You Were Made for Me Page 23

  “Fuck me sideways with a spoon.”

  “What do you think of it?”

  “I’m… I’m speechless.” I was. I’d never expected anything like this in a place where I lived.

  The space seemed enormous and included a lap pool that looked about twenty-five or thirty feet in length. There was also an area dedicated to workout equipment: a treadmill, a Stairmaster, a rowing machine, a stationary bicycle, and a weight bench and a set of weights.

  Best of all, though, was a fencing area that pretty much ran the length of the third floor. A variety of swords was on the wall—sabers, foils, and épées, as well as jackets, gloves, and masks.

  “Shower?” I asked.

  Quinn pointed toward the rear of the house. “With dual showerheads.”

  “You did this.” I remembered him saying something about it the day the shit hit the fan at the CIA, but I hadn’t thought much about it. Damned if I wasn’t getting turned on.

  “Yes. Theo’s architect put me in touch with someone who specializes in this.”

  “You’ve been a busy boy, haven’t you? Thank you.” I pulled him into my arms and held him tight. “Thank you.”

  He ran his palm up and down my spine, then cupped my butt and squeezed. “Could I interest you in a match?”

  I drew back and grinned into his eyes, and damned if they didn’t have that green tint. “You bet your ass.”

  “Are we playing for stakes?”

  “Why not?”

  We hung our ties on the handlebars of the stationary bike, then rolled up our sleeves.

  “Épées or foils, Mark?”

  “I’ll give you a break.” I let the corner of my mouth tip up. “Épées.” That was his sword of choice, and I didn’t want to take advantage of him.

  “Ass.” He snorted.

  We geared up, made sure our blades had buttons on the tips, then saluted and began to fence.

  ~*~

  AFTER DUELING TO A draw, we were sweaty and panting and aroused. I flung aside my épée, shoved Quinn back against a wall, and took his mouth in a kiss I couldn’t control. Quinn was no shrinking violet. He kissed me back just as hard, biting at my lips and filling my mouth with his breathy groans.

  I started tugging at his clothes.

  “Here?”

  “Why not?”

  “We’ve got a perfectly good bed downstairs.”

  He had a point. Not that I wanted to admit it, but we were getting too… mature to make love on hardwood floors. And besides, there weren’t any supplies up here. “Okay.”

  We didn’t bother taking the elevator, just took the stairs and got down as fast as possible without falling on our faces.

  Once in our bedroom, Quinn shed his clothes; I turned down the blue comforter and the blue sheet, and then I hurried to catch up with him. We fell into bed, and I opened the drawer of my nightstand.

  “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “No lube.”

  “Hmm.” Quinn rolled toward his nightstand. “Shit indeed. There’s nothing here either.”

  And we’d used up the last of our lube the night before in New York.

  I started to laugh. “I’ll bet Portia thought Theo would cover it, and Theo wouldn’t want to put something like that where a classy lady like your mother would see it.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.” He tilted his head. “I suppose we could use spit.”

  “No.”

  “We have before.”

  “Yeah, but we’re going to dinner in a few hours, and I don’t want you limping.”

  “What to do, what to do?”

  I pulled him against my side. “We’ll think of something.”

  And as it turned out, we did. A little bit of blowjob, a little bit of hand job—it made for a nice way to pass the afternoon.

  III

  ALTHOUGH WE’D SHOWERED before we left the Bonheur earlier in the day, we took another shower after we woke from a three-hour nap and a final round of oral sex.

  Afterward, we dressed in sweats. It wouldn’t pay to put on clothes we’d have to change out of as soon as Paul brought our tuxes back from the cleaners.

  I was lacing up my jogging shoes when chimes rang out throughout the house.

  “Our doorbell?” I picked up my Llama Mini-Max. Quinn didn’t ask me if I felt it was necessary. He’d started to reach for his own, but he paused.

  “Yes, ‘The Hall of the Mountain King.’” He smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. I talked to Mother about this a few weeks ago. If you don’t care for it—”

  “Yeah?” I couldn’t help grinning as I had a sudden thought. “When we get back from dinner, you’re gonna fuck me like a mountain king.”

  He laughed. “I’ll look forward to taking you up on that.” He took a step toward me. “I’ll strip you off, one article of clothing at a time.”

  My mouth went dry, and I forgot about whoever might be at the front door. “And then?”

  “I’ll pin you down to the bed.”

  I swallowed, but it didn’t help—I couldn’t work up a mouthful of spit. “And then?”

  He picked up his Llama Mini-Max and walked toward the door.

  “Quinn? Then what?” I was right on his heels.

  He’d arrived at the door, but he turned so quickly I almost walked into him. He had an innocuous smile on his face. “Then I’ll lick that spot under your ear—you know, the spot that turns you to putty?”

  Shit. How could he be making me hard when we’d both come so explosively just a little while ago?

  It wouldn’t pay to act as if I didn’t know what he was talking about. “So you plan to make me beg?”

  He reached up, ran his fingertips over that spot under my ear, then tugged on my earlobe. “Do you have any objections?”

  “You know damned well I don’t.”

  “Good.” He brought my mouth down to his and brushed his lips against mine.

  Before we could deepen the kiss, the doorbell chimed again, this time more incessantly.

  “Goddammit, as much as I like Paul, I’m going to tear him a new one.”

  Quinn just laughed. “Come on.” I followed him down to the first floor, pissing and moaning the entire way. We had a couple of hours before we had to leave. Why had Paul shown up so early?

  In spite of how irritated I was, I still took the time to look through the peephole. Satisfied that it was Paul and Spike, I opened the door, and Paul thrust the garment bags at me. “Hi, Vince.”

  I stepped aside to let him enter. He and Spike were wearing tuxedoes. “A little overdressed, aren’t you?”

  Paul just grinned and shrugged, but Spike preened. “Isn’t this awesome? I’m gonna wear it to the Oscars next year.”

  “Do you think you’ll be nominated?” Quinn asked.

  Spike blushed. “No, but I’ve always wanted to go, and Mr. Conroy promised he’d get the cast tickets.”

  “We weren’t expecting you quite so soon,” I said. “Isn’t it a little early?” We’d informed everyone that dinner was going to be at six, and sitting around until then, wearing a monkey suit, was going to be tedious.

  “No.”

  Spike leaned close and whispered in Paul’s ear, “You’d better tell him.”

  “Tell me what?” He might have thought his whisper went no further than Paul’s ear, but I’d had no trouble hearing what he said.

  Paul sighed. “Theo should have told you.”

  “Told me what?” I repeated.

  “You’re not having a dinner. You’re having a reception.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Paul drew in a breath. “You’re having a reception. At the Elizabeth Monroe Room. At the Madison Arms.”

  “I know where the Elizabeth Monroe Room is.”

  “Yes, good. Theo booked it for six hours.”

  “Theo did? Why? We made arrangements for dinner at Raphael’s.”

  “That was the problem. The private room wasn’t large enough.�
�

  “Large enough for what? Quinn and I only planned for a small dinner.” And since my uncle and his family weren’t coming, that would make it even smaller.

  Paul shrugged. “All I know is that Theo said to get you to the Madison Arms fastest. Oh, and don’t worry about the cost. He’s got this.”

  “No.”

  “Out of the question.” Quinn and I spoke at the same time.

  “I told Theo you’d get pissy about this.”

  “He’s not Le Roi anymore.” Each year, the various stables of rent boys elected a leader, known as Le Roi. One of his responsibilities was to arrange balls for various holidays and occasions, and those balls… even the most minor of them… were elaborate and not cheap. The year Theo had been Le Roi, the cost for the New Year’s Eve Ball alone ran to well over a quarter of a million dollars.

  “No, but he got a great deal on the room because the boys are such good customers.”

  “He realized we didn’t need any kind of deal, didn’t he?”

  “Everyone can use a deal!” Paul’s shock was obvious. “Saving money is always important.”

  Yeah, considering how tight things must have been when the boys had first been booted out by their families, I guessed that made sense. But I still said, “Quinn and I will pay for it.”

  “Fine,” Paul huffed. “You can hash it out with Theo. Now, hurry up and get ready, would you please?” he urged for a third time. “You’re keeping your guests waiting.”

  I shifted the garment bags over my arm. “Come on, Quinn.” I paused at the bottom of the stairs. “We’ll be about fifteen minutes. There are beers in the fridge. Why don’t you get one? Not you, Spike—you’re underage. But you can have a Coke.”

  He thrust his lower lip out, as if to demonstrate how much of a kid he still was, but then he snickered. “Okay.”

  “It’s a good thing we already showered,” Quinn murmured as we took the stairs two at a time.

  “Did you know about this?”

  “No, I had no idea. But you know something, Mark? It’s going to be fun.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  ~*~

  WE WALKED INTO THE Elizabeth Monroe Room, and I came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the people there, including Pierre de Becque, Babineaux and Giuliani, and Femme and Homme. Jesus, who was minding Division?

  “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s have a round of applause for the grooms!”

  People stood and applauded. Quinn reached for my hand and held tight. For a second I wasn’t sure if he thought I was going to bolt out of the room, but a glance his way showed a proud grin. I squeezed his hand, and we went forward to greet our guests.

  I could see why Theo felt we needed the larger venue. Instead of the thirty or so friends and family members we’d expected, there were almost a hundred. Ten tables, each seating ten of our guests, formed a semicircle. Pristine white tablecloths covered them, and along with centerpieces of flowers and sheaves of autumn leaves were what I assumed were party favors. In addition, Theo had decided there had to be room for the band, because he sure as shit intended for there to be dancing.

  “Theo’s been planning this since you told him you were getting married,” Paul whispered. He and Spike were right behind us.

  So that was why Quinn’s godmother had been amused when we’d mentioned having an intimate dinner at Raphael’s. And this had to be why Lilly had looked confused. Even though she and Steve wouldn’t be attending, she must have been aware as well. What floored me was how so many people had kept it a secret.

  Four men were on the bandstand, a drummer, a keyboardist, a sax player, and the singer who it seemed was also going to make announcements, because he tapped the microphone, apologized with a grin when it screeched feedback, then said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the groom and the groom are requested to take the floor for their first dance.”

  I could have told him we’d danced together as husbands while we’d been up in New York, but everyone seemed pleased. In addition, Quinn looked happy, and I wasn’t going to wipe that expression from his face.

  “Would you mind if I led this time?” he asked.

  “Go for it.”

  His eyes lit up, and as he rested his hand on my lower back, the band began playing “At Last.” We started moving across the floor, and there was more applause.

  “Know something, babe?” I said in Quinn’s ear.

  “What?”

  “I’m really glad you said yes.”

  He leaned back and smiled into my eyes. “I’m really glad you asked.”

  “What would you have done if I hadn’t?”

  “Simple.” He reached up to caress my ear. “I’d have asked you.”

  ~*~

  AFTER WE’D WALTZED around the floor a few times, the rest of our guests joined us. We nodded and smiled and chatted in passing. I didn’t care if that drew a few surprised looks. I wasn’t Director of Interior Affairs today; I was Quinton Mann’s husband, and dammit, I could be civil.

  Theo steered Matheson over to us. He looked so pleased, I almost expected him to start boogying on the ceiling. “Do you like it, Vince? Isn’t it amazing? I always thought the Elizabeth Monroe was ideal for small parties.”

  Matheson stopped dancing. He looked extremely tense. “Sir, he just wanted to make this special—”

  “For fuck’s sake, stand down, Matheson. What do you think I’m going to do to him? In front of everyone?” I had to laugh, even as I shook my head.

  “Sorry, sir. I know this wasn’t what you expected.”

  “Maybe not.” I slid an arm around Quinn, squeezed his shoulder, and grinned down into eyes that reflected his love for me. “But it is gonna be fun.”

  Chapter 12: December 24, 2004

  THE FRONT OFFICE of the Internal Affairs department was empty. Ms. Parker, my secretary, had gone to the daycare facility where her little girl spent the days while her mom worked. Human Resources had set up a section of their corner of the seventh floor for the kids who were inundating the WBIS since The Boss had begun the new policy that encouraged our support staff to return after maternity leave. Matheson’s secretary was probably there too.

  Not much work got done on the day of the WBIS Christmas party beyond the kitchen staff decorating the cafeteria in preparation for the afternoon’s festivities and making sure there would be plenty to eat and drink.

  I’d called Quinn a few minutes earlier to make sure everything was moving along and he’d be here by three, when the party started. He’d just begun work on the sequel to Mind Games, which was the title his publishing company had insisted on, and I’d noticed when he got involved in the world of Dulcie Dylan, my character, and Bryce Bridger, Quinn’s, he tended to lose track of time.

  We wouldn’t stay long, because for some reason, my presence tended to make some of the senior directors tense, so we’d drop off the presents for the kids, wish everyone happy holidays, and return to my office so I could chase him around my desk. Then, since it was Friday, we’d go to Raphael’s for dinner.

  I sat back in my chair, crossed my legs, folded my hands behind my head, and imagined Quinn’s reaction when I caught him. I was just getting to the good part, where I unbuttoned my fly and lowered my trousers so Quinn could get at my cock, when my goddamned cell phone rang.

  “Vincent,” I growled into it.

  “Uh…” The voice on the other end sounded young, and for a second I wondered if some kid was pranking me. He swallowed. “I… I don’t know if you remember me. I’m… I’m Kit Vincent… Christopher… your cousin. We met at your mom’s funeral a couple of years ago.”

  “Yeah, I remember you, Kit.” He was the youngest of my uncle’s sons, and as he’d said, we’d met at my old lady’s funeral. I’d had a strong feeling he was gay. Either he was in the closet or simply clueless. I’d given him my business card—my actual business card and not the one I used for Joseph Wells—and told him to call me if anyone gave him a hard time. And when I hadn’t heard from
him, I’d assumed everything was under control and forgotten about him.

  Looked like my cousin was coming home to roost.

  “I… I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have called you, but I didn’t know what else to do.” For a minute, it sounded like he was going to cry.

  “It’s fine, Kit. Suppose you tell me what’s going on.”

  “My… my oldest brother found something in my room that made him think I’m gay. He wasn’t happy.”

  “Are you safe?” Homophobic asswipe. This was the fucking twenty-first century.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Is he threatening to hurt you?”

  “No! He’s my brother. He wouldn’t…” His voice trailed off. “I needed to talk to someone, and you gave me your business card and told me to call… I remembered you had kind eyes.”

  At one time I’d have thought I was the last person he should talk to, but then Quinn came into my life. And Christopher was Steve’s son. I might be pissed with Steve now, but he’d been good to me back in the day, and I’d pay it forward with his son.

  “Okay, look. I’ve got plans that need to be canceled, and it’s going to take me a while to get a jet lined up to fly to Fall River.” I ran my fingers through my hair. Portia would be good with me missing the visit to Arlington on Christmas Day if I had to take care of a family member. Quinn—he’d come with me.

  “You’d fly to—” He inhaled, a watery sound, and I knew he was crying.

  “Jesus, Kit—”

  “I’m here at Reagan National Airport.”

  “What?”

  “In DC.”

  “I know where National is.”

  “Sorry. I was going to go to Boston, but then I found your Washington address in Mom’s Christmas card list, so I caught a flight from Logan.”

  Yeah, when I’d been promoted to Director of Interior Affairs, Huntingdon more or less cut me loose, so I updated my access information.

  “Okay,” I told him. “Stay put. I’ll be there in about half an hour.”

  “Thank you. I’m so sorry to put you out, but I didn’t know what else to do.”