13

 

 

In the assistant general manager’s office, directly behind reception, Gloria Alvarez and Connor were having their first extensive conversation since his return. The office was spacious and had a window looking out on to the motor court that allowed in a warm spill of sunlight. Unlike their former general manager, Gloria didn’t need the privacy of a windowless office to day drink and orchestrate criminal conspiracies.

After beginning things with a long hug, their meeting had focused mostly on the state of the hotel for the last five years, but as Connor had expected, it turned into a long overdue catch-up that veered in and out of pleasant reminiscences of the old days, of Connor’s father and grandfather.

In short, it was the deep breath they both needed after the chaos of his return the day before.

But there was one topic Gloria had studiously avoided until now.

“So,” she said with an air of finality. “Logan.”

“He told you.”

“Some. I don’t need the details. That’s not why I brought it up. I just hope you both can get past it is all.”

“We’ll do what’s best for the hotel.”

“Good,” Gloria said. “Because I’ll be blunt. You need to. Both of you. He’s one of the best people who’s ever worked here, Connor. I heard how they ganged up on him in the department meeting. If I’d been there, I would have had his back.”

Connor was about to respond when there was a harsh knock. He opened the door and saw Donnie looking back at him, pale and wide-eyed.

“We got a visitor who’s really shaking things up out here,” Donnie said.

“Who?”

“Your uncle.”

The last time Connor’s pulse had roared in his ears like this he’d done a Barry’s Bootcamp class first thing in the morning with only a Diet Coke in his stomach.

By the time he reached the lobby, there was sweat under his collar, and his throat had gone raw in that way that told him he was dangerously short of breath. He’d expected Rodney to retaliate, of course. But through the press. Not with a surprise appearance at the scene of his crimes.

Rodney wasn’t alone. A tall, bespectacled man in an expensive-looking charcoal suit was next to him, and behind them both, a cameraman and the blond television reporter who’d shouted questions at Connor during the press conference the day before.

“I’m sorry, man.” Donnie matched Connor step for step. “They walked up the hill so no one saw his car coming. He said some things to the reporters, then he grabbed that one there and asked if she’d come inside with him. We asked them to leave, but they’re talking all kinds of shit.”

The fact that Rodney had grabbed the reporter at the last minute suggested this wasn’t a well-coordinated invasion. A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

When Rodney saw Connor approaching, he turned and raised his arms. “The prodigal son returns!” he bellowed.

To Connor’s increasing distress, his uncle had dressed like he was coming to work. Blue blazer with a bulging white pocket square and pressed khakis, along with spit-shined black dress shoes.

“Rodney, this is not a good choice.” When the camera was shoved in his face, Connor was tempted to order them out as well. But the media could still be his greatest asset if he played this right. “I’d be happy to grant you a walk-through and a sit-down interview later today, but I’ll need you to set up a time with one of our assistant general managers. They’ll be happy to—”

“No.” Rodney raised a trigger finger and swept everyone with it. “They’re with me. I’m giving them access.”

“No, Rodney. You can’t do that.”

Rodney stepped forward and clapped a hand on both of Connor’s shoulders like he used to do when Connor was ten and he was trying to steer him out of the room. “Yeah, yeah, real cute, big man. Look, fact is, all the wrong people got to you before I did, and that’s why you’re all confused. Tell you what. I’ll let bygones be bygones, and we can call your little press conference yesterday water under the bridge. Come back to my office, we’ll take a load off. Talk this out. You can fill me in on how things have been going while you’ve been playing your little game of hotel.”

Connor tried not to let his rage enter his expression, but he couldn’t quite manage a smile. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Oh, okay.” Rodney’s eyes were bloodshot, maybe from the same stuff Connor could smell on the man’s breath. “Well, you can hightail it back to New York then and let me do my job, sport.”

“It’s not appropriate for you to be on the property right now. I need you to leave. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, no. See, you don’t tell me when to leave my hotel.”

“It’s not your hotel. It’s owned by a family trust. And the trust fired you two days ago.”

The lawyer stepped forward. “Yeah, we’ll have some things to say about that.”

Connor met the man’s glare with one of his own. “Good. Say them in a law office or a courtroom. Not the lobby of this hotel an hour after your client was arraigned on charges of blackmailing guests here.”

Taken aback by the look in Connor’s eyes, the lawyer gently gripped Rodney’s elbow and tried to pull him away, a sign his commitment to this scene was wavering. If it had ever been much to begin with. “All right, Rodney. Why don’t we let them have some—”

“Fuck that! I’m not going anywhere.” Rodney shook his lawyer’s arm off. “You think you’re going to litigate our family’s dirty laundry in the press? You think that’s how the hotel game works, kid? How about I walk out there right now and tell them what your dad said to me when he found out you were gay? That he felt like he’d been kicked in the teeth and wished he’d had a daughter instead.”

Connor felt like he’d been slapped. “Go ahead. I’ll take the mic right after you and read the letter my father wrote me before he died. The one where he explained why he and your dad had to rewrite the trust because they were afraid one day your criminal behavior was going to run this place into the ground.”

At first, Connor thought the sudden pressure at his chest was a new surge of anxiety. Then he realized it was coming from Rodney’s hand. His uncle had grabbed the lapels of his jacket with enough force to knock him off balance. Rodney’s heaving breaths were whiskey rancid.

The cameraman backed up to get a better angle on them both, but the center of Connor’s world had become his uncle’s bulging eyes. Over and over again the lawyer said Rodney’s name, but Rodney didn’t seem to hear that, or anything else. He was deafened by his own rage.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, you little faggot, but if you don’t—”

And then Rodney was gone.

He’d been whipped away. There were no other words for it. The tension at Connor’s chest was also gone.

An impact shook the floor and rattled the vases of flowers on the console table nearby. That’s when Connor saw that Rodney had been slammed into the nearest wall by a tidal wave of force. A tidal wave of force named Logan Murdoch.

The breath went out of Rodney in a stuttering series of gasps. Logan gripped the man’s throat in one hand with a force that rendered Rodney’s limbs limp and useless. To top it all off, Logan didn’t even look winded by his efforts.

“You ever put a hand on Connor again and I’ll break it,” Logan said in a voice like low thunder. “And you ever call him a name like that again, I’ll knock you into next week and wear the assault charge like a badge.”

Rodney responded with a wheeze.

“You’ve got two choices, Mr. Harcourt. There’s not a third. You can hold your chin up, walk out of this hotel and straight past those reporters without saying a damn word. Or I can throw you out so you land flat on your face and give them all the photo op they’re waiting for. You’ve got ten seconds to pick. Or I do. And I gotta be honest, I’m leaning toward face plant.”

Logan released Rodney’s throat, giving him a second to regain his balance.

Pale and breathless, Rodney stumbled forward from the wall, avoiding the stunned stares of everyone in the lobby. Including Connor’s. The camera swung to follow him as he shuffled through the lobby doors.

The lawyer turned toward Logan, his lips parted. The expression on Logan’s face made the lawyer blink several times, turn, and follow his client out of the lobby.

Outside, Rodney took option one. Even as they advanced on him, he didn’t raise his head or say a word to the cameras. He must have realized the terrible mistake he’d made, dragging a reporter into the hotel to film him acting like the very villain Connor had described at the press conference the day before.

“Would you like to set up an interview with Connor later?” Connor heard Gloria say to the reporter.

“You know, I think we might have everything we need,” the reporter said. “Thanks.”

But their voices seemed far away.

All Connor saw was Logan. Big, beautiful Logan who’d unleashed a display of swift and focused power. And he’d done it without knocking a single hair of his own out of place. Gloria asked Connor if he was all right, maybe because he looked like he was in shock. He was in a way. But not from Rodney’s outburst. From what Logan had done. Grabbing a force for malevolence in Connor’s life and silencing it with one hand and a solid wall and threats he’d uttered with cool confidence.

Their noses were almost touching.

Logan’s fingers were at Connor’s neck, grazing his skin.

“I should probably get a closer look at this,” he said. “See if there’s a bruise.”

“Yeah, totally,” Connor whispered.

Connor wasn’t bruised. Physically, anyway. But right now, being alone with Logan seemed like the treatment for every ailment he might ever have.

“My office.” Someone else said these words, not Connor.

They walked together, side by side. Like coworkers. Like professionals. But all Connor heard were Logan’s footfalls next to his, a metronome for his wild, uncontrollable desire.

When they reached their destination, Connor stepped inside first.

He turned, half expecting to see a puzzled or remote look on Logan’s face that said Connor had imagined the rivers of pure desire flowing between them after Rodney stumbled out of the lobby. Instead, he saw fire in Logan’s eyes, saw Logan reach behind him and slam the office door with one powerful arm, lock the deadbolt with a swipe of one fist. Saw Logan advance on him, the focused fury with which he’d incapacitated Connor’s uncle turning into feral lust. A hunger that drove Connor’s back to the wall as Logan advanced, ready to claim the territory he’d just defended.

Logan gripped the side of Connor’s face, reached up with his other hand, and ran his fingers through Connor’s hair, as if the feel of it between his fingers satisfied a long-denied craving. The silent, deliciously torturous dance sent a single message—all the power and force he’d used to drop Rodney like a rock, he could also use to send Connor into ecstasy. And he was willing to do it right here, right now. On top of his uncle’s desk.

“My hero,” Connor whispered.

Suddenly, their mouths were locked, but it was like they were flying. That’s how powerful Logan’s embrace was. Every inch of Connor’s body that fell outside the radius of Logan’s devouring kisses felt vaporous and free, spirit floating above skin.

When his kisses met Connor’s neck and found the special spot he’d discovered years before and neglected ever since, Connor’s back arched. His desperate moans turned to hungry, pleading whines.

“My hero,” Connor whispered. When Logan heard these words a second time, he growled, spun Connor to face the wall, unbuckled Connor’s belt, yanked his briefs down with a single, powerful tug, releasing Connor’s achingly hard cock, exposing his ass to a blast of cool air quickly followed by Logan’s heat. Deliciously exposed, Logan’s fingers traced the crack of his ass, gently, teasingly.

“One kiss isn’t going to be enough to satisfy me this time,” Logan said.

Logan’s fingers gently caressed his bare crack, sending cascades of pleasure up his spine, forcing desperate moans from him.

“You too, it looks like. Someone’s very sensitive down here,” Logan whispered.

There was a shifting and rustling behind him.

“Very, very sensitive.” Logan’s voice sounded like it was coming from a different place. Literally. The man had dropped to his knees behind Connor’s exposed ass, and the fingers he’d been using to caress were now gripping Connor’s cheeks, spreading them slightly.

Oh my God. Is he really about to—

Before Connor could finish the thought, Logan bathed the most sensitive part of his body with his tongue. Shock, alarm, and pleasure crashed into each other inside of Connor, forcing him to bite down on one clenched fist he’d pressed to the wall above his head, like a man getting arrested by desire. Logan’s licks were long, hungry, and fearless, leaving Connor slick, exposed, and trembling, telling him no part of his body was shameful or off limits. That not an inch of him would escape Logan’s long-delayed desire.

It was too much. It was everything. It was perfect, and it left Connor whispering curses against the wall like a man watching his every shred of reason leave him.

Then Logan’s mouth was at his ear. “So what do you say, Mr. Harcourt? Do I stop? Because if I don’t, I don’t care if God knocks on that door, you don’t leave this office until your cum is on my hands.”

“Don’t stop.”

Logan let out an appreciative growl, then he dipped his middle fingers in between Connor’s lips. With a leap in his chest, Connor realized what was to come and left them slick with spit even though he was fighting the urge to suckle them just so he could taste Logan. But the man had work to do. Logan used his lubed-up fingers to probe at Connor’s entrance, letting out a surprised grunt when he felt almost no resistance. Then, slowly, working, probing, he found the seat of Connor’s pleasure. Grazed it, stroked it, applied pressure all while working Connor’s throbbing, leaking cock with his other hand, his mouth at Connor’s neck.

As Logan intensified his ministrations, Connor straightened, rocking back until he was almost standing and riding Logan’s fingers up and down. Reaching back, his hand found Logan’s muscular neck and held on for dear life. He couldn’t decide if he was leaving his body on waves of pleasure or being driven so deep inside of it he was discovering a place where pleasure reigned supreme. A place where there was only Logan’s all-consuming embrace, powered by a reckless and relentless finger-fuck coupled with expert strokes of Connor’s cock.

He was close, perilously close. In danger of crying out so loud they’d hear him in LA.

He rocked forward, releasing Logan’s neck, bracing himself against the wall with both hands and clamping his mouth around the arm of his jacket, muffling the cry that was already tearing from him. He expected Logan to shush him, or at least ask him to be quiet, but the man only quickened the thrusts of his fingers and the strokes of his other hand. He was watching Connor’s face, studying every change in his expression, using them to guide his probing, his stroking, his determined finger-fucking.

So often when he was alone, with only his hand and fantasy to guide him, Connor’s orgasms were prolonged but stuttering. As if they fought their way through his entire body in stages, each new rush forcing another series of startled cries from him. This was an unstoppable eruption that swept him from head to toe. It wasn’t a series of cries that tore from his throat, but one long moan muffled into the spit-dampened arm of his jacket.

He rocked back against Logan’s body.

Logan slowly withdrew his fingers from within Connor’s heat and wrapped that same arm around Connor’s stomach, holding him upright while he lavished his neck with more kisses.

The combined sense of being emptied and supported made Connor feel both boneless and airborne.

“Breathe,” Logan whispered. “Just breathe.”

Connor was doing his best. But it was hard.

“Told you I’d finish.”

And when Logan raised the hand he’d used to stroke Connor to release, his fingers were coated. For a second, Connor thought the quick search for a tissue would bring an end to their lustful reverie. But Logan didn’t release him.

This time, there was no crackle of voices in Logan’s earpiece. No hasty escape. This time he steered Connor to the sofa, letting him stay rag-doll limp in his arms as he settled down onto the cushions, allowing Connor to wilt against him, face down, shielding his exposed cock and balls between his legs. Once Connor was settled, he gently pulled a tissue from the box beside the sofa, using it to clean his hand. But slowly, as if he didn’t want the business of it to distract from Connor’s lingering bliss. The air-conditioned air still kissed his exposed ass, but Connor didn’t want to move. Couldn’t move. Didn’t care that the distant sounds of the hotel were penetrating the office, driving home the recklessness of this act.

A moment that had started five years ago had finally come to a blissful fruition, and every orgasm Connor had experienced since had been a warmup for this one. And now, if either one of them tried to run, there’d be a lot more to run from.

But neither one of them was running. They were lying in each other’s arms as if they never planned to run again.