Laird's Choice (4 page)

"I don't know," Race replied, leaning easily against the doorframe. "You're the one who wanted to go out."

"But I don't live around here."

"And I haven't been around here in a long time.

Want to just go for a drive and see what we crash into?"

Laird nodded. "Come on, we'll take my car."

"Good. Because I haven't had a chance to get one yet."

Leading Race out the door and into the garage,

Laird wondered what else about the sexy cowboy he didn't know. What tattoos did he have to go with those delectable piercings? The only way he could be any more turned on at that moment was if Race had a tongue ring. Biting his lower lip in an attempt at quelling the desire rising in him, he hit the remote for the car alarm to the car and unlocked the doors. He slid into the driver's seat and hit the remote.

Race stood out front admiring the car. "This is what you drive, huh? Not bad." He climbed in beside Laird and closed the door.

"You didn't know that?"

"I haven't really had a chance to see it. Each time I hear the engine it's to see your dust as you're gunning it down the drive."

Laird made a face. "So you like?"

"For some reason I feel like a kid in a candy store."

Laird watched the way Race caressed a hand over

the dash then over the leather seat. It was as if he was caressing a lover: slowly, softly, deliberately. Laird licked his lips, biting back the groan he could feel rippling upward from the tips of this toes.

Shaking his head, Laird laughed. "All right, you wanna drive?" He wanted to see that happy look in Race's eyes again. For some reason it turned him on, gave him a heat surge he'd never experienced before. He had to see that look again—the laughter he knew was in Race's body.

"You
are
joking, right?"

Laird handed him the keys and climbed from the

silver sports car. When he was back in the passenger side, he watched Race's large body slide around the steering wheel before the car purred to life. Race's face lit up then and Laird's heart soared.

This is what a man is supposed to look like.

Soon they were out of the garage with the doors

closing behind them and speeding down the driveway from the ranch. When they turned onto the main road, Race slowed down and Laird managed to peel his eyes away from the cowboy to look out the window. Street lights breezed by overhead as their poles passed the car with a distinct
fooooot!
Still, fear didn't enter Laird's mind. All he could feel was a certain dazed calm as Race's cologne swirled about his senses.

When they finally stopped, Laird blinked and

looked up as Race turned off the ignition.

"We're here."

"Where?" Laird bent his head forward to look out the car.

"The place is still here. It's hard to believe. It's called
Cedar—
a gay club, you don't mind, right? I can't believe it's still here."

Laird smiled. "Of course not." He pushed from the car and slammed the door. Looking up, the moniker flashed a dark red with the club's name spelt out. He waited until Race handed over the keys to the valet before turning again to look at the building. "This is nice."

"I used to love nice things, you know," Race replied.

Laird said nothing to that, but walked by Race's side to the front door where a line was waiting. He walked up to the bouncer.

"How do I get VIP?" Laird questioned.

"Head over to that window." The man pointed.

Thanking him, Laird made his way to the window.

"VIP tonight, sir?"

"Yes. For two."

"Your name, please?"

"Laird Anatolis."

"Ah yes, Mr Anatolis. I can give you the Velvet Room for you and your guest."

"That would be perfect."

Once he had the two passes for the VIP and he paid for it, he walked back to where Race was standing, leaning against someone's car with his arms folded across his chest.

He stopped for a bit, just staring at the cowboy, wondering if Race knew just how hot he looked standing like that.

Laird strapped the VIP chain around Race's neck and stepped back.

Silently, the two made their way into the crowded club and Laird noticed the way people were turning around and staring. He pulled closer to Race's side but didn't touch him. They walked to the bar and he ordered a drink.

"What you drinking?" he asked.

"Guinness," Race said.

Laird could tell the cowboy had his back up but

didn't understand why. Bracing a hand against Race's hip, Laird pushed closer. "What's going on?"

"I guess I'm persona non grata 'round here."

"One of these days you're going to have to talk straight to me."

"Why? There's nothing straight about you," Race replied, staring over to where the DJ was.

Laird made a face and turned to the bartender who was busy trying to get his attention. Accepting the drinks, Laird handed over his credit card and walked with Race to the VIP room.

* * * *

and stretched his legs out before him. He thought people would have been a little bit nicer since he was released because of a wrongful conviction. But even though the law said he wasn't guilty and he knew he'd done nothing wrong, humanity always took precedence over law. Taking a breath, he took a swig from the bottle before turning his eyes to Laird who was staring at him intently.

"You're staring at me as if you want to kiss me,"

Race said.

"And what makes you say that? What in my stare tells you that?"

"The way your eyes change color," Race whispered, easing slowly to rest his elbows on his knees and to level his stare at Laird. "The way your tongue flows over your lips without you knowing. Your breath leaving your body faster."

Laird smiled and took a drink from his bottle. He looked away and the moment their stare broke, Race felt as if he'd overstepped again. Resting back in the seat, he turned to look out over the audience from the semi-silent room. He could see a few people pointing toward their room and he shook his head. He didn't want to be there but it was too late to turn back. To make matters worse, the man across from him had the most delicious body and he couldn't taste it. Pressing his eyes closed, he rested his head back. When he felt the air in the room shift, he knew Laird had moved. He didn't look at the other man. If Laird wanted to run he couldn't blame him. Hell, it would be better if he did walk away. Race smelled Laird and soon felt him climbing astride his lap. He jerked his head up and their eyes met. Laird pressed a finger to Race's lips, caressing them gently before lowering his head.

Race moved his mouth causing Laird to kiss the

corner of his lips. "Laird."

"I'm not country enough for you, Race?"

"Don't put words in my mouth. You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"I'm a big boy," Laird said, grinding his hips downward.

Race arched a brow as Laird's arousal dug into his own. He groaned, pressing his eyes closed and lifting his hips ever so slightly to cause their dicks to rub harder against one another. "I want this, Laird. It's been so long since I've been with someone." Reaching around, he grabbed Laird's hips and pressed down. Slowly, he rolled his hips up, feeling Laird hot against him. Helpless to the fire charging through him, he caressed up Laird's back until one hand was against his neck. He tangled the fingers of his free hand in Laird's hair. Gasping, eyes closed and body raging, he pulled Laird's mouth down over his roughly. A satisfied growl escaped his body, rippled off both their lips as he sucked Laird's tongue in. Their bodies gyrated against one another even as he greedily feasted from Laird's lips.

He whimpered softly, tugging on Laird's hair. He felt Laird tremble against him before Laird moved a hand down to grip his hips. Race couldn't take it—he couldn't take the heat and the pleasure.

He yanked his mouth back, chest heaving, lungs

burning, and allowed his head to fall back against the seat.

A rush of adrenaline flowed through him like a river after a storm as Laird found his nipple piercings and flicked them with his index fingers. Race wanted to purr at him but grabbed his hands and restrained them behind Laird's back.

"Can't take the heat, Race?" Laird whispered leaning in and licking Race against the neck. "You might want to get out of my pants then."

Race laughed. It sounded like a rumble to his ears.

"Oh trust me, Laird, I can do things to your body you wouldn't understand but you would want. But there are things about me you won't like and I don't want to get into something with you only to have it end because of those things."

He could see frustration written all over Laird's face. But the real estate mogul had no time to say anything because the room erupted with the music from the outer club as someone walked in through the doors. They both turned to look at the man.

"Can I help you?" Laird questioned.

"I wanted to know your name," the man said, flopping down in Laird's seat and lifting his legs to the center table.

Race growled. Laird braced a hand to his chest

gently while staring over his shoulder at the man sitting there as though he was supposed to be there. "This is a private room," Race pointed out. "Get out."

"I'm not talking to you!" the man fired back.

Race surged from his seat, fist clenched. Laird fell to the sofa beside him and Race charged. Suddenly he was stopped and looked back to see that Laird was holding him.

He glanced back at the man who was smirking at him. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the mirth off the jerk's face with his fist.

"First of all." Laird stood. "My name is none of your business. Second, I'm here with someone."

"This?" The man spit distastefully. "You need a real man."

"And you're it?" Laird asked. "Okay, let's make this simple. You're going to get up and walk your ass out that door. If not, I'm going to use my fist to rearrange your face.

Got it?"

Laird's voice sounded calm but cold to Race's ears.

It was a voice that told Race that Laird meant business. Still the man didn't move. Race growled, gripped the man by the front of the shirt and dragged him toward the door.

Opening it, he tossed the man out and watched as he tumbled down the three steps to the regular dance floor.

The crowd spread out to watch him fall hard. Race then walked back into the room and drained his bottle.

"We should go," Race said.

"Why? We have as much right to be here as anyone else!"

"Yes, we do. But I don't want a fight right now…"

Laird said nothing for a while but stared out the glass. Finally he nodded and took Race's hand. Race allowed him to lead him through the crowd and out the door into the moonlight. When the valet brought the car around, Race handed the keys to Laird and climbed into the passenger side.

"I assume you don't want to go home yet."

"No—I'm too worked up."

"You would have hurt him wouldn't you?"

Race nodded. "Yes."

"Why didn't you?"

Race looked out the window. "You were there."

* * * *

Laird sat in the sand watching the wind blow Race's hair. Race was standing on the edge of the water, tossing stones. Laird could see the demons swirling about the cowboy's head, and he wondered what was so horrible. But then something else flashed through Laird's mind and he had to lick his lips. He could still taste Race on them.

Race's hard body had pulsated against him, and when he began teasing Race's nipples, a growl like he'd never heard had been forced from the cowboy's body. A shiver made its way through Laird, leaving him weak and wanting. Still, he did not speak. He knew Race wanted the quiet and the peace the ocean brought. If there was one thing he learned from his father, it was to let the lover come to him.

Smiling, he shook his head and lay on his back to stare up at the sky. He felt it the moment Race sat then lay beside him.

"Can you be patient, Laird? I know we just met but I'd like to get to know you. I just need you to be patient."

Laird turned his head to meet Race's dark eyes. "I can be patient. I wasn't looking for a relationship when I came here anyways. I just wanted to get away from Eros.

Now I met you and I don't know what to make of you."

Race chuckled. "I'm like a rash you didn't realize you had until it's too late."

"Is it the kind of rash that's harmless but scratching it is so good?"

"I don't know about harmless." Race laughed.

"Well, like I said before. I'm a big boy. I'll take my chances."

Race said nothing else but straightened his body out at Laird's side. Laird turned his attention back to the sky with a deep breath. He needed to speak with his brothers and maybe his brothers-in-law.

The sun shining in his face woke Race up the next morning. The kiss he'd shared with Laird was at the forefront of his mind even as he pulled himself from the bed and staggered into the bathroom. What had he gotten himself into? There was no way anything could come from that kiss!

Stupid! Stupid!

Taking a breath and avoiding his eyes in the mirror, he bent over and turned on the tap. Cold water spilled into his palms, and though all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed, he simply splashed some water on his face then over his head. Reaching for a towel, he dried his face then dragged it over his hair before tossing it aside. In the bedroom, he pulled on a pair of pants and a blue and black plaid shirt before sneaking out the side door of the kitchen.

Winston hadn't bothered setting the coffee maker the night before. With a frown, he stopped to check on the horses.

"You know, Brigadier, you are more trouble than you're worth." But even as he said that he was rubbing a hand against the horse's neck. After a moment of loving, Race set to work. First, he had to drag the hose from where it was coiled so he could fill all the water troughs. He tried to bury himself in the work, afraid of what would happen once Laird was up and wanted to take him house hunting.