Behind Iron Lace (5 page)

“I take it then, you like what you see?”

“I love what I see. Damn, Caleb, these are beautiful.” Caleb felt the praise to his toes. For an egomaniac like himself to be so worried about how some small time editor thought about his work was a statement in itself. Maybe his uncle was right, maybe something was very wrong with him.

“Okay then, I’m going to save this as a separate file and you’re all set for tomorrow.” He saved the data to the flash drive and disconnected the device, handing it back to Darcy. “So, that took all of thirty minutes. Are you in a hurry to get back to the city?”

“Not particularly. Everyone I know has gone to an island for the day. I can go talk to O’Doul but after a while he gets to be a little tiresome, you know?” He tucked the prints into the portfolio with the originals and laid his keys on top of the bag.

“I know all too well. I’ve known O’Doul a long time, and sometimes he can be a bit abrasive. But it goes with the territory.” He grabbed a digital camera from the top of his desk. “Come on outside. I’ve been stuck inside all day, I’m feeling a bit cooped up. Let’s show you the bayou, up close and personal, while you’re out here.”

“Sure,” he shrugged, his shoulders rolling with the gesture. Caleb liked that about him, that he was easygoing and ready for any challenge. That he had nice shoulders didn’t hurt any. He ran his hand through his hair then, making Caleb’s mouth water. “I could use some sun, I guess.”

“You are kind of pasty,” Caleb said with a wink, the blush creeping across Darcy’s face made him shiver. The timid, almost shy, smile lighting his eyes pushed all of Caleb’s buttons. Unsure of himself for the first time in years, Caleb stripped off his shirt and tossed it on the sofa. His gut was telling him this was right. Darcy was right. God, he hoped he wasn’t making a fool of himself.

He knew to the instant when Darcy spotted his tattoos. He could feel his eyes on him. Watching him in his quiet reserved way. He didn’t say anything, but he did slowly unbutton his shirt and shrug out of it. Caleb had to look away. Damn, he hadn’t expected the sexy-hot editor to have a hard body under those clothes.

“I know, I don’t get outside much anymore. Seems like all I do is sit in the office or move from air conditioned building to air conditioned building lately. It’s nice having a day on which I’m not dealing with some major catastrophe.” Hiding the blush, Darcy moved past him through the door out onto the deck overlooking the muddy water. “Wow, this is beautiful.”

“Yes it is.” A large gray bird with a blue crest stood just offshore under a cypress tree, fish jumped in the shallows below, and gulls bellowed overhead. Caleb heard the splash of something large hitting the water nearby, most likely a gator. None of that mattered, he raised his camera and pointed it at the only subject he found fascinating. Zooming in, he framed Darcy’s face as he watched the heron aim for a fish and miss. He snapped shot after shot. The whisper quiet shutter assured him purely candid shots until Darcy turned to face him, his face growing embarrassed, then stern.

“You have a great face.” He zoomed in, focusing on his eyes; the bright blue seemed alive against the backdrop of dark green foliage. The heron gave up fishing the shallows and flew into the shot just as Caleb clicked. He laughed, “The heron thinks so too, he’s in your profile photo.”

“What profile photo, what are you doing?” There was an edge to Darcy’s voice, one Caleb hadn’t heard before. He looked embarrassed and not in a good way.

Caleb sighed and laid the camera on the table, “I’m busted. Thought I’d take candid photos of you and the rest of your crew and build you a profile page. You’ve done stories on just about everyone out there except yourselves. Young twenty-somethings who started their own magazine in a time of recession and made a success out of it.”

“But wouldn’t that just jinx what we do? Come on, Caleb, it’s not as if we set out to become the guiding voice of a generation, it can end tomorrow. Okay, not tomorrow, tomorrow’s edition is going to knock people for a loop. But this is a fast changing world, our readers could abandon us in an instant, the advertisers will follow.”

“And what would you do if that happens? It’s not going to anytime soon, but just supposing.” He went to stand at the railing, looking away from the water. He leaned on his elbows, watching Darcy, his inner struggle clear on his face.

“I’ve been offered an associate professorship back home,” he sighed and looked out at the water, his jaw rigid. “I have until July first to decide if I want it.”

“Do you?” Caleb didn’t expect him to open up. He wasn’t even sure why he asked. Curiosity, maybe, or something else, something he wasn’t ready to think about just yet.

Darcy drummed his fingers on the railing, the muscles in his neck working as he swallowed. “I don’t know. It’s what I went to school for, I have a Master’s degree in English. I thought to spend my life teaching kids to love words as much as I do. However, teaching jobs are so hard to come by now. I applied two years ago, but the recession hit and they actually let people go. I never expected they would hang on to the application this long.”

“Are you happy doing what you’re doing? Or are you just doing something to tide you over? Will you be happy if you don’t take the job? Or are you just trying to make someone else happy by staying?” Caleb played Devil’s Advocate, all valid questions. Darcy seemed the type to mull things over too long. Caleb, on the other hand, made snap decisions. But then, he was a selfish bastard, and the possibility of Darcy leaving had his gut clenching.

“Those are hard questions. On the one hand, I do enjoy having creative control over so many people. I won’t have that if I take a teaching job. But, you know, I feel like this isn’t permanent. It’s just money, and a title to put on a resume. However, I’m not in danger of budget cuts in what I’m doing now, so if the recession should worsen I can’t be laid off. Of course, I get the feeling Chester is plotting a coup so who the hell knows.”

“And Bailey?” Where did the mysterious sometimes girlfriend fit in his life, in his decision process?

“Bailey chose him over me. Her loyalties are to him now. I think she’d look the other way while he tosses me under a bus. If that’s what you mean.”

Touched by the disquiet in his soul, Caleb wanted to sooth him somehow. He wanted to let him know everything would be fine. He didn’t stop to think, he acted. Stepping close, he gently touched his lips to Darcy’s, tasted the sweetness of his tongue when Darcy returned the kiss. His soft gasp unfurled a heat wave of longing in Caleb’s soul that he hadn’t expected.

He didn’t expect to hit the deck either, but there he was sitting on his ass on overly warm concrete, while Darcy glared down at him. His hands still clenched in fists, he swiped one across his mouth. His chest heaved with suppressed rage; at least Caleb assumed it was rage. The slight bulge in his shorts belied that idea. “Son of a bitch, what the hell are you doing?”

Caleb slowly climbed to his feet, his shoulder stung like fuck where Darcy had shoved him. “I’m sorry, I misread the signals. My fault. It won’t happen again.”

“I don’t give off signals, what kind of signals? Oh hell no, I’m not… I’m not… interested.” He somehow managed to control the anger burning in his eyes, but the trust Caleb had worked so hard to build was now gone. Embarrassed, he stepped inside and struggled back into his shirt.

“My mistake, I’ll take you back to the house and—” his phone rang in his pocket, startling him into silence, he’d forgotten about it. He answered and without another word to Darcy, he raced through the house and out the front door, leaving the man to make his way back on his own.

He burst into the house out of breath. “How bad is it?” He gasped for air.

“We’ve called an ambulance,” Martha said from her perch beside the kitchen sink, her eyes were red from crying, her hands shook, but she pretended she was fine. She was good at pretending she was fine, Caleb realized then. “She’s struggling for breath.”

“It’s all right, Martha.” He laid his hand on her shoulder before rushing through the house to the library that now served as a hospital room.

“It’s all right, Miss Clara, Caleb is here.” Hilda, the hospice nurse he’d hired to care for his mother, stood at the bedside. Her words were low and soothing for his mother’s benefit, but everyone knew she didn’t hear her.

“It’s getting worse,” she said to Caleb. “The pain medicine isn’t working anymore. She’s gasping for breath. I called for an ambulance.”

“What are they going to do for her at the hospital? Nothing. Give her something stronger. I know you have something. Just do it.”

“I can’t. It could kill her.”

“Well at least she won’t be in pain anymore, will she?” He moved to the bedside, taking his mother’s frail hand in his own. “I’m here,
Maman
.”

“My little
Chéri
. My Cherub.” She gasped the words, struggling to breathe; her once bright green eyes were cloudy with pain.

“Don’t talk,
Maman
. You hear. You gonna get better, you hear me, I’m not gonna let you die, not today.” He looked up just as Darcy stepped into the doorway, he met his surprised eyes, but he didn’t have time to explain. “Give her something. I will protect you even if I have to smuggle you out of the country, just give her some relief.”

“All right, Caleb. But you have to let her go to the hospital. She needs more than I can do for her now. Promise me, you’ll let her go this time.”

“She doesn’t want to die in a hospital. She wants to be here.”

“Can’t you see she’s suffering? You need to do what’s best for her today. She needs some peace.”

“Okay, just give her something. We’ll do it your way.” He patted her hand. “I’m sorry,
Maman
. I’m so sorry.”

She smiled a weak smile, her eyes closed as the drug acted quickly. He leaned against the bed for a few minutes, watching her sleep. The man in the hallway was all but forgotten in his grief.

Caleb pretended he didn’t notice Death as he sat behind him, laughing.

Long, slender fingers stroked his skin, drawing circles on his back. He loved the feel of smooth skin against his, skin that smelled of sun and something earthy.

He let his fingers twine in long fine hair. Pressing his lips to heated skin, he moved to capture moist lips with his, lips that sucked at his soul with each kiss, each touch of tongue. Warm sweet breath caressed his cheek. Soft words of encouragement inflamed him to the point he ached from the pleasure. He wanted more, so much more. Pain, pleasure, heat, sticky release, God, it felt so good.

Eyes so green, it was almost like living in spring forever, gazed up at him, pleasure swirled inside the clear depths. Hands and tongue and throbbing need washed over him slinging him along on the crest of a wave the very color of those eyes. He needed, needed, needed—

Darcy bolted out of the dream. Cold air from the air conditioner blasted over his body, chilling the sweat that drenched him. Shivering, he threw off the sheet and sat on the side of his bed. He leaned on his elbows, scrubbing his face with trembling hands trying to shake off the vivid vision. Christ, he was so Goddamned hard he couldn’t think straight. He needed relief, but he’d be damned if he sought it.

It was a fucking nightmare. He knew who he was dreaming about. The kiss on the deck yesterday afternoon had started this. All because he knew what the man tasted like. He hated knowing the touch of Caleb’s tongue had stirred something inside him. Something disquieting, slithered under his skin clawing at him, making him crave something he shouldn’t.

Anger had propelled him after Caleb, through the woods, following the trail into the house. Anger and bitter disillusionment drove him to the library, shame coming quickly on the heels as he watched the scene play out before him. Almost as if he were watching some strange drama in which he was one of the actors.

He stayed until the ambulance left, taking Caleb’s mother away. He would have stayed longer but Caleb told him to go. He changed before his eyes. His gaze turned cold, his accent became clipped, short. “Go on home, Darcy. Back to Oregon. Just go.”

Darcy went. Following the GPS back to the city, he couldn’t help wondering if he would see Caleb again. He needed perspective and a way to purge the afternoon from his mind. O’Doul’s was crowded when he arrived. The bartender wasn’t one he knew, which was fine. He didn’t want company. Reeking of sweat, beer, and bitter disappointment, he stumbled home and fell into bed but oblivion wasn’t waiting for him.

With the dream still vivid in his mind, he glanced at the clock on the side table. It was five in the morning, nearly time to get up anyway. If he tried to go back to sleep, he’d risk falling back into the dream. His body craved a return, even now left over erotic tendrils flashed through his mind. Caleb’s hands on him, the taste of Caleb’s mouth. The feel of his hands in his long hair, hair he’d wanted desperately to run his fingers through yesterday. He had kissed the tattoos on the man’s chest, longing to go lower—Darcy groaned.
Shit, stop it. Stop thinking about it.
It didn’t happen. It won’t happen.

Why had Caleb kissed him, Darcy wondered, again, for the hundredth time. Why?

Okay, no, this wasn’t happening. He scrubbed his face with trembling hands. Get up, shower, shave, breakfast; he’d skip the workout this morning. No, he needed the workout he’d skipped yesterday.
Don’t think about yesterday
. He turned on the radio, went to the bathroom and climbed into the stall shower. He turned the water on cold and let it wash over him. It didn’t help, just made him shiver, so he inched the temperature up to warm. The shower jets felt nice on his back, pounding the ache in his shoulders almost like fingers massaging him. He leaned his forearm against the wall, resting his forehead against it as the water worked its magic. He turned the heat up again, sighing as the scalding hot water sluiced down his skin.

So good, caressing his back, his chest, oh, God. He couldn’t resist the urge, the pain in his cock demanded satisfaction, ached from it. He tried to think of calming things. Snow in winter, the rocky beach he’d grown up playing on, hockey, he thought of Bailey, her soft, pale skin, her eyes were blue like his, her lips were…