Lover Mine (38 page)

When they were nose-to-nose, he stopped, his rising chest meeting Qhuinn’s. “Say the word,” he whispered harshly. “Say the word and I won’t go.”

Qhuinn’s hard hands clapped onto both sides of Blay’s throat, the pressure forcing him to tilt his head back and open his mouth so he could breathe. Strong thumbs dug into the joints on either side of his jaw.

Electric moment.

Incendiary potential.

They were going to end up on the bed, Blay thought as he locked his palms on Qhuinn’s thick wrists.

“Say the word, Qhuinn. Do it and I’ll spend the night with you. We’ll go out with Xhex and John and when they’re through, we’ll come back here.
Say it
.”

The blue-and-green eyes Blay had spent a lifetime looking into locked onto his mouth and Qhuinn’s pecs pumped up and down as if he were running.

“Better yet,” Blay drawled, “why don’t you just kiss me—”

Blay was whipped around and shoved hard against the dresser, the chest of drawers slamming against the wall with a thunder. As cologne bottles rattled and a brush hit the floor, Qhuinn forced his lips down hard on Blay’s, his fingers biting into Blay’s throat.

It didn’t matter, though. Hard and desperate was all he wanted from the guy. And Qhuinn was clearly on board, his tongue shooting out, taking . . . owning.

With fumbling hands, Blay yanked his shirt out from the slacks and went for his own fly. He’d waited so long for this—

But it was over before it started.

Qhuinn spun away as Blay’s pants hit the floor, and the guy positively lunged for the door. With his hand on the knob, he rammed his forehead into the panels once. Twice.

And then in a dead voice, he said, “Go. Enjoy yourself. Just be safe, please, and try not to fall in love with him. He’ll break your heart.”

Between one blink and the next, Qhuinn left the room, the door closing without a sound.

In the aftermath of the departure, Blay stood where he’d been left, his slacks around his ankles, his fading hard-on an utter embarrassment even though he was all alone. As the world grew wavy and his chest constricted into a fist, he blinked fast and tried to keep the tears off his cheeks.

Like an old male, he bent down slowly and pulled up the waistband of the pants, his hands fumbling with the zipper and fastenings. Without tucking his shirt in, he went over and sat on the bed.

When his phone rang over on the nightstand, he turned and looked toward the screen. On some level, he expected it to be Qhuinn, but that was the last person he wanted to talk to and he let whoever it was go to voice mail.

For some reason, he thought of the hour he’d spent in his bathroom fussing over his shave and clipping his nails and arranging his hair with the goddamn gel. Then the time in front of the closet. It all seemed wasted now.

He felt stained. Utterly stained.

And he wasn’t going out with Saxton or anybody tonight. Not with the mood he was in. No reason to subject some innocent guy to the toxicity.

God . . .

Damn.

When he felt like he could talk, he stretched over to the side table and picked up his phone. Flipping the thing open, he saw that it was Saxton who’d called.

Maybe to cancel? And wouldn’t that be a relief. Getting shut down twice in one night was hardly good news, but it would save him from having to beg off from the male.

Firing up voice mail, Blay propped his forehead on his palm and stared down at his bare feet.

“Good evening, Blaylock. I imagine that you are, at this very moment, standing in front of your closet trying to decide what to wear.” Saxton’s smooth, deep voice was a curious balm, so soothing and low. “Well, indeed, I am before mine own clothes. . . . I believe I shall be going with a suit and vest coat in a gamine houndstooth. I think pinstripes would be a good accompaniment on your part.” There was a pause and a laugh. “Not that I would tell you what to wear, of course. But do call if you’re on the fence. About your wardrobe, of course.” Another pause and then a serious tone. “I’m looking forward to seeing you. Bye.”

Blay took the phone away from his ear and hovered his thumb over the
delete
option. On impulse he saved the message.

After a long, steady inhale, he forced himself to his feet. Even though his hands were shaking, he tucked in his fine shirt and went back to the now messy dresser.

He picked up the cologne bottles, righting them once again, and retrieved the brush from the floor. Then he opened up the sock drawer . . . and took out what he needed.

To finish getting dressed.

After ensuring that there were no eyes upon him, he ducked into the dark enclave, went through the secret rock wall, and made his way through the series of gates toward the
sanctum sanctorum
. The “communication system” was nothing but an alcove set in the rock wall, into which correspondence could be placed, and because of its simplicity, it was far down the way.

After all he had been disowned, but Hharm rarely went unto his mated abode. Surely the young one could have stayed with his
mahmen
?

Darius ducked through the gate and checked for correspondence. As he found communications for Murhder and Ahgony, he thought about leaving one for Hharm. On the lines of,
How could you possibly turn out your blooded son such that he is forced to spend the day with naught but stone for a bed and his clothes for a cover?

You arsehole.

The
doggen
paled. “Sire . . . this is—”

“Oh, sire, but of course!” The
doggen
bowed his way out of the room. “I should have so offered, forgive me.”

T
he Caldwell Greyhound terminal was on the far side of down-town, on the edge of the industrial park that stretched south of the city. The old flat-roofed building was ringed by a corral of chain- link fence, as if the buses were flight risks, and its porte cochere had a sag in the middle.

As John took form in the lee of a parked bus, he waited for Xhex and Qhuinn. Xhex was the first to arrive, and man, she was looking much better; the second attempt at eating had stayed down just fine and her color was really good. She was still in the scrub bottoms Doc Jane had given her, but on top she had on one of his black hoodies, and one of his windbreakers.

He loved the outfit. Loved that she was in his threads. Loved that they were too big on her.

Loved that she looked like a girl.

Not that he didn’t totally get off on her leathers and her muscle shirts and her I’ll-crack-your-balls-if-you-step-out-of-line routine. That was a complete turn-on, too. It was just . . . the way she looked now seemed private, for some reason. Probably because he was damned sure she didn’t let herself get seen like this very often.

“Why are we here?” she asked, looking around. Her voice wasn’t disappointed or annoyed, thank God. She was just curious.

Qhuinn took form about ten yards away and crossed his arms over his chest like he didn’t trust himself not to hit something. The guy was in a vicious mood. Absolutely vile. He hadn’t had two civil words to say in the foyer as John had told him the order of places they were going, and the cause hadn’t been clear.

Well . . . at least not until Blay had walked by the group looking like a million bucks in a gray pin-striped suit. The guy had paused only to say goodbye to John and Xhex; he hadn’t spared even a glance for Qhuinn as he’d gone out the vestibule and into the night.