Criminal Pleasures (12 page)

His dismay continued as Marc led him inside to a cozy, very clean interior with high beamed ceilings and tasteful furnishings. Colorful paintings and photography prints hung along the walls. It was surprisingly comfortable and orderly. In the movies, police detectives always lived in shadowy apartments with overflowing ashtrays and unmade beds.

“Hey, are you really a smoker?” Brendan asked as Marc rummaged through his refrigerator.

“Not anymore,” he said, pulling a packet of steaks out and setting them on the tiled island at the center of the kitchen. “I did get kind of addicted to them but I started on the patch as soon as I got home from Rhode Island.” He glanced over at Brendan. “The cigarettes gave me an excuse to go outside if I needed to make a call.”

Brendan drifted over. “What are you doing?”

“Making us dinner.”

“You don’t have to do that. I don’t want to have dinner with you.”

Marc looked at him as he pulled a head of lettuce out of the crisper. “Okay. I’ll just cook for myself and eat it in front you then. Will that make you happy?”

Brendan moved out of the kitchen and plunked down on a chair in the adjoining den.

Marc glanced over at him as he set the steaks down on a cutting board. “I understand how you feel about me, Brendan. I deserve your anger. But I’m tired. I’ve just come off a bitch of an assignment and I just want to have a nice dinner with someone who isn’t sulking.”

“I am not sulking.”

“You’re sulking, Blondie.”

Brendan stood again and went back over to the island. “I’m not sulking. I just don’t know what to say. Because I don’t
know
you. And incidentally,
I
haven’t had a peach of a week, either. So don’t give me attitude.”

Marc glanced up and grinned as he chopped mushrooms. “Is this our first fight, sweetheart?”

“You’re not funny.”

“Sure I am, wait till you get to know me.”

Get to know you?
Brendan’s stomach tightened. The statement excited him, though he tried to deny it to himself. But though he knew his wasn’t Marcello, and accepted that the deception had its foundations, that he seemed genuinely remorseful for screwing Brendan over, he was still wary to trust this man. Once bitten, twice shy.

Marc slid the mushrooms into a frying pan, then looked at Brendan. “What? You don’t want to get to know me?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest.”

Marc ran his hands under the sink tap then wiped them on a towel. “That’s a more encouraging answer than I expected.” He tugged at his tie. “I’m gonna go upstairs and change. Make yourself at home. There’s a liquor hutch in the sunroom, pour me a Frangelico, will you? And whatever you want.”

Marc started out of the room.

“Frangelico, huh?” Brendan said.

Marc paused and looked back, grinning. “I told you. Not
everything
was fake. I like Frangelico. And I like you.”

He watched Marc disappear up a staircase, his cock stirring in his pants.
Damn. Bastard is sucking me in again.
Was Brendan so easy? Or was Marc just that good?

He meandered around, finally finding the liquor hutch in a little sunroom. He poured two Frangelicos and drifted back to the kitchen, setting them down. Then he moved into the living room and examined the paintings on the wall. He opened a door and peeked in, finding a small, clean bathroom. His eyes took it all in and he found himself noting the details—soap, the color of his razor, the brand of shower gel—like these were small treasures of information.

He left the bathroom and glanced up the staircase. Assured he was still alone, he continued his snooping. He found a desk in the corner with some paperwork and a couple of envelopes with Marc’s name and address on them. They were held in place by a glass paperweight in the shape of a squid.

He found another door and opened it. It was dark inside, so he flicked the switch by the door, and gasped as blue and green lights flooded the room. Thunder rumbled softly. Wall to wall plants and fountains. Another rainforest room. Brendan stood in the doorway, remembering Marc’s Providence apartment. And the kissing. And the touching. And the...

And the fake accent, you gullible mook
. 

He shut the lights off and closed the door, then moved back to the kitchen, where mushrooms sizzled in the frying pan. The steaks were trimmed and marinating in a tray. He picked up his Frangelico and took a sip, savoring the sweet, nutty flavor, and then he heard Marc come down the stairs.

Marc looked freshly showered, his short hair damp and less coiffed, and he wore flannel pajama pants that hugged his ass just right, with a white, long sleeved jersey that accentuated his tanned skin. He was too gorgeous for words, and Brendan had to look away, pretending to be interested in the mushrooms.

“Do you want something to change into?” Marc asked as he stirred the mushrooms. He gestured to Brendan’s body. He still wore his suit from being at work earlier that morning. Changing sounded great, but it also felt a bit too familiar.

“No, thanks. If they find my car, I’m going to want to go get it.”

“If they find your car,” Marc said, “they’ll keep it safe for the night. And you’re staying here. You might as well get comfortable.”

“I’m not staying here overnight.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Marc, you can’t tell me what to do.”

“You’re staying here tonight, Brendan.”

Brendan chuckled, shaking his head. “Why are you being so pushy?”

Marc set down the spatula and rounded the island, his eyes locked on Brendan’s as he moved toward him. Brendan’s pulse sped, and he took a step back, away from him. But Marc grabbed his arm and pulled him in. “Brendan.”

“Don’t.” Brendan tried to push him back, but Marc tightened his grip, pulling him closer. His familiar scent invaded Brendan’s nose, the warmth of his body turning his insides to jelly.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Marc said. “I’m not letting you leave. Not yet.”

“It’s not your choice,” Brendan said breathily, trying desperately not to meet Marc’s eyes. Marc’s face was so close, and Brendan’s body had gone limp in his arms, losing the will to fight him off. “It’s my choice,” Brendan whispered, his stomach trembling.

“So choose.” Marc kissed him and Brendan didn’t try to fight it. He melted into it, the breath leaking out of him with a hiss of surrender. Marc’s fingers threaded through his hair and he deepened the kiss, his tongue searching Brendan’s mouth.

Finally their lips parted, and Marc’s hand cupped Brendan’s chin. “I set some clothes out for you on my bed. Go take a shower, there’s a bathroom upstairs. Dinner should be ready when you come down.”

Marc didn’t wait for an answer, simply went back to the stove and began laying steaks on the grill. Brendan made his way to the stairs, trying to control his breathing. His cock was hard enough to crack a boulder and his pulse tapped rapidly in his neck.

He found Marc’s room, where gray lounge pants and a black tee shirt were set out on the king-sized bed, next to a pair of thick socks and a towel. Brendan paused, and sat down, feeling overwhelmed. It was all so disorienting, this new, bossy version of Marc. And it felt too good, too comfortable. Brendan didn’t want to get sucked in again, to lose himself in this man the way he’d done before.

Despite Marc’s seeming confidence, Brendan thought he could sense his nervousness beneath it. He recalled that moment when he saw him on the street after work, when he’d seen his hands shake as he lit his cigarette.

He examined a photograph on the bedside table. In it Marc stood with his arms around two men, all of them tanned and wet, standing on a speedboat. It looked to be a few years old, and Marc’s hair was slightly longer than it was now. He picked up the photograph.

Who
are
you?
  

Music started downstairs and Brendan looked up. Marc had turned on some jazz, and was whistling along, the sounds of sizzling and cooking in the background. Brendan remembered the first night they met, when he’d tried to get Marc to go to a jazz bar with him. He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“You don’t want to get to know me?”

Brendan replaced the photograph, then grabbed his clothes and towel and went to find the shower.

****

When Brendan went back downstairs, Marc had set the table in the small dining room off the kitchen, and put out a bottle of wine with two glasses. Brendan peeked into the dining room, then proceeded to the kitchen where Marc was setting the steak onto a platter. For a moment it reminded Brendan of watching him at Bibeta’s, scurrying around, clearing tables, opening bottles of wine.

Marc looked up, and his eyes did an appreciative scan of Brendan. “My clothes look better on you,” he said.

“I have to dispute that,” Brendan said, allowing his eyes to roam over Marc’s body.

Marc smiled, looking pleased and immensely relieved. He set down the tongs he’d been holding and moved toward Brendan, stopping just before him. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on Brendan’s shoulder, his fingers stroking his arms. Brendan shuddered with the contact, inhaling the fresh, soapy smell of him.

“Are you done hating me, yet?” Marc asked softly. “Can we start over now?”

Brendan hesitated only a moment before wrapping his arms around him, pulling him in close, breathing him in. “You don’t play fair,” Brendan said.

Marc wrapped his arms around Brendan. “I fight dirty when I want something, so you might as well give me a chance.”

Brendan said nothing, but he didn’t really have to. His boner was pressing into Marc’s hip, and there was nothing he could do to hide it.

“Come on,” Marc said. “Let’s eat.”

The steaks were delicious, as was the salad and bread. As they sipped their wine, Marc asked Brendan questions about his life, his past, his law practice, and he grew slowly and gradually comfortable in his presence. Brendan knew he should have been more worried about his car, but he could only focus on the gorgeous man sitting at the table with him. He tried not to stare at Marc, but couldn’t keep his eyes off him for very long.

He could tell Marc wanted him too, his pupils black and dilated in the dim dining room light, his gaze periodically flicking to Brendan’s lips. It was the one thing that felt completely familiar, that soft, longing expression in Marc’s eyes when he looked at Brendan. It was the glimpse of someone else he’d seen surface a few times before he knew who Marc really was, the truth peeking out behind the mask of Marcello. Whatever had been deception, Marc’s desire for him felt real, as it had before, perhaps more so. The stiff reluctance Brendan always sensed in the man he knew as Marcello was gone, replaced by a forceful intensity that made Brendan feel weak and helpless.

“I cannot believe you’re here,” Marc said.

Brendan laughed. “Yeah. This is certainly not what I imagined when I woke up this morning.”

“Maybe it’s fate that your car got stolen?”

“If fate stole my car, I’m gonna kick fate’s ass.”

Marc pushed his plate back and slid his chair close to Brendan. He leaned his elbow on the table, resting his cheek on his palm. He chuckled. “You know, after I left Providence. After the raid, I kept thinking, what the fuck? Why did I have to meet someone I liked under
those
circumstances? And now I can’t ever see him again. It was driving me insane. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Brendan’s eyes narrowed. “Do you mean that?”

Marc nodded. “You don’t believe me?”

“You were pretty damn convincing when you threatened to put your fist down my throat.”

He grinned. “I had to be. But just because I’m good at my job doesn’t mean I can’t be sincere.”

“If you’re so good at your job,” Brendan said, “why did you take me home that night?”

Marc climbed out of his chair and sat down on Brendan’s lap, straddling him. “I answered that question already. I couldn’t help myself.”

Brendan frowned slightly, fighting the distraction of Marc’s ass on his lap. “It was Marcello who said that to me. At my place, right before he bolted out the door.”

“No, it was me.” He kissed Brendan hard, then pulled back. “It was me every time I kissed you,” he whispered. “It was me when I took you to my bed.” He kissed Brendan again, sucking his lower lip before pulling back. “It was me lubing up your cock then grinding against you until we both came.”

Brendan grabbed his hips and pulled him down, pressing Marc’s ass against his erection. “Jesus Christ. You really don’t play fair.”

Marc tilted his hips, riding Brendan’s cock through the fabric, letting it glide between his ass cheeks. His golden brown eyes were eyes hazed with lust. “Tell me you still want me, Brendan.”

“Yes.” He thrust his hips up. “And I hate you for it.”

Marc groaned, and his lips trailed a line down Brendan’s jaw, stopping to nibble his neck. “Let me take you to bed,” he said. “I can make you stop hating me.”

“You weren’t supposed to seduce me again.” Brendan’s eyes closed. His cock throbbed with need, and he groaned as Marc sucked on his neck.

“I’ll stop if you want,” Marc said. He pulled back and looked into Brendan’s eyes. “Tell me what you want. Honestly.”

Brendan swallowed hard. “I can’t think straight right now.”

Marc sighed and dropped his head on Brendan’s shoulder. “Can I ask you something?” He lifted his head and looked at Brendan, who nodded. “I know it hasn’t been that long since I’ve seen you but...have you been with anyone else since then?”

The question surprised Brendan. “No,” he said. “Why?”

Marc looked serious suddenly. “You said you’d never been with a man. Not completely. I know I’m being pushy with you tonight. I just want to know if that’s what’s holding you back. Or if it’s what I did. Lying to you.”

Brendan shook his head. “My cock’s pressed against your ass. I wouldn’t call this holding back.”

Marc ran his fingers through Brendan’s hair, looking in his eyes. “I’m gay, Brendan.”

Brendan chuckled. “Yeah, I riddled that out. Thanks.”

“Are you?”

Brendan raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know what I am.”