Ted waited for Quentin to nod or shake his head or something, but all he did was stare at Ted with his mouth agape.
“C’mon, Q-Bert. You want to get this done, right? It doesn’t have to mean anything. I mean, who hasn’t done that with a buddy in the past?”
“Me! I haven’t.”
“No?” Ted grinned. “Who knew a sex demon could be so prudish? Spend a lot of time with your right hand, did you?”
“For your information,” Quentin said frostily, “I’m left-handed. And ’cubi can’t . . . can’t . . .”
“Ursa strike me blind. You can’t jack off? Man, being a sex demon isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“You have no idea,” Quentin muttered.
The towel around Ted’s waist kept creeping downward, losing the battle between gravity and his spare tire. His semi wasn’t helping any, and the more Quentin glanced at it and away, the harder Ted got. He sighed. “Look, we gotta take care of this. If we don’t, and if we don’t do it before the deadline . . .” Ted drew his finger across his throat.
Quentin clenched his eyes shut. “Don’t.”
“Okay, but come on. Since you can’t wank yourself, then don’t you think it makes sense for us to help each other out?”
Quentin cracked an eye open. “‘Help each other’?”
“Jerk each other, Q-Bert.” Ted peered down at him, suddenly worried that he’d misunderstood pretty much everything about ’cubi. “You have had sex before, haven’t you?”
“Of course I have, you infuriating bear. But this is a dreadful idea.”
Thank Ursa for that. Well, the Q-Bert’s-had-sex-before part, not the dreadful-idea part. “Why? It’s not like we’re cheating on anybody. We’re married to each other. At least for now. And neither one of us has ever met our real husbands.”
“That’s splitting hairs and you know it. Besides, that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what?”
“I’m an incubus.”
“So?”
“I can— I could kill you with sex.”
Ted raised his eyebrows. “You do that on purpose?”
“No! Of course not.” Quentin laced his fingers together like he was shooting for a Supe Scout knot badge without the benefit of rope. “But if I lose control, it could happen.”
Ted shook his head, chuckling. “Q-Bert, you are the biggest control freak I have ever met. No way would you lose it if you didn’t want to.”
“But—”
“Shhh. What I’m saying is, I trust you. I know I’m not the guy you want—”
“That’s not—” Quentin swallowed “—entirely true.”
“So you want me?”
“Gods and devils, yes. I mean, who wouldn’t?”
“Lots of people. Most people.” Ted scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Pretty much everyone, actually.”
“You’re delusional. I saw the way everyone in town—men and women—looked at you. All you’d need to do is crook a finger and you’d have all the company you want.”
Ted grinned. “Crook my finger? You mean like this?” He raised one huge hand and beckoned.
“Ted . . .” Quentin packed a lot into that word—warning, defeat, maybe a little desire too? Unless that was Ted’s wishful thinking.
“It’ll be okay. One and done.”
“‘One and done’?”
Jeez, Quentin looked like a kid with his face pressed against the candy store window. He sees me as desirable? That was a first, no matter what Quentin imagined about everyone in town. So Ted determined to make this good for him, no matter what.
He held out his hand. “Have I ever hurt you? Well, other than abandoning you on the mountain five minutes after we met and leaving you to almost freeze to death.”
Quentin choked on a laugh. “That wasn’t entirely your fault. And I trust you too, Ted. I really do. It’s myself I don’t trust.”
Ted shrugged. “You’ll never know if you don’t try. One time, Q. Have you ever sexed someone to death in one blow?” Ted grinned. “So to speak?”
As Ted had hoped, Quentin smiled. “No. I don’t pack quite that much firepower.”
“Well then. We’re good. Up you get.” He grinned again. “See, I’m getting better at sneaky sex references.”
Quentin didn’t take Ted’s hand, but he stood, then turned away, his shoulders nearly up by his ears, and unbuttoned his flannel shirt. He dropped it on the couch, then skinned his long-sleeved thermal over his head.
Ted’s breath caught. Quentin’s skin was as pale as milk, but he had two massive scars, red and angry looking, that followed his shoulder blades. Ted wanted to touch them, soothe them, but that wasn’t part of this deal. This wasn’t about anything but meeting the terms of the escape clause. Got to remember that. Because when Quentin dropped his pants, revealing the most perfect ass Ted had ever seen, Ted wanted to touch more than anything.
Quentin turned around, his gaze on the floor, but his dick—long, slender, uncut—was hard, curving toward his belly. It was longer than Ted had expected for a little guy like Quentin, reaching past his navel even with the curve. Maybe that’s a sex demon thing.
Ted cleared his throat and dropped his towel on the floor. “Come closer? Can’t reach you way over there.”
Quentin jerked a nod and stepped closer until his chest was maybe a hand span from Ted’s.
“Gonna touch you now, so don’t freak out, okay?” Ted closed his fingers around Quentin’s shaft, and Quentin drew in a hissing breath, eyes fluttering closed. When he opened them again, for a moment, red flashed in their depths.
Then Quentin fisted Ted’s cock and Ted’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head. Quentin’s hand wasn’t big. He couldn’t close his fingers around Ted’s dick like Ted could with Quentin’s, but Ursa’s teeth, it didn’t matter.
He groaned. “Oh man. It’s like I’m coming without coming.”
Because while Quentin’s touch was fricking electric on Ted’s dick, the thrills chasing up his arm from his grip on Quentin’s shaft were just as intense, maybe more. Somehow, their strokes were synchronized—pressure, speed, and Ursa’s teeth, the heat!
He shut his eyes as his balls drew up, his ass clenched, his legs trembled. Too soon. I can’t come so soon. What about Quentin?
But then Quentin gasped and whimpered and it was all over. Ted shot with a moan, and as his dick pulsed, Quentin’s jizz hit Ted’s chest in the identical rhythm.
Knees wobbly, he opened his eyes to find Quentin panting, staring down at his hand, which was covered in Ted’s semen.
“I guess—” Ted croaked, then cleared his throat. “We should clean up.” When Quentin didn’t respond, Ted touched his shoulder, which caused him to flinch. “You okay?”
Quentin nodded jerkily. Still not meeting Ted’s gaze, he collected his clothes and scuttled toward the bathroom.
Great. Now it’s gonna get weird. Ted didn’t want Quentin to freak out anymore, so the best solution was for Ted to take off. Give Quentin a chance to decompress.
Normally, Ted would want to nap after sex, especially at this time of year. But he felt too antsy for that. Kill two birds with one stone, I guess.
He picked up his towel and crept town the hall. “Hey, Q? Take your time in there. I’m gonna head out for a while. There’s leftover soup if you want some, and I’ll stoke the fire before I leave.” No answer. “You okay?”
“Yes.” Quentin’s voice, even muffled by the door, sounded shaky. “I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. Please don’t give me another thought.”
Yeah, not likely. “See you later, then.”
Ted ran upstairs, did a quick cleanup at his crappy sink, and got dressed. Quentin was still in Rusty’s bathroom when he got back downstairs. Will it be weirder if I stay, or if I go? Jeez, I’m so bad at figuring this stuff out. If it were him in there, he knew what he’d want: for his partner to be there when he got out, ready to cuddle for a while. Naked or not, it didn’t matter. But Quentin had different ideas about being close. He’d said he was an introvert, so maybe he’d want some alone time? It wasn’t like he could escape the cabin and get away anywhere on his own, so it was up to Ted to take off. At least he had friends in the area and could travel quickly.
He put on his coat and grabbed his phone. When he stepped out onto the porch, he called Dr. Kendrick’s magic line.
“Ted? Is everything okay? Is Quentin all right?”
“Yeah, we’re fine, but I, uh, have to go into town. I was wondering if you could maybe install the magic phone app on Quentin’s phone. I feel funny leaving him here on his own after what happened last time.”
“Certainly.”
“Really? You don’t mind?”
Dr. Kendrick chuckled. “The spell isn’t mine anyway. It’s something my brothers’ boyfriends cooked up between them because they didn’t like the inability to communicate between Faerie and the Outer World. It was a lucky side effect that it works for remote areas with no cell coverage too, as long as there’s a supe to boost the signal. Although it works much better in close proximity to a Faerie gate, so your place is optimal. They expect to roll it out to other supes soon, so this can be a beta test for them.”
“Oh. Well. Good. Thanks.”
“I’ll be there within the hour. Will you still be around?”
“No. I’ve got to take off now.” Ted trudged down the steps, oddly reluctant to leave. “But Quentin will be in the cabin.”
“I’ll see him then. I planned to stop by soon in any case because I have a few things to discuss with him, so it’s good that you called.”
“Thanks, Doc. I really appreciate it.”
“Anytime, Ted.”
Ted pocketed his phone and headed up to the lodge. He took off his clothes and tossed them in the mud room, then shifted to take his usual path down to the cave. After he changed, he headed into town, making it to the diner right at the dinner hour. Matt was sitting at his usual seat at the counter, and raised his hand in greeting, gesturing to Ted’s empty stool.
“Come join me.”
Ted ambled over, waving at Wanda, Javier, and a couple of other friends along the way. “Do you ever eat at home?”
“Nah. I’m a terrible cook. Ramen noodles or Kraft dinners are about my speed.”
Ted wrinkled his nose. “Man, that is just wrong.”
“I know.” He raised his mug. “Luckily, Wanda keeps me fed, even if she makes me drink decaf.”
“How’s the job search going? Did that gig pan out?”
Matt shrugged. “I’m sort of on trial, but I’m not making much progress, and a deadline is looming.” He set his cup down with a clatter. “I wish my old source hadn’t dried up.”
Sorry I ever strung you along, Matt. Ted covered his discomfort by signaling Wanda for a cup of coffee. “Having a hard time scaring up a new one?”
“That’s not the point. I don’t like—”
Wanda arrived with two carafes in her hand. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Ted. Dinner?”
“No, thanks, Wanda. Just coffee.” She poured him a cup with one carafe and topped Matt’s up with the other, then bustled away. Ted doctored his coffee with cream and sugar. “Guess she didn’t expect me here for dinner because she knows I do cook.”
“I don’t think that’s the reason. She’s probably as surprised as I am that you showed up. You’ve got company up at your place, right?”
Ted frowned over the top of his cup. “How’d you know that?”
“Shirl.”
Ted shifted uneasily on his stool. It might be sturdy enough to hold him, but it was still smaller than his ass. “So you’re pumping Shirl for tips now?”
“Yeah, like that’d work. No, I was in there for a new memory card and she told me. Guess she figured it was something I needed to know.”
Ted blinked. “You needed— But why would Shirl think—”
“The guys from Larry’s shop were talking about it in here too. They were far too pleased with the way your guest managed to get his way with their boss.”
That was pretty awesome. Ted sighed. The problem with living in—or rather outside of—a small town was that everybody’s business was . . . well . . . everybody’s business. “That’s just temporary.”
“Is that so?” Matt grinned. “I know you’ve stocked up on groceries too.”
“Don’t tell me. Fred?”
“Yup.”
“Those were for me.”
“Hell, Ted, even a strapping young man like you can’t eat that much in a few days.” He nudged Ted’s shoulder with his own. “If you need help, I’d be glad to help you put some of that away. Give you my expert opinion on your cooking skills. It’d be a change from Javier’s patty melts.”
Ted studied Matt out of the corner of his eye. Was Matt flirting with him? Quentin’s remarks about the reactions of his friends took on a different meaning. Maybe he needed an outsider to point out what had been right under his nose all along.
Or maybe he’s fishing for another tip.
All of Ted’s Bigfoot stunts had been in the woods near the lodge. A chill skated down his back. He wasn’t especially careful about his shifts up there because it was his home and he’d felt safe and secluded, but maybe it wasn’t as safe or secluded as he thought.
He wasn’t worried about his ability to take care of himself—nobody around here was as big as he was, even when he wasn’t a bear. But he had Quentin to think about now.
Quentin. He was there by himself, and he wasn’t big. Plus he had no idea how to take care of himself in the wilderness. He was used to cities with 911 and Uber. What if there was an emergency? What if he passed out again? What if somebody saw one of Matt’s old pictures and decided to go cryptid hunting? With a gun?
He pulled out his wallet and tossed some bills on the counter for his coffee. “Gotta run, Matt. Sorry. Hope the new gig works out.” Because you’re not getting any more from me, not if it puts Quentin in danger.
Ted rushed out of the diner and was halfway up the path to the cave before he stopped. Quentin won’t get hurt because he won’t be here. In two weeks, he’ll be gone.
He steadied himself against a tree when his knees threatened to give out. Get over it. He’s not my perfect match. I want him to go so I can marry Rusty.
He trudged the rest of the way to the cave and crawled inside. Instead of undressing and shifting right away, though, he huddled against the cold stone walls, head on his knees, and tried to remind himself that marrying Rusty was what he’d dreamed of.
It took a long time to make himself believe it again.
When Quentin heard the front door close, he was still sitting on the bathroom floor, trying to resist tasting Ted’s spend. The energy would have mostly dissipated by now, as it had cooled from body temperature. Surely he’d be forgiven for a taste if it didn’t feed him. It wasn’t stealing. It had been Ted’s idea after all. But he doesn’t know what it means. His hand shook as he fought not to bring it to his mouth, certain that allowing even a drop onto his tongue would be the most transcendent, yet catastrophic, thing he could ever do.
Has it really been that long since I’ve had an orgasm that I’ve forgotten how it feels? What it makes me want?
Because even as he’d shot over Ted’s hand, he hadn’t been emptied—he’d been filled. So fast and hard and absolutely that he was surprised shafts of pure energy hadn’t shot out of his skin—yet Ted hadn’t seemed diminished at all. I touched him and didn’t hurt him. Maybe David’s right and this is what control feels like when I’m not medicated.
If that was true, it was glorious. Ted’s essence—his spirit, his heart—was so strong, so pure, so sweet that Quentin was drunk on it, floating, high as the proverbial kite. And like any lapsed addict, he wanted more.
Lips parted, panting as if he’d run a mile, he raised his hand. A taste. Just a taste.
He scrambled to his feet and shoved his hand under the faucet, turning the water on full force. He scrubbed his hand and his chest until his skin was red and tender. I can’t give in to temptation. It isn’t right. Not for him. Not for me either, if I want to keep my sanity.
He sighed and got dressed once more in his Stuff ’n’ Things couture. The thermal shirt collar was tight against his throat and he tugged at it irritably. Over two weeks trapped here with the most delectable man he’d ever met. A man who belongs to someone else in spirit, if not in legal fact.
Two weeks from Tuesday, Ted would be released from their inconvenient bond and free to join with his magically selected soul mate. And Quentin would lock himself into a centuries-long commitment to a dead man.
He glanced at the stove as he passed the kitchen, but he wasn’t hungry. Of course you’re not hungry. You just gorged on Ted.
The memory of it made his jeans feel too tight around the waist, and as he fumbled to undo the top button of his fly, he was startled by a brisk knock at the door. He stared at it, momentarily nonplussed. It couldn’t be Ted. He wouldn’t knock, even though Quentin had undoubtedly made him feel unwelcome in his own home. The lake wasn’t exactly in a population center, and he hadn’t heard a vehicle approach. Furthermore, he could sense no energy signature on the other side of the door.
A ghost? Ted hadn’t mentioned that the lake was haunted. If he—
“Quentin? It’s Dr. Kendrick. Alun.”
Oh. The contained fae. No wonder Quentin couldn’t detect him. He opened the door, smiling at Alun with what he hoped was welcome. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Please come in. I’m afraid Ted isn’t here right now.”
“Yes, I know. He asked me to stop by to see you.”
Alun strode into the cabin, nearly as tall as Ted, his exceptional figure outlined by a well-cut suit. Bespoke if Quentin was any judge—and he was. Only a bespoke suit could fit that figure that well. Yet despite Alun’s incredible fae beauty—dark hair in crisp waves, luminous hazel eyes, and perfect classical features—Quentin felt not the slightest attraction. He found himself wondering what Alun would look like with a little more padding around the middle.
Quentin gestured toward the kitchen. “May I offer you some coffee? Tea? I’m sure Ted has other things as well. I’ve never seen a more completely stocked pantry. Although if you want brandy, I’m afraid that’s one thing I can’t offer you.”
Alun grinned, a rakish expression completely at odds with his conservative tailoring. “Ted never was one for top-shelf liquor. Microbrews are more his passion. However, this isn’t a purely social visit. May I see your cell phone?”
“My phone?”
“I want to bespell it so you can use the same communications protocol that Ted uses to contact me. It will allow you to use your phone while you’re somewhere with no normal reception.”
“Really?” Quentin collected his phone from the solar charger, unlocked the home screen, and handed it to Alun. “So it’s a spell, not an actual app?”
Alun accepted the phone and held it in the palm of his hand. “A little of both. One moment please.” He closed his eyes, murmuring something in a different language—Welsh, perhaps?—then touched the screen. A new icon bloomed under his fingertip. “There. My brother’s boyfriend, Bryce, is a druid, although he’s only lately become aware of it. Consequently, he couches much of his magic in the framework of the Outer World. So even though this isn’t technology at all, but rather a combination of fae and druid magic, he’s crafted it as an app.”
Quentin accepted the phone, noting that the icon looked no different from the others. “That’s very clever. I know a number of people”—most of them related to him—“who would be very interested in obtaining this.”
“Ordinarily, the normal service providers are adequate. But occasionally, a supe could find himself in a remote location unexpectedly. And if human first responder services would compromise the Secrecy Pact . . . well, we wanted an alternative. One that would address the safety of the individual as well as our community as a whole. This is in beta right now. Very limited rollout, but Ted is a friend as well as a client, and since he asked . . .”
“Thank you. I appreciate it. Is there a charge? Because I can pay, of course.”
“No. This isn’t a paid service. We only accept members with proven need and trustworthiness.”
Interesting. Something his family couldn’t buy their way into. Because they’d want to do it, of course. A supe-only communication tool? They’d want to control it the same way they controlled every other aspect of their lives.
“Do you need any instructions on how to use it?”
“No. I used Ted’s phone the other day. Although I have to ask—why is the incantation to activate the spell ‘please and thank you’? That seems a bit . . . odd.”
“Ah.” Alun’s cheeks flushed. “It’s something of a family joke. David and Bryce claim that supes, particularly my brothers and me, never remember to ask for permission and are incapable of accepting help gracefully. I think it amuses them to force us to be polite to our phones.”
Quentin chuckled. “I see. Well, in any case, you needn’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
Alun studied him, his head tilted to one side. “Yes. You are. You are much more recovered than I’d have expected in so short a time. You’ve regained some lost flesh. Ted must be feeding you well.”
“Yes.” Quentin cleared his throat. “Yes. He is.” More than you know.
“Good. David is convinced that the ’cubi place far too much emphasis on life essence when simply increasing their caloric intake would supplement many of their nutritional needs.”
Quentin smiled wanly. “A revolutionary, is he?”
“A force of nature, at any rate, and one with definite opinions.” Alun squeezed the back of his neck, looking as uncomfortable as a six-and-a-half-foot fae could. “However, this isn’t the only reason I stopped by. Have you spoken to your grandmother?”
“My—” Quentin swallowed. “No.”
“I want to respect your desire for privacy and to manage your own affairs, but please contact your grandmother and let her know you’re well. I have personal experience in how poorly concealing critical relationship information can go.”
“I understand. But you may not realize how determined my grandmother is to control my life.”
“Don’t I?” His lips quirked. “In my psychology practice, I treat supes from all races, and one of them is the dragon queen herself.”
Quentin closed his eyes and sighed. “My grandmother’s best friend.”
“So I understand. In fact, it’s at her instigation—based on her conversations with your grandmother—that I’m here. I’m aware that your dynasty carries dragon shifter DNA, so the hoarding tendencies are there. Your grandmother hoards her power and connections as well as her money.”
“Then you can understand why I might want to escape that.”
“Perhaps. As long as you don’t attempt your own hoard. One that wouldn’t be . . . appropriate in these circumstances.”
He knows. He knows that I’m drawn to Ted. “I, ah, take your point. But you needn’t worry. And now that I have the means—” he brandished his phone “—I promise to call my grandmother. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m sorry to rush, but I have an appointment shortly, and if I’m not back to greet my client, my office manager will have words for me.” From the way Alun’s eyes glinted, he looked forward to those words.
That’s right. His office manager is David. His husband. Imagine being so in tune with your lover that you even relished their ire, if only because it meant you had more time with them.
Quentin saw Alun to the door. “Thank you again. I won’t abuse the privilege.”
Alun lifted an eyebrow. “Abuse it all you like, as long as you call your grandmother.”
Quentin laughed. “Yes. I’ve gotten that message.”
He waited until Alun had nearly disappeared into the trees before he shut the door.
No point delaying the inevitable. He sat down on the sofa, opened the new app, and initiated a video call with his grandmother.
Her face appeared on the screen almost immediately, her cap of silver hair sleek and perfect as usual, her skin almost as smooth as a girl’s—which told Quentin that she’d fed recently. She could have altered her hair color if she wished, but she’d told him once that the color gave her stature and authority in the community.
“Quentin! My dear, I’ve been so worried.”
“I’m sorry, Grandmother. I didn’t expect you to discover I was gone so soon. You weren’t scheduled to return to Boston until after the solstice.”
“So you intended to hide your whereabouts from me? It wasn’t a simple oversight?”
Quentin winced. “No. I apologize.”
“Where in blazes are you?”
“I— I’m afraid I can’t tell you yet.”
“Quentin.” Her voice reverberated with the contained wrath of a millennia-old succubus.
“I’m perfectly well, I assure you. I simply have things to take care of.”
“‘Things’? What sort of things?”
“I can’t discuss it now. I’ll be out of touch for a couple of weeks, but I’ll call you when I can.”
“Are you at least feeding? You look marginally better than at our last cocktail party. You barely spoke to anyone at all that night, let alone got close enough to absorb any spark.”
“No. But I’ve started a new . . . treatment regimen.” No suppressant and a boost from an achubydd. Not exactly in the standard ’cubi pharmacopeia. “You needn’t worry. I promise. But now I really must go. I’ll call you.”
“Quentin—”
He cut the connection.
Afterward, he tried to settle down on the sofa with his e-reader, but he was too restless to concentrate. He wanted to be up and doing. You want to be doing Ted is what you want. But with that option now permanently off the table, he needed something else to occupy himself.
Since the cabin was starting to feel simultaneously claustrophobic and empty (without Ted in it), Quentin shrugged into his parka and stepped out onto the porch. It was that liminal time that could occur in the mountains. He’d experienced it at his grandmother’s vacation home in Vermont. The sun had dipped below the hills but not beneath the horizon, so while shadows gathered under the trees, the sky was still blue and cloudless.
He struck off along the path to the lodge. When it came into view as he skirted the lake, he studied the shape of the building—its bones, its angles, the way it conformed to its setting. The martens had selected their location well, and the lodge itself was actually quite graceful. When he had first seen it, in his distress and suppressant-induced stupor, he’d termed it derelict. But it wasn’t. It was simply unfinished.
He circled the clearing where the lodge stood, observing it from every angle. The clearing itself was lovely too, even in its bedraggled late-autumn state. The way the lake shore curved, it held the lodge as if in a cupped hand, so the lake would be visible from rooms on two sides. One remaining side faced the forest with a mountaintop rising above it, and the other a broad meadow sloping down to a stand of fir and some kind of bare deciduous trees. Some had peeling white bark—birch, or perhaps aspen? If the others were maple, the foliage would be stunning in the early fall.
Quentin walked up to the porch slowly, savoring the peace. A squirrel chittered at him from the bare branches. “Shut up, you. Where were you when we needed your fleas? Keep them away from me now.”
He slipped inside. The plywood subfloor creaked under his feet, but didn’t give. It was sturdy, like the rest of the building. He wandered through the echoing space. The central lobby was vaulted, roughly three stories high. A temporary staircase led to the upper floors and down into a basement. Using the flashlight on his phone, Quentin went downstairs.
The basement had the same vast footprint as the first floor. He sniffed experimentally and didn’t detect the telltale dankness of poor waterproofing.
This could be turned into vampire suites. The ceiling was at least nine feet high and the walls had long narrow windows that admitted some daylight but would be easy to shutter.
He climbed back upstairs slowly, an idea beginning to take shape. He climbed the next flight to the second floor. When he got to the top of the stairs, he caught movement out of a forest-facing window.
There. Just beyond the tree line, screened by fir branches and underbrush, was a shape. A familiar shape: a bear, huge and brown and shaggy. Ted. Quentin crept to the window, standing to the side so he wouldn’t be readily visible if Ted should look up. His bear form was so beautiful. Strong. Powerful. Still under the trees, he stood on his back legs, and the shimmer of magic swirled around him, lighting him up until Quentin had to shield his eyes.
When he opened them again, Ted was striding toward the lodge. Naked. And Quentin immediately wanted what he couldn’t have.
Devil take it, I will not endanger him. But the notion of never seeing Ted again after two weeks was suddenly unacceptable. The idea that had been percolating in his brain bloomed, fully formed—a way he could help Ted. A way that they could still be connected even after they were divorced.
You say you just want to help him like he helped you, because he’s a good guy and deserves a break. But really you don’t want to completely lose him.
Well, so what if that was true? It wasn’t as if Quentin would break his wedding vows or entice Ted to do the same. They couldn’t, even if they wanted to, since they’d be magically prevented from ever meeting face-to-face. But there were other methods of remaining in contact, particularly with a legitimate, nonsleazy reason for doing so. Surely they could email. Text. Speak on the phone. Quentin would at least know that Ted was well and thriving. With somebody else.
The back door opened and shut. Quentin crept through the forest of bare studs—toward another bare stud? Stop it!—giving Ted time to at least get his pants on. He descended the stairs slowly, but even so, one of the plywood treads creaked under his foot.
“Is someone there?” Ted called, his tone laced with both fear and aggression.
“It’s just me.” Quentin trotted the rest of the way and met Ted in the middle of the big empty lobby. “I was snooping. I hope that’s acceptable.”
Ted finished buttoning his flannel shirt. “Sure. Not much to see, but I guess it makes a change of scenery from the cabin.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
Ted’s hands froze on the last button. “It’s not a change of scenery? I know the cabin’s rustic, but—”
“The cabin is lovely. What I meant was that there’s a lot to see. A lot to admire. What are your plans for this building?”
“Nothing too fancy. I figure the only customers we’d get up here are folks like me who don’t mind roughing it. Maybe when supe kids do their outdoor school they could come up here. I thought I’d turn this into the mess hall. Maybe a meeting room or two. But the rest?” He shrugged. “I figure I’ll just leave it. Weatherproof it, of course, but that’s about it. The martens were planning to fix it up so their huge families could visit, but that never happened.”
“While your plans are perfectly reasonable, I don’t think you’re giving the lodge and this spot enough credit.” Quentin took Ted’s elbow, intending to lead him to the window, but dropped it when that seductive golden energy sent tendrils into his fingers. He strode to the window and pointed at the lake. “This place is beautiful. The lake. The mountains. The trees. You’ve got the bones here, the beginnings of a high-end destination venue.”
Ted scrunched up his face. “I can’t do that. Maybe with Rusty’s help, if he wants it, but it would take years.”
“Perhaps you could hire the carpenter who built the cabinetry in the owner’s cabin to come back and assist.”
“Oh, that was me.”
“You built those cabinets? The bookshelves? The bed frame?”
“Yeah. I wanted to get the place ready for you. Well, not you, but . . . you.”
Quentin’s heart bounded sideways. I wish. “I get it.”
Ted nodded unhappily. “I didn’t finish because I got distracted by other stuff, and then—”
“Then I showed up. Luckily, I don’t get distracted. And don’t you think it would be a better wedding gift for Rusty if he arrived to discover he didn’t have to do all the work?”
Ted scratched the back of his head. “When you put it that way . . .”
“You’ll still finish up the cabin, at least the parts you’re building just for Rusty, because that’s quite romantic and he’ll love it.”
“You think so?”
“Of course. I mean, I would, and I’m an unsentimental incubus. But as for the rest, we’ll get some help for that.”
“I should tell you, Q . . .” Ted’s shoulders inched toward his ears and he wouldn’t meet Quentin’s gaze. “I, um, don’t exactly have the money for that.”
“But I do. Or at least I will, and until then, there’s credit.” He shrugged. “I don’t even have to be discreet about using it anymore, since Grandmother knows I’ve slipped the familial chain.”
“But—”
“There’s no point in protesting, Ted. I’m investing, even if I’m nothing but a silent partner who never visits the site after . . . well . . . you know.” Damn witches anyway. Quentin forced a smile. “And because I believe in protecting my investments, be prepared to work your ass off. Starting tomorrow.”