Things Happen That Way Page 4

  Or possibly a ring?

  Smiling at how fanciful I was getting, I took my laptop into the study. Mark had made sure there was space available for me on his desk. His own laptop, which was open, had gone to screensaver… sharks swimming lazily in and out of a wrecked ship.

  I turned on my laptop and opened the file I’d labeled Mind Fuck. It was a story I’d started to amuse myself; set in DC, it was about two intelligence operatives, one from the CBI, the Central Bureau of Intelligence, the other from the OFNS, the Organization for National Security, fictitious agencies I’d created.

  The two agencies were always at loggerheads, so it made complete sense for my characters to have little to do with each other. Only for some reason, they kept coming into contact.

  It sounded rather familiar.

  Grinning, I flexed my fingers and began typing.

  It was becoming hard to focus on the page, and when I blinked and peered at my watch, I was startled to see it was after one. I wasn’t concerned about my lover. He was a grown man, and he knew how to take care of himself. Still, I wondered why he hadn’t returned home yet.

  Not once, however, did I consider that he might be seeing another man.

  I saved the document and went into the living room. The remote control was in its usual spot, at the center of the glass coffee table, and I picked it up and turned on the television.

  Mark had cable, but none of the premium stations. He seemed to prefer channels like Turner Classic Movies, the History Channel, A&E, and… Lifetime? I couldn’t help laughing. How had I missed that? I planned to tease him about it, although I was sure he’d explain that it was simply part of the package.

  I made myself comfortable on the couch and began scrolling through the channels.

  I had no idea when my eyes drifted shut and the remote slipped from my fingers.

  It was the feel of fingers carding through my hair that woke me. “Mark? Did you just get in?” I enjoyed his touch, no matter which part of my body was getting the attention, and I would have savored it this time, but it occurred to me that I’d fallen asleep with the television on, and I was embarrassed.

  But we had more important things to worry about. I told him of my meeting with Drum, what he had planned.

  “Son of a goddamned bitch!” Mark sounded more annoyed than anything else. “He actually told you to make something up?”

  “Of course I won’t.”

  “Ass. Why the hell did he drag you into his bullshit?”

  Ah. He was annoyed, not because of Drum’s intentions toward him, but because I’d been involved.

  Although why did his casual attitude toward his own safety not surprise me? “I’ll keep an eye on Drum,” he said. “Or better still… I have a contact in the OIG.”

  Something else that didn’t surprise me. Well, he could deal with it, but I’d be keeping an eye on Drum myself. Mark might not want to admit it, but he was no longer alone in this world.

  I could see he was tired, but since he hadn’t eaten anything in more than fifteen hours, I sent him off to shower while I took out our salads and the entrée and uncorked the red I’d selected so it could breathe.

  Beyond admitting that a couple of senior directors were driving him to the point he was contemplating leaving the WBIS, Mark wouldn’t tell me what had gone on that made his day so vile, which was fine. Often there were times I couldn’t tell him what went on in Langley.

  I’d just have to do my best to take his mind off it.

  In spite of how it started, and even though Mark had to go in to the WBIS for an hour or so on Saturday morning, it was a nice weekend.

  While Mark was at work, I booted up my laptop and opened the file I’d worked on the night before.

  I had to chuckle at the antics of my characters. The story had grown from a couple of pages to fifty thousand words.

  When I heard the keys in the locks, I saved what I’d added. Just as I was about to shut down my laptop, another plot point occurred to me. My two characters had first met on a mission that involved a ship that was about to be scuttled to make a natural reef off the Florida Keys. If the ship, the SS Brizo, named for the Greek goddess who was the protector of mariners, had been built mid-century, it might be possible that critical scientific formulas had been left behind.

  My fingers flew across the keyboard as I hurried to make note of my thoughts.

  Mark poked his head into the study. “Hey, babe. Give me a couple of minutes to get changed, and we can go.”

  “No rush, Mark.” I waved him off and resumed writing about how Andrew McAllister and Daemon Wayne, both in a race to recover this intelligence, donned scuba gear and dove from separate boats. And although operatives from Great Britain, France, Russia, and North Korea were also attempting to retrieve the formula, it was a rogue agent from McAllister’s own Bureau who fired a spear gun into McAllister’s leg.

  The next time I glanced at the clock on my laptop, I discovered more time had passed than I’d expected. I saved and shut down, and hurried out of the study and into the bedroom.

  “Mark?” The door to the master closet that led to the bathroom was closed, and I didn’t want to barge in, so I simply called, “Want to get some lunch, Mark?”

  “Sure. I just have to fax something.”

  “Okay.”

  I strolled into the kitchen and washed my hands, then took the list from the refrigerator door, folded it, and put it in my pocket. We could get that shopping done after lunch.

  Mark went into the study, and after a few minutes came out. “Ready, babe?” He brushed back the hair that was always falling into my eyes and smiled as I leaned into him for a kiss. “How does Au Bon Pain sound?”

  I’d never been there before, but it sounded like a great idea to me.

  At Au Bon Pain, I ordered a Black Angus roast beef sandwich on a ciabatta, and Mark selected the turkey club. We found a table and took our time eating, talking about our plans for this evening.

  “Why don’t we stay home?” He picked at the crust of his sandwich, seeming to find it fascinating, and I was startled to see color rise in his cheeks. “I... uh... I picked up a new CD—not new new, it’s remastered. Uh... and I thought maybe you’d... uh... dance with me?”

  “I’d like that, Mark.” I cut off a corner of my sandwich and offered it to him.

  “Yeah? Cool.” He took the piece of ciabatta, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed, then slowed and seemed to savor it. “I like this!” He gestured toward the remains of my sandwich. “I’ll have to try it the next time I’m here.”

  His cell phone rang, and I swallowed a smile. “’It’s Raining Men’?”

  He pushed his chair back and rose. “Sorry, babe. I have to take this.”

  “Go ahead.” I watched as he strode out to the sidewalk.

  I finished my sandwich and sipped at my glass of unsweetened raspberry iced tea, wondering about the CD he’d bought. His taste in music was very eclectic. But… he wanted to dance with me. I’d seen him dance the foxtrot with Mother, and his moves were very smooth. I thought it was safe to assume the CD would be something bluesy, Ella Fitzgerald or Sarah Vaughn perhaps.

  I propped my chin on my palm and daydreamed about us waltzing to “Blue Moon” or “Black Coffee.” His living room was fairly large. We could move back the coffee table and the couch. Would he want to have a hand on my waist while he held my other hand, or would he pull me close against him, his hands kneading my ass while my arms circled his neck?

  Thank God the Macarena was no longer in fashion. I chuckled to myself. Although if Mark wanted to dance it horizontally, I’d have no objections.

  I couldn’t lose myself in that thought, much as I might want to—I’d wind up with an erection, and the jacket I’d brought with me wasn’t long enough to conceal it.

  Fortunately, at that moment, Mark came sauntering in, and he dropped down into his chair.

  “I won’t be able to go riding with you tomorrow.”

  “Something wr
ong?”

  He shook his head and stared at me thoughtfully. Should I be worried? Abruptly he said, “I’ve gotta buy a pair of jodhpurs.”

  Was that all he was concerned about? “No, I have plenty.”

  “For me, Quinn.”

  “Yes?” I raised my glass of tea to my lips to conceal my pleasure. I didn’t know why he’d decided at this point he needed a pair of jodhpurs, but it meant he’d continue riding with me. Ever since I’d… persuaded… Mark to get on a horse, he’d insisted that jeans were good enough, and nothing I said could change his mind. “I know the perfect place. We can go shopping as soon as we’re done here if you’d like.” The Tack Room was the shop Mother and I had patronized for years. It carried an exclusive line of well-made riding clothes.

  “Okay. But I still can’t go riding tomorrow. I have to look into something for a friend.”

  “I’m sorry you won’t be able to join us, but there’s always another day.”

  “Yeah, there is, isn’t there? You done?” He raised his Pepsi to his mouth and sucked down the remainder of it. Whether it was a straw or my cock, he did have a way with those lips of his. “Let’s go get those jodhpurs.”

  Mark finally chose a pair of jodhpurs in dark brown. “There,” he said as he handed the sales associate his credit card. “If that horse tosses me off, it won’t show.”

  “You know Kathy Thorn is a good mare.”

  He cut me a glance from under his lashes.

  “I’ll wear them next weekend.”

  “Excellent idea.” I didn’t have to tease him into it, and the knowledge that the jodhpurs would be hanging in his closet gave me a great deal of pleasure. “But….”

  “But what?”

  “We’ll be spending next weekend at my town house.”

  “Hold on a second,” he said to the sales associate. He turned around and went back to the racks of jodhpurs.

  “Mark?”

  “I’ll need a pair to leave at your place.”

  I liked the idea of his clothes hanging beside mine in my closet.

  He found another pair in dark brown and returned to the front of the shop. “Add these on, okay?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “We don’t really need to do any grocery shopping,” he said as he put the box into the trunk. “You know I’m taking you out for supper.”

  “Yes, but there’s breakfast to consider, as well as meals for the rest of the week. And you’re running a little short of toilet paper.”

  He gave a huff of laughter. “We can’t have that, can we? How does Trader Joe’s—”

  I handed him the list, in case he hadn’t had the opportunity to study it while it had hung from his refrigerator.

  He looked over all the items on it, shook his head, and put the list in his pocket. “Okay, I guess we’re going to Safeway.”

  It wound up taking longer than I’d expected, because we filled two carts with canned, boxed, and frozen foods, fresh meats and produce, milk as well as half-and-half, and of course the ubiquitous paper products. There was also a twelve-pack of Sam Adams, a couple of bottles of Perrier, and a case of Coke.

  Mark parked his car in front of his building, and because we’d bought so much, it took the two of us four trips to carry all the bags, cartons, cases—and the box with his jodhpurs—up to his condo. And in spite of our burdens, Mark insisted on climbing the stairs.

  “I... I need to h-hit the gym,” I puffed.

  “Getting soft, Mann?”

  “It’s these damned stairs.” He wasn’t even breathing hard. “Can... can we please take the ele-elevator up the next trip?”

  “Okay. But only because you asked so nicely.”

  “Ass.”

  “You’re just lucky my hands are full, or else I’d show you—”

  We were on the second floor landing. I put the Coke and the bag with the Perrier on the floor, then took the bags he held and put them down as well. “Your hands aren’t full now.”

  “They’re not, are they?” He drew me into his arms, one broad palm firm on my ass while the fingers of his other hand carded through my hair—God, I loved when he did that to me—and kissed me. I wrapped an arm around his neck and hummed in pleasure as he explored my mouth. Finally he murmured, “Why don’t we take this upstairs?”

  I reached down and squeezed his ass. “Sounds like a great idea, but we’ll need to put the groceries away first.”

  “You’re gonna make someone a great husband.”

  Someone? It occurred to me I wanted to be his husband. Same-sex marriage wasn’t legal anywhere in the United States, but if it ever were, would he consider—

  “Something wrong, babe?”

  “No, Mark. Let’s get this finished.”

  Finally, we had all the bags in the kitchen—on the island, on the table in the breakfast nook, and even on the floor.

  “I’ll take care of the non-perishables,” he said.

  “That works for me.” I opened the fridge and put away milk, peaches, grapes, corn, tomatoes, and green peppers, left a couple of pork chops for his dinner tomorrow evening beside the milk and half-and-half, and put a package of bacon in the meat tray, along with some cold cuts.

  “You want to explain this, Mann?” Mark didn’t use my surname unless he was annoyed with me, and right now he sounded very annoyed.

  “Explain what, Mark?” A soft answer turneth away wrath. I hid my smile.

  “This!” He waved the box of fiber cereal in my face. “I don’t eat twigs!”

  I’d been wondering when he would find the cereal and what he’d say about it. “Mark, this is good for you.”

  “Yeah, well—”

  “And besides, I want you around for a very, very long time, babe.”

  He had his mouth open to say something that would probably have been typical Mark Vincent snark, but that stopped him in his tracks. “Yeah, Quinn?”

  It was a good thing the perishables were all refrigerated, because he stripped me right there in the kitchen, then yanked off his own clothes.

  “I thought we were going to dance.”

  “Later.” Color was high on his cheeks and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. I loved that I did that to him. A condom and a tube of lube appeared the way they tended to around Mark, and I took the condom from him.

  “Damn it!” My hands were trembling, and I couldn’t open it.

  “Easy, babe. Easy,” he murmured, and he stroked my hair, grounding me.

  I tore open the packet with my teeth, took out the condom, and rolled it over his cock. He hooked an arm under my thigh, opening me to his touch, and I shivered as his slicked fingers slid into me and found my prostate.

  “Mark, I—”

  His lips on mine cut off my words. Well, there was time. Or was I just being a coward about revealing my feelings?

  “Ready, babe?” he asked against my lips.

  “Yes!”

  This time he had both arms under my thighs, and he raised me up. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his hips, and I angled back so he could enter me.

  Would there ever come a time when I wouldn’t enjoy the feel of his cock surging inside me, nudging past my prostate and plumbing my depths?

  No. I ran my lips up the curve of his throat, nipping and sucking as I went.

  Not as long as we both breathed.

  Afterward, I lay on the cool tile floor with my head on Mark’s thigh and gazed up into his hazel eyes.

  “Quinn.”

  “Yes?” I loved the soft sound of my name on his lips.

  He stretched out a languid arm and caught up my shorts and undershirt. “Put these on.”

  “What now?”

  “Now... we dance.”

  I groaned and then jumped when he dug his fingertips into my side. “Mark!”

  “Get ’em on.”

  It took me a while, since he had turned me into a puddle of goo, but finally I had the gray boxers over my hips. The undershirt though�
��that was a loss. I’d used it to wipe the semen from my torso as well as Mark’s, and then tossed it who knew where.

  “What are you going to wear now, Quinn?”

  “Your shirt?” I snatched up the black T-shirt he’d worn and yanked it over my head. It was a little large... all right, it swam on me, but it was soft and smelled of him.

  “Fine.” He scooped up my shirt.

  “Oh, you are not—” Yes, I guessed he was. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. He couldn’t button it, and about three inches of wrist were left exposed by the sleeves that just weren’t long enough.

  “Come on, Calvin Klein.” He got to his feet, pulled me up, and dragged me along after him around the kitchen island, down the hallway, and into the living room. “Now stand here.” He crossed to the entertainment center in the corner, turned it on, and pressed a button. The CD tray slid out, and he placed a CD into it.

  Neil Diamond’s voice came out of the speakers, singing about how he’d stay until it was time for his loved one to go, and Mark came back to where I waited for him. He placed his right hand on my hip, while I placed my left on his shoulder. Then he took my right hand and curled it until it rested against his heart.

  We moved across the floor, and I was pleased with how in sync we were, never once stepping on one another’s toes or tripping over our own feet.

  I sighed and leaned my head against his shoulder. “This is nice. I wish we had an occasion where we could go dancing.”

  He tightened his hold on me and drew me closer. “Yeah. That would be nice.”

  I hummed along with the song until I realized Mark had put it on repeat, and then I tugged my hand free.

  “Quinn?”

  “Jesus, Mark. Could you have picked a more depressing song?” I went to the entertainment center and thumbed through the CDs until I found what I was looking for. A few months earlier, I’d brought over It’s Time, a CD Ludovic had given me for Christmas of ’97. I pulled out the disc and replaced Neil Diamond with Linda Eder. “Now isn’t this better?” I went back into his arms.