits so I have the time to write.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to the fanfic_med list for the information about chatter in the ambulance and to Tracy for going the extra mile and clarifying it for me. Members of that list also gave me some great advice about Epsom salts, as did my good friend Tony. Tim Mead and Jim helped by looking this over in its earlier stages, and I thank them muchly. And finally, to Gail, more thanks than I can say.

  Author’s Note

  A brief reminder that this takes place in 2002. The directions for taking ibuprofen recommend not more than one tablet every four to six hours. Mark, being Mark, will do as he chooses. His F.Y. account is patterned after Humphrey Bogart’s. If Jack Warner ever tried to prod him into making a movie he didn’t want to, Bogie would have enough money set aside so he could tell him “Fuck you.” The recipe for Monte Cristos that Mark used for brunch is from Rachael Ray at http://www.foodnetwork.com. Juan Santamaria International Airport is twenty kilometers from San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica, and is the second-busiest airport in Central America, after Tocumen International Airport in Panama. And a final note: needless to say, San Diego didn’t beat the Buccaneers in the 2003 Super Bowl.

  Coming Home

  I

  QUINTON MANN and I were having a late dinner at Raphael’s. The posh Italian restaurant had sort of become our place, and we dined there at least twice a month, in the shadowed alcove that had also sort of become ours. That was where we’d sat back in February, when Quinn had bought me dinner for my birthday.

  This time he ordered stufato dei pesci, Raphael’s version of bouillabaisse, with a side dish of linguine, and he talked me into parmigiana di melanzane.

  “I don’t eat purple vegetables, Quinn.”

  “Eggplant is good for you. Besides, you don’t have enough roughage in your diet.” He brought his napkin to his mouth.

  “Excuse me? How do you know how much roughage I eat?”

  “I have my ways.” Above the napkin, his eyes were green with laughter. He was teasing me.

  “Bastard.” It was said without heat; I liked that he teased me. My cock twitched.

  “Mark. I’m cut to the quick!”

  “Sure you are. And I’m just brokenhearted about it.”

  “Well, so you should be.” He refilled his wine glass and raised the bottle. “Mark?”

  “Not tonight.”

  He looked thoughtful, but he didn’t hassle me. Unlike Ed, my idiot partner. I’d told him once I went easy on the sauce, and I nearly had to knock him on his ass when he kept insisting. And then, of course, he went down to South America and got dead.

  The waiter approached and whisked away the empty antipasto platters. “Are you done with your salads, signori?” At our nods, he took them as well. “Your dinners will be out shortly.”

  Quinn reached for a breadstick and opened his mouth to say something when a warm, female voice interrupted.

  “Hello, Quinn. I didn’t expect to see you here!” It was Lieutenant Colonel Francis, the Marine who worked at the Office of the Inspector General. She did a good job, and if she’d been a man I’d have tried to get her to leave the military and come work for the WBIS.

  “Abigail. I might say the same thing.”

  Abigail? I arched an eyebrow at my lover, and he looked puzzled. Ah. So in spite of her looks and intelligence, I didn’t need to consider her a possible rival.

  “Mann!” Major Jonathan Drum II didn’t appear too pleased to see him. Did he have something against the man having a decent dinner?

  “Hello, Drum. You both know Mark Vincent, don’t you?” Quinn was so polite.

  Drum turned his glare on me. “What’s he doing here?”

  I looked down at the table, at the breadsticks, the wine glasses, the cutlery, then back up at him. “Having dinner? That is what one does in a restaurant, Major.”

  Under the table, Quinn nudged my ankle with his foot, indicating he didn’t want me to start anything.

  Drum, on the other hand, seemed to be itching for a fight.

  “I’m going to get you, Vincent!”

  “And my little dog too?”

  Drum ignored that, although both Quinn and the lieutenant colonel bit back laughter. “I’m going to nail your ass to the wall!”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “It was your fault, what happened to me in Paris!”

  “I thought you didn’t remember what happened in Paris.” This time Quinn kicked my ankle, and I gave him an injured look.

  “You were behind it! I don’t know how, but it was all your fault! You’re a sociopath!”

  I was no longer amused, and my chair scraped back as I prepared to rise and beat the shit out of him. Drum had been calling me a sociopath for years, and it was getting old. Just because I did my job well—

  “Abigail, I think you’d better get your dinner companion out of here. I don’t know how long I can keep Vincent under control.” Quinn had his hand on my arm, as if he really was preventing me from lunging at the major, tearing off his head, and using it for a bocce ball.

  “Jesus, Mann, how can you even bear to be in the same room with Vincent, never mind at the same table?”

  “I hardly think that’s any of your business, Major.”

  “If word gets out—”

  “But it’s not going to, is it, Drum?” I wasn’t going to let him threaten my lover.

  He stared at me. His eyes grew wide and his face took on a sickly shade of green. “What…? You….”

  Yeah, believe it, Drum. I’ll shoot you where you stand.

  The maître d’ came scurrying to our table. “Is there a problem, signori? Lovely signorina, what may I do to assist you?”

  “Nothing. I apologize for the disturbance, signore. Let’s go, Jon. I told you I’d rather have Thai tonight.”

  “Friiitttzzz!” He seemed to have recovered himself because the whine w
as back in his voice.

  Lieutenant Colonel Francis gave an almost unnoticeable wince at the sound. “I hate when he calls me that!” she muttered. I couldn’t blame her—I hated that nickname for Francis myself, but fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about it—but maybe she wasn’t WBIS material if she was willing to put up with him. “You know you won’t be comfortable in the same restaurant as Vincent, and I’m not going to be comfortable if you spend the entire time we’re having dinner glaring at him. I’m sorry, Quinton.” She studied me for a moment. “I wonder what your two agencies are up to. Let’s go, Jon.”

  She looped her arm through his, and he barely contained a flinch. Had the lieutenant colonel let him feel her claws?

  Quinn watched as she practically dragged Drum out of the place; then he shook his head, but before he could say anything, our dinners were brought out and placed before us.

  “Would you like some grated cheese, signori?”

  “Ah, let’s live dangerously! Knock yourself out,” I told the waiter, and he sprinkled cheese over my dinner like snow.

  Quinn laughed. “All right, why not? I’ll have some on my pasta.” He signaled when he was satisfied with the amount.

  “Buon appetito.” The waiter left us.

  I picked up my fork. “Y’know, Quinn, I wish I knew what Major Drum has against me. I’m really a nice guy.”

  “You are, Mark.” He appeared to be categorizing the shellfish in his stew. “Did you notice he mentioned your ass? He does seem to have a fixation with it. Quite frankly, I think there’s a latent lust for you under all that hostility.”

  I started choking on my eggplant parmigiana. “Oh, Jesus, I’m going to have nightmares over that for months!”

  “Well, if you do have nightmares, I’ll just have to wake you up.” He frowned for a second. I wondered if there was something in his meal that didn’t please him, and I started looking for our waiter. But then Quinn fished a mussel out of the bowl before him and loosened the flesh from its shell with one of those tiny forks. He tipped his head back and let the contents of the shell slide into his mouth. He swallowed thoughtfully before touching his napkin to his lips. “What would be a good way to wake you up, babe?”

  As if he didn’t know. I growled at him and forked up a bit of eggplant.

  “Are you free next weekend?” His foot went back to rubbing my ankle. “I’ve got tickets for the Phantom on Saturday evening; I can give them to Mother if I have to, but I’d rather not. I promised you.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” When he’d taken me to this restaurant for my birthday, almost seven months before. “I’ll check my schedule.” But I intended to make sure I was free.

  II

  I SPENT most weekends with Quinn when I wasn’t working, and most times we wound up in his town house in Alexandria. Almost as much of my wardrobe was in his closet as there was in my own in my apartment in DC.

  But this time I brought a garment bag with me. It contained a three-piece black suit, a white dress shirt, and a black silk tie.

  They were all new. The little tailor at Putting on the Ritz nearly had an orgasm when he realized I was going to buy a made-to-measure suit.

  “I like the way you look in that suit, Mark.”

  “Thanks, Quinn. You’re looking pretty edible yourself.”

  His suit could have been the twin of mine, although his shirt was pale green and his tie a darker shade of green. Color was high on his cheekbones as he approached me.

  He stood toe to toe with me, and he pulled my head down to lean his forehead against mine. His breath was hot on my mouth. “I want to strip that suit off you and fuck you over the couch.”

  My cock began to swell. Usually I was the one who fucked him. I reached for him, and my fingers flexed on his hip. “But…?”

  He sighed. “It would make us late.”

  “We could be fashionably late.”

  For a moment he wavered but then said, “Don’t tempt me.”

  “Spoilsport. Okay, fine, Quinn. We’ll just consider the entire evening as foreplay, then. But when we get home….” I sauntered out of the door ahead of him, leaving my promise hanging.

  III

  I’D PLANNED to torment him throughout the entire play, but our seats were in the orchestra, it was a sold-out performance, and fuck if I didn’t get caught up in the action on stage.

  I poked him with my elbow. “That isn’t the Phantom!” I whispered, indicating the red-costumed, skeleton-faced figure coming down the stairs at the masquerade. “Watch the way he walks. That guy is shorter too. Jesus, those people are stupid!”

  “No one’s ever seen him. Not and lived.”

  “I’ll bet the Wardrobe Mistress has. How would she get all those letters she keeps whipping out of her pocket?”

  I tapped my fingers restlessly on the arm of my seat. Quinn placed his hand over them. “Mark, you’re supposed to suspend disbelief.”

  “Yeah, well, they are stupid.”

  “Yeah, well”—he squeezed my hand—“suspend.”

  IV

  “DID you enjoy it, Mark?” We’d stopped for an after-theater drink and now were on the road back to Quinn’s town house.

  “Yeah, it was pretty good.”

  I had to feel sorry for the Phantom. Poor bastard. He was ready to give that woman his heart, and what did she do? She went sailing through the Labyrinth with that “insolent boy,” Raoul. So, okay, he had a thing about killing people who crossed him. That didn’t make him a bad person. What the Phantom should have done when he had Raoul swinging in that noose was yank his pants down and fuck the idea out of him that he was the one for Christine. Then he should have fucked her, and then he should have thrown them both out of his Opera house.

  “Only pretty good? Wasn’t that you standing beside me, giving the cast a standing ovation?”

  “Well… they did a good job and deserved it.” I reached across the seat and ran my fingers over his thigh. The muscle jumped beneath my hand, and I grinned. “Thanks for getting the tickets, Quinn.”

  “You’re welcome, Mark.” He pulled the Lexus into his drive and let me out. The one-car garage was too narrow for both of us to comfortably exit the vehicle.

  I waited by the end of the walk, keeping a casual eye on the neighborhood—one could never tell, and it didn’t hurt to play it safe—and Quinn thumbed the remote and the garage door slid shut.

  I had the key he had given me, but unless I was alone, I always waited for him to open the door. It was his home, after all.

  Once inside, he reset the alarm. I went up to the second floor, prowling through the bedrooms, making sure everything was secure, while Quinn did the same on the first floor. We’d both been in the business too long to get careless.

  I hung up my suit jacket and was just unbuttoning my vest when I heard Quinn coming up the stairs.

  “Mark?”

  “In here, babe.”

  Sexual heat went through me like a flash fire.

  Quinn stood in the doorway, one hand negligently on the doorframe, the other on his hip. I let my eyes wander over him, and my mouth went dry.

  His vest hung open over his flat stomach, his tie was loosened, the top buttons of his shirt were undone, and his feet were bare. His obvious arousal marred the smooth line of his trousers.

  “You’re not planning on sleeping in here, are you?”

  “Only if you’re joining me.”

  “My bed is more comfortable.” He pushed off the door and sauntered toward me.

  “I’ve noticed. Why is that?”

  “The better to lure you into it.”

  “Ah. You’re luring me, are you?”

  “Of course. What better way to have my way with you?”

  “Devious to the core. I like that about you, Quinn.”

  “I thought you would.” He wrapped my tie around his fist and gave a slight tug. “Come on, tough guy.”

  I didn’t tell him he was wrinkling my tie. I didn’t care. I followed him down
the hall and into his bedroom, leaving clothes like a trail of breadcrumbs as I went, until all I wore was that tie.

  The overhead light was off, but lamps scattered around the room cast a warm, sensual glow.

  The lightweight summer bedspread had been folded back to the foot of the bed. On the nightstands on either side of the bed were tubes of Wet and a handful of condoms.

  Quinn really hadn’t been taking a chance when he’d sucked me off on my birthday. I’d been so wrapped up in my job that I hadn’t gone to bed with anyone, male or female, in at least six months.

  The WBIS, a conscientious employer, saw its employees were tested periodically, and I was clean. Which Quinn had known, having managed to get hold of my records.

  After that incident in the men’s room of Raphael’s, and in an effort to persuade myself that I wasn’t obsessing over that CIA spook, I’d fucked Pierre de Becque, the Division cold op who was my friend, but even then, I’d used a condom, and not simply because it made sense. I never let anyone get close to me.

  Until Mann.

  The little voice in the back of my mind had finally shut up with the snarky comments. Maybe it was simply overjoyed that I’d found myself in an actual, honest-to-God relationship, and with Quinton Mann, of all people. Whatever it was, I intended to enjoy the blessed silence.

  More importantly, I intended to enjoy Quinn.

  He used the tie to bring me close, then lifted it over my head, curled his hand around my neck, and brought my mouth down to his. The kiss hinted of need. He flicked his tongue out and probed the seam of my lips, and I groaned, but he didn’t take advantage of my open mouth to ravage it. Instead, he drew back.

  “Lie down.” His voice was hoarse, but his eyes were steady on mine. He tossed his tie aside to join mine somewhere on the floor, removed his shirt, removed his trousers. The corner of his mouth curved in a grin. “I’m waiting, Mark. On your back.”