Romano and Albright 01 - Catch Me If You Can (MM) (19 page)

“Yeah. He told me something about that. So, the guy gives good head and likes to have his ass smacked.”

“Well, that sums him up.” In a neat little package tied with a bow. Apparently the word
discretion
wasn’t on Shep’s vocab list. He’d probably blown half of last night’s guest list—and all of Poppy’s staff. I could almost believe he’d had sex with Rachel. No wonder he’d been sweating.

Jean Luc surprised me when he admitted, “He’s probably the most perfect date I’ve ever had.”

Now that was news. “Where are you?”

“I’m on the subway, heading in.”

“Listen. Has anyone asked you for money?”

He laughed humorlessly. “Everyone asks me for money. Even the IRS.”

A cab pulled over and Brandon smiled, his lips stretching like rubber. He swayed on his feet. I said, “I’ll call you back.”

“Wait!”

I folded my phone and this time, I turned it off. Brandon and his cab merged into traffic and moved slowly toward the tunnel.

I got out of Poppy’s van, dashed up the block and leaped the steps. This particular house was divided into three apartments, Brandon’s place on the first floor. I slipped through the front door, and hoped to God I wasn’t acting as conspicuously as I felt.

Brandon’s door wasn’t only unlocked, it was partially open.

“Hello? Anyone at home?” Nervously, I knocked. Who leaves the door open in New York? But I saw him leave. I stood there holding that foolish lock pick, and the door slid open on its own. It was a sign. The stairs twisting to the two apartments above were silent, so I pushed the door farther.

“Hell-oooo?” I sounded like one of the Golden Girls. I needed to stop that. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. The door was unlatched, so,
technically,
I was simply checking to see if Brandon was all right.

I went into the hall, scoping his place out. It was long and narrow, as most brownstones are, the ceilings tall, the walls painted plaster, and Brandon’s furnishings were incredible. All antique, all heavy, rich, masculine pieces that were fit for a king or a barrister. He must have inherited them from his Beantown kin, because these were beyond the reach of just about anyone. The dining room, living room, the hall coat rack, there were a few towering pieces crammed into the place. Here and there, the plaster revealed light rectangles where something once stood. He must have been reduced to pawning some of the family heritage.

Still, he was another single man with a large apartment. It used to be one of the perks of living across the river—affordability and space. Over these last ten years our real estate had gotten out of the hands of the locals. We were all scrambling to stay in neighborhoods which had somehow become prime real estate.

Anyway, the place had a long hall with doors all over the place. He should put numbers on them to keep track. What do we have behind Door Number One, Johnny?

Yes, I was nervous.

“Hello? Anyone at home?” Silence, and thank God for it.

I started flinging all the doors wide, peering in, and quickly shutting them. I was looking for booty. I checked the living room, dining room, bath, bedroom, and under the stairwell, yet another closet. Exactly like
Harry Potter
.

But no Justin Timberlake.

The apartment ended in a large open kitchen that stretched the entire width of the brownstone. It was the kind of kitchen you could raise a family in, with an island and view of a neat back alley. A door led to a tiny covered porch. Other than a pile of dishes in the sink, and an open bottle of Coca-Cola, there was nothing of interest. I kept searching.

I went back in the hall. My God. I’d never seen so many closets. There was a broom closet, a coat closet, a butler’s pantry—

Something clattered in the hall, and I jumped like a jackrabbit into that stairwell closet. It was filled with winter clothing…and still no head or Mallory’s lost painting.

Before panic overwhelmed me, the door swung open and Dan stepped into the closet. He covered my mouth with his hard hand. “Shhh. Someone’s coming.” He shut us in without a sound.

Heart in my throat, blood pounding through my temples, I stared at the shadowed outline of Dan, my eyes probably the size of golf balls. Where the hell had he come from? He was so close, I bet he could see veins throbbing in my skull. Bastard had scared the living hell out of me.

He leaned in, his lips nuzzling my ear. “You okay? I didn’t mean to scare you, but you were about to get caught.”

I had gotten caught, the idiot, by him.

I nodded. Dan did not see fit to move his hand from my mouth. I grabbed his wrist. Slits of light showed around the door’s edge, and a small crack revealed itself behind Dan’s right ear.

“You be quiet. It’s Shep.”

Shep? I nodded again and Dan moved his hand. I whispered against his ear, “If he opens this door, we’re toast.”

“No problem. I’ll knock him out. I brought a taser.”

I clutched his sleeve, feeling faint.

“I’m kidding, Caesar. All will be well. Until we leave and I smack you in the head.”

I was so impossibly tense, my neck ached. Dan shuffled around, soundlessly slipping behind me so I could get a better view. Now I could see just enough to make me hyperventilate. I peeked out the crack, preparing for that moment when the jig was up. From here, I had a clear view of the kitchen doorway, the cabinets, and the hall on this end. That’s all. From the other end of the apartment, the front door opened. Shep called, “Hello? Anyone home?”

The front door closed and I guessed that Shep was doing exactly what I had done. Looking around. For what? He couldn’t retrieve a video. This entire scenario kept getting more confusing. Unless he was here to meet with Brandon, or confront him.

Doors continued to open and shut as he moved ever closer to our hiding place. It was only a matter of seconds before he jerked this one wide. I gripped the knob, thinking maybe I could hold it shut. And then, incredibly, there was another knock on the front door. It was damn quiet all of a sudden. I imagined Shep pissing himself in fear, and that brought an unwilling smile to my face. “Now who could that be?” Dan whispered.

“Hell if I know.”

“Hello? Shep? I saw you go in here,” Poppy called. The front door slammed and I jerked into Dan’s arms. My best friend’s voice was thin with anger. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She came snapping down the hall,
tap-tap-tap-tap
. Her blonde hair flipped past me as she stormed to the kitchen, muttering something about Joey telling her. I heard a distinct “Bran” and she disappeared.

There was a knock on the front door.

“Jesus.” Dan was chuckling behind me. “You’ve got a parade following you.”

“This isn’t amusing. Get a grip on yourself.”

His chin moved against my neck, and his arms slid around my waist, drawing me back. “I’d rather get a grip on you.”

“
Yoooo-whoooo.
”

“Oh my God,” I whispered, “that’s Peter. How the hell did he find me so fast?”

Dan breathed against my ear. “You left Poppy’s truck outside, Sherlock. Everyone is following you.”

“He’s not here. I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things, Peter.” I knew that cultured voice. It was Mallory. I wondered if my nana was close behind.

“I may have told Mallory where I was going, though,” Dan murmured. “She and I spoke this morning. I’m surprised she’s with Peter.”

“Since we’re here, we can just take a look. Hello?” Peter called out.

“We can’t go in there.” I’d never heard Mallory raise her voice before, not even to Jean Luc. She was as haughty as a queen, but there was an edge.

“Well, the door is unlocked.” Those words were followed by the sound of a scuffle, then a hiss of breath. “Good God. I think that’s him.”

The door slammed and we listened as feet scampered into…I think the dining room. Maybe they would hide behind the drapes.

This was surreal. Ten minutes ago I’d been alone. Now there were six of us hidden in as many rooms.

The front door opened with a crack as it bounced against plaster. “Yes. I’m sure. My temp is a hundred one. I’ve got the runs too. I don’t feel right.” Brandon passed the door in a blur of stretched, angry skin, going straight to the kitchen. Had he even noticed the door was unlocked?

I braced myself for his confrontation with Poppy, but nothing happened. She must be hiding in the microwave.

Dan’s hand crept up from my waist. Was he hoping to calm me with his presence? He was having the opposite effect. I was strung as tight as a fiddle. His fingertips brushed the side of my arm. Startled, I flinched. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you from going postal.”

“You’re doing it wrong.” He kept stroking me like a cat. Embarrassingly, we’d explored each other enough two nights ago that my body responded at once. The long, dry spell had ended and I was hungry for hands on me.
His
hands. Although I’m sure he was pissed off to find me here. Maybe this was Dan’s idea of punishment.

“No. I’m doing it right.” His intentions anything but honorable, warm fingers delved under my shirt, tickling my navel. His words were barely audible. “I know you want it, Romano.”

I swallowed. “Are you insane? This is not the time.”

“You knew I was coming here. You wanted me to catch you. Admit it.”

I shook my head.

He kissed the skin beneath my ear, his breath caressing me. “You love getting caught, Caesar. You wanted to get caught. And I’ve got you now.”

Brandon’s whining carried from the kitchen. “I think I need some antibiotics. It doesn’t look right. I feel weird. Sluggish.”

Dan tucked me into his hard body, his palm skimming along the flat of my stomach. His pinky slid beneath the waistband of my jeans. Apprehension and desire twined together, weakening my once strong resolve. He mouthed my earlobe, and I almost hit the floor.

Through the crack in the door, Brandon paced the kitchen—he appeared like clockwork, then spun and disappeared again. He was at turns bitching and moaning and whining into the cell phone crooked against his ear. “Just tell Dr. Bronner I called.” He hung up and leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment, then he disappeared from view.

Dan whispered, “I need to be inside you, but that’ll wait.” He lapped the tendons on my neck, knowing I liked it, his tongue sliding.

Realization dawned. “Jesus. You’re the one who’s into this. It’s not me wanting to be caught—it’s you. It turns you on.”

His chest rumbled behind me. “It does.” And then he squeezed my dick. I hardened immediately, lengthening to fill his big hand. “And you want it too.”

“I…” How the fuck did he get anything done? He was some kind of sex addict.

My cock pulsed in his hand.

He whispered thickly, “Brandon could open the door at any moment. Could come back here and see you with your thick cock in my hand.”

“You’re crazy.”

He had my number though, because his words were working. I started to shake a clear no, but…goddamn it, it
was
exciting. I was stiff as a board, my head light. Here was a man who got off on pursuing me, he had me trapped, and his hand was rubbing my crotch in sure, strong strokes. Heat pooled in my nuts and…maybe caught in the closet with Dan was exactly what I’d been missing lately. I’d quit my job and I was probably going to get arrested. I needed something positive to happen today. I could do this and no one would be the wiser. I mean, we’d already done it once and not gotten caught. What was a second time? Maybe this time around, I could come in three seconds.

I laid my head back on his shoulder, acquiescing. He gently kissed inside my collar, whispering, “That’s it,” and I couldn’t help it, I smiled.

His lips settled hot and wet on my skin, exploring the flesh of my neck and shoulder with his teeth, his tongue. I bit my lip. Dan’s hand wriggled inside my pants, and my dick knew what I wanted. It reached to meet his hand. I shifted, my eye still trained on the crack of light and the danger just beyond the door.

Brandon passed by again. He set a glass of soda on the counter. His phone was back to his ear, and he had a loaf of bread in his hand and a jar of peanut butter in the crook of his elbow. He was making a sandwich. He dropped his knife twice. He said into the phone, “Tell him to call me. How hard can it be?”

“
Pretty hard,
” Dan murmured. I thrust full out into his hand.

Oh shit he was perfect—and well practiced in jerking off, I was convinced. I gripped the doorframe and nodded against his shoulder. Heat unfurled along the edge of my spine and far inside my ass. He opened my pants and let my cock out in the dark, hot air. His fist enveloped me. That rough palm slid over my crown and then grazed to my root.

“Just let me…” His other hand cinched my balls tight, and the skin of my dick stretched taut. A tremor worked down my thighs. Panting silently, watching Brandon appear and disappear from view chomping on his peanut butter and drinking soda, I worked my hips into Dan’s closed fingers. Dry humping. Cramming into the tight heat of his fist. It burned. It burned so good, the friction uncomfortable, but still fucking good.

“You’re going to come hard, so hard, come on.” He let go of my balls, and gripped me by the neck, jerking my chin all the way back, tipping me. “Open your mouth, Caesar.”

I did. I opened wide, closed my eyes and his mouth met mine. His tongue filled me, fucked me, emptied me of air, of thought. A rip of white light and my hole tingled. His hand was so fast now, I was sure the door was shaking in the frame. I didn’t care if anyone could hear me now.

“Shhhh.” He kissed me, circling my lips, and one long thick finger pressed in. “Suck on me.”

I sucked, and come shot out of my cock like a geyser. I came wet and mute and fearful, shaking in his hands. He licked my neck. “You are something else.”

I was something, all right. Crazy. That’s what. My eyes flew open and from somewhere a bell rang. Was I blacking out? The ringing cut short. Again a buzzing chirp from somewhere in the apartment. Then a knock. I gripped the door, keeping myself from falling.

He covered my mouth with his clean hand. “Cell phone and someone’s here.”