You Were Made for Me Page 15

  Chili Valdez had been kind enough to fly me down to Columbia, although I’d be on my own getting home, since she was picking up a passenger who needed to be flown to Puerto Vallarta. I rented a car in Cartagena, drove to Barichara, and succeeded in learning… not very much.

  Either nothing had happened, or someone with a good deal of money had been at great pains to make sure no one “remembered” it.

  Whichever it was, none of the women in the lavandería—the laundromat that replaced the taverna—was willing to talk to me, suddenly unable to understand my Spanish, whereas they’d had no problem only minutes before.

  I was sorry I wouldn’t have anything to share with Mark, but I had to get home. The wedding was going to be in two days, so I cut short my impromptu investigation, drove back to Cartagena, and caught the first flight to Dulles.

  ~*~

  I LET MYSELF INTO the condo and set down two suitcases—I’d had to purchase the second one to contain all the casual clothes I’d bought with Bryan’s help.

  Mark came out of the kitchen and stood there with his hands fisted on his hips.

  “Hi, babe.” I walked up to him and waited for him to pull me into a kiss.

  He backed away, holding out a hand, and I sighed. This didn’t look good.

  “You found out.”

  “Damn straight I found out,” he growled.

  I sighed again. “I’m sorry you had to learn this way. I intended to tell you myself.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about it now?”

  “There really isn’t much to tell. The tavern burned down some years ago, and—”

  “What?”

  “What do you mean, what? I thought I was quite clear—”

  “I want to know what you were doing throwing your shoes at Giles Stapleton.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh.”

  “It was only one shoe.” I brushed the hair out of my eyes and offered him a smile. It didn’t work.

  “The guy is a whack job. He was holding a gun on you.”

  “Actually, he was holding it on Valentine.”

  “Jesus, Quinn. You drive me crazy.”

  “Good.” I removed my jacket, draped it over one of the chairs in the breakfast nook, and approached him. If he wasn’t going to make the first move and kiss me, then I’d make that move and kiss him. But before I could, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

  “What are you wearing?”

  I looked down at myself. It was one of the outfits from Hunter’s Closet, a dark green polo, beige cotton trousers, and tan suede running shoes.

  “Do you like it?” I held out my arms and turned in a circle.

  He raked me with his gaze and swallowed, then reached out, grabbed my arm, and began dragging me out of the kitchen.

  “Mark!” I laughed as I allowed him to manhandle me into our master bedroom.

  “God, you look so hot.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And I like the clothes you’re wearing—by the way, that shirt brings out the green in your eyes.”

  That was why I’d chosen to wear it today.

  “But I’ll like it even better when you’re out of them.”

  Before I realized it, my polo shirt was off over my head and flying across the room. While Mark was busy undoing my belt, I toyed with the idea of making him do all the work, then decided against it and toed off my running shoes. Or tried to. The damned laces were done up too tight, and I couldn’t get them off without stooping and untying them, but that wasn’t happening.

  Mark didn’t let that stop him, however. He shoved my trousers down my legs, along with my boxers, and pushed me back onto the bed.

  We’d been doing this for so long it didn’t take much to prepare me. A couple of slicked fingers inside me, and then they were replaced by his slicked cock, and I shivered and groaned.

  And then I groaned again. I’d tried to wrap my legs around him, but my feet were still trapped by my shoes and trousers.

  “Dammit, Mark—”

  “Consider this your punishment.”

  “Oooh. Kinky.”

  “Bastard.” He nipped my chin. “I nearly pissed myself when Spike told me you faced down a gun with a shoe.”

  “I didn’t—” I lost my train of thought as he began driving into me. I’d missed this. Phone sex was all well and good, but it couldn’t compare to the real thing.

  He twined his fingers in mine and kept my hands above my head.

  “God, Mark…”

  He thrust into me, deep and hard, whispering hot words in my ear that I could barely distinguish for the fog of lust that engulfed me. The feel of his abdomen dragging over my cock drove me wild, and I rocked up against him, needing more of that abrasive sensation. I couldn’t help whining, because it wasn’t enough.

  And then it was too much. In spite of the fact that we’d been having phone sex almost every night, I felt my balls tighten.

  Mark began cursing. “No, goddamn it, not yet. Quinn, don’t you—”

  But it was too late. My climax overtook me, and thick, hot ropes of semen painted my torso. I writhed, and my inner muscles clamped down on him, and I was filled with the heat of his climax.

  “Your fault,” I muttered drowsily. “You made me come too fast.”

  He growled, latched onto the side of my throat, and began sucking.

  “You’re going to mark me.”

  “Wear a turtleneck.” But he stopped.

  I couldn’t help laughing. “I love you, Mark.”

  “Don’t try to soften me up.” He released my hands. “I’m mad at you.”

  “Val and I agreed you would be, mostly because you weren’t there.”

  He reared back and glared down at me. “Think you know me so fucking well?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  The glare morphed into a rueful grin. “Yeah, you do.”

  I was surprised he’d given in with almost no fight. “I’m sorry you worried, but I’m a big boy, and I can take care of myself.”

  I bit my lip. His cock had softened, and I waited for him to pull out of me and bring up Paris and Holmes and the Wyman Brothers Warehouse.

  Instead, he settled himself on me, letting me feel his weight, but not to the point where it was uncomfortable. “Why’d you go down to Barichara?” he asked.

  “Bryan learned the tavern was gone, and I wanted to find out what had happened to it.”

  “Thanks, babe. I know what happened to it, though. Someone set fire to it. The bartender was trapped inside and burned with the tavern.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Yeah. Not a good way to go.”

  “But… how did you know this? Neither Bryan nor I were able to get that information. Oh, wait. You’re the best.”

  “Well, I am.” He kissed me. “What do you say we get your shoes and trousers off and take a shower together?”

  I could see he wasn’t going to tell me more. Not at this point, at any rate. But I knew eventually he’d tell me everything.

  “Then we’ll go have dinner at Raphael’s.”

  “Of course.” It was Friday, after all.

  ~*~

  “WHAT ARE THE PLANS for traveling up to Long Island for the wedding?” I asked Mark after we finished ordering and waited for our appetizers to arrive.

  “I booked a through flight to JFK out of Dulles. We could either take the six thirty-eight or the ten nineteen.”

  I knew that had to be a.m., since the wedding was scheduled to take place at 4:00 p.m.

  “And we have to be at the airport two hours in advance,” I observed. That meant no matter which flight he’d chosen, we’d most likely make an early night of it on Saturday—Portuguese takeout, movies, and making out on the couch in front of the TV.

  “At least.” He glanced at me from the corner of his eye.

  “You booked the ten nineteen, I hope.” At least then we wouldn’t have to arrive at Dulles at zero dark thirty.

  He was silent
for a beat, then grinned at me. “Yeah.”

  “Then I imagine we’d better pack tomorrow night.”

  “It won’t take much. I already have our tuxes in their garment bags, and we’ll just need a carry-on for toiletries and a change of clothes for the return flight.”

  “And of course the wedding gifts.”

  “Of course.”

  Just then, Cesare bustled up to the table with our appetizers, tomato caprese with fresh burrata and mussels in white wine and a lemon butter sauce.

  “Buon appetito,” he said.

  “Thanks, Cesare.”

  He grinned and went off to see to his other customers, and Mark stared down at the mussels.

  However, instead of demanding, “Whose idea was it to order these anyway?” he placed a few on his plate and teased the flesh out of the shell. “Now, suppose you tell me all the things you didn’t mention that happened on the set of The Food of Love?”

  I swallowed a smile, reached for some mussels myself, and began to fill him in

  X

  AUGUST 31 TURNED OUT to be a lovely Sunday. We flew from Dulles to JFK, rented a car—I had to laugh when I saw it was a Dodge—and drove out to the Terryville Inn on the north shore of Long Island. Because we were there for the Bascopolis/Matheson wedding and reception, we were permitted to register early. Mark filled out the form.

  “Not going to use Joseph Wells and Charles Reed?” I asked softly.

  He gave me a look. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say something so amateurish.”

  “I beg your pardon. It must be because I’m no longer with the Company.”

  He snorted and handed the form to the front desk clerk.

  “Welcome to the Terryville Inn, Mr. Vincent,” the clerk said. He looked past us. “Mrs. Matheson. Are you feeling all right?”

  Mark and I both turned to see a very pretty, very pregnant woman approach the desk. “I’m fine, Del. Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  “Not a problem, Mrs. Matheson.” Mark held out his hand. “I’m Vincent, Matheson’s boss and Theo’s friend.”

  She smiled and took his hand, absently rubbing her abdomen at the same time. “Mr. Vincent, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

  “The pleasure is mine.” He returned her smile.

  Mark rarely revealed his gentlemanly side—two and a half years ago, before I’d gotten to know him, I would have been surprised by it.

  “This is my partner, Quinton Mann.”

  “Mr. Mann. I want to thank you both for being here to support Theo. That family of his…” She shook her head. “And of course Wills is gratified that you agreed to come.”

  “They’re both fine young men,” I hurried to say, and Mark gave me a sardonic look, as if to ask what had I been expecting him to say?

  Fortunately, Mrs. Matheson had turned back to the desk clerk and didn’t notice. “Have you seen the groom?” she asked him.

  “As a matter of fact, both grooms left a couple of hours ago. I heard your son say something about Jones Beach.”

  Mrs. Matheson groaned and shook her head again. “That boy. That’s at least an hour’s drive south.”

  “Matheson is good with time management,” Mark said.

  “He always was. Well, he’ll be back on time if he doesn’t want to miss his own wedding.” She gave us a rueful smile.

  “Yes,” I said, returning her smile. “I don’t imagine he’ll want to miss it.” I wouldn’t.

  “We’re about to sit down for lunch. It’s just the immediate family and some of Theo’s friends who flew up for the weekend. Would you and Mr. Mann care to join us? We’re in the Sunrise Room.”

  Mark glanced at me, and I gave a slight nod. “Thanks, we’d enjoy that.” He turned to the desk clerk and scooped up our key cards. “We’ll just bring our bags to our room and meet you there.”

  ~*~

  “HOW LONG DO YOU think lunch will be?” I asked as we entered our room. I removed our tuxes from the garment bags.

  “Why? Did you have something planned?” Mark watched as I hung up the trousers, the jackets, the dress shirts, then laid out the cummerbunds, bow ties, and shirt studs on the dresser.

  “If there’s time, I thought we could return here, make love before we shower…”

  “Make love, huh?” He opened the carry-on and took out the gift-wrapped boxes.

  “Why yes. I thought you’d enjoy it.”

  “You bet your ass I would. We’ll keep lunch short then, okay?” He grinned and handed me one of the boxes, and we headed back to the first floor and the Sunrise Room, where a buffet lunch had been set up.

  “Vince! Quinn!” Valentine waved to us from the table where he and Paul sat, and we strolled over to join them. They already had plates before them that were piled high with ribs, burgers, fries, and… I couldn’t help chuckling… salad. Val shrugged and bumped his shoulder against Paul’s. “You’d better get in line.”

  Before we could, Mrs. Matheson made her way slowly toward us, again rubbing her abdomen. “I’m so glad you’re here. I just wish Wills and Theo were. They’re making me so nervous…”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. M. They’ll be back in plenty of time,” Paul assured her as he dipped a fry in ketchup.

  “From your lips to God’s ears.”

  “Mrs. Matheson, is there any place in particular you’d like us to put the gifts?” I asked.

  She looked around, then called, “JR!”

  A tall young man who had her strawberry-blond hair and blue eyes joined us. “Yes, Mom?”

  “This is Mr. Vincent and Mr. Mann. My son, John, gentlemen.”

  His eyes took on a panicky expression as he stared at Mark, but Mark just held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, JR.”

  He blew out a relieved breath. “You too, Mr. Vincent. Wills has talked about you quite a bit.”

  “JR, would you mind taking the gifts Mr. Vincent and Mr. Mann brought and put them on the gift table?”

  “Sure thing, Mom.” He seemed more relaxed now. “I’ll see you later.” He grinned, took the gifts, and hurried off.

  “You have a very handsome son,” I told her.

  “Thank you.” She blushed with pleasure. “Jack and I are proud of all our children.” She rubbed her abdomen again.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “I’m fine. It’s these Braxton-Hicks contractions.”

  A man who was somewhat older than her came up to us. “I’ve made you a plate, Jilly.”

  “I’m not really hungry.” At his concerned look, she continued, “I’m saving my appetite for later. From how Theo described dinner, it’s going to be amazing, and I want to do it justice.” She grinned at us. “This handsome worrywart is Jack, my husband and Wills’s father. Jack, this is Mark Vincent and Quinton Mann, his partner.”

  He nodded toward me but reached for Mark’s hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Vincent. William has spoken a good deal about Huntingdon. I have to tell you it’s a relief to know our son works for a company that has such a liberal policy toward gays.”

  “I wouldn’t work for any other kind.”

  “If only more were like that.”

  “Your son bears a strong resemblance to you, Mr. Matheson,” I said.

  “Actually, he looks more like his mother. My first wife,” he clarified.

  “It’s a pleasure meeting someone who’s so relaxed about his son’s sexuality.”

  “I wasn’t when I first learned of it. Oh, not because of concerns about who he loved, but more that he’d never have a child in his mother’s image.”

  “Jack loved Sophia very much and was devastated when he lost her in a car accident,” Jill Matheson told us. “That’s why I snapped him up when I had the opportunity. I knew what a good man I’d be getting.”

  Color rose in Mr. Matheson’s face, and he cleared his throat. She reached up on tiptoe and kissed the corner of his mouth, then turned to us. “You haven’t eaten yet. We’ll leave you to en
joy your lunch.”

  “Thank you, it was nice talking with you.”

  She looped her arm in her husband’s, and they walked toward a table where an older couple waited.

  Mark and I went to the buffet, picked up plates, and examined the selections.

  “They seem like a very nice couple.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What was going on with their son?”

  Mark slanted me a look. “He came down to DC last spring to help out a friend and nearly got hauled off to Juvie for soliciting in the process.”

  “Ah. And his mother is unaware.”

  “Aside from Theo and Matheson, the whole family is unaware.”

  “John was afraid you’d let that slip.”

  “Yeah. Well, he doesn’t know me. Now, suppose we finish making our selections and join Paul and Spike.”

  “That works for me.”

  ~*~

  LUNCH WAS AN enjoyable experience. As we ate, Valentine caught Mark up on what had happened on the set of The Food of Love.

  Val stopped in the middle of the story about the alternate scene between Charlie and Andrew Smith. “Vince? You don’t seem surprised.”

  Mark gave me a look, and for a second I couldn’t catch my breath. “Quinn kept me up-to-date.”

  “Well, shoot.”

  Paul rubbed his arm. “It’s okay, baby.”

  Val gave a huff, and I swallowed a smile and checked my watch.

  “I think we’d better get back to our room. I’m still a little jet-lagged, and I want to take a nap so I’ll be able to dance the night away. We’ll see you later.”

  They muffled their laughter and watched with eyes a little too interested as we left the dining room.

  “Forget about it, babe,” Mark said.

  So I did, and the time Mark and I spent in our room before we had to shower and dress—as it turned out, no napping was involved—was actually more enjoyable than lunch.

  XI

  THE WEDDING CEREMONY was scheduled to start in a few minutes, and the Unitarian minister waited in the little gazebo on the Inn’s sprawling back lawn.

  Folding chairs had been set up to accommodate an astounding number of guests, and Mark and I took our seats on Theo’s side of the aisle.

  “I didn’t realize Theo had such a large family.”