
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Note from the Publisher
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Also by R J Scott
Award Winning Titles
Reviews
One Night
RJ Scott
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Cover Artist: Reese Dante
Editor: Devin Govaere
One Night © 2011 RJ Scott
ISBN # 9781920501341
Attention Readers: This book uses US English.
All rights reserved.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only; any person depicted in the Licensed Art Material, is a model.
PUBLISHER
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Note from the Publisher
Dear Reader,
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Lodewyk Deysel
Publisher
Silver Publishing
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For my family.
Always with love.
I am one damn lucky wife, daughter, sister, mother and author.
\*\*\*
For Devin, with sincere apologies for comma splices,
conjunctions, em-dashes, passive voice,
fragments and transitions.
Not to mention the bleedin' dangling modifiers.
You rock.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Harley: Harley-Davidson
Yale University, New Haven CT
Budweiser: Anheuser-Busch
Starbucks: Starbucks Corporation
Armani: Giorgio Armani, S.P.A.
Sam Adams: Boston Beer Company
Google: Google, Inc.
Ford Focus: The Ford Motor Company
Dodge Neon: DaimlerChrysler
Candid Camera: Candid Camera, Inc.
Queer as Folk: Channel Four Television Corporation
"Oh yeah, I meant to tell you, I sorted your flights to LA."
Jeez, that had been one hell of a change of subject and way out of left field. One minute Micah was discussing buying more land for the vineyard, and the next, his sister hit him with flights from Rochester.
"I didn't say I was definitely going," Micah responded quickly. Damn it, every year Abbey brought this up in front of witnesses. He never had a chance to argue back. Alex, his brother-in-law, looked up at him from the piles of papers on the desk with an expression of sympathy, but didn't join in to defend or to encourage. He clearly knew to stay out of things when his wife was set on something.
"You say that," Abbey pressed, "but when push comes to shove, you always end up getting on the flight, and then you have fun."
"But I thought with Rosie having the baby and all... Doesn't that put a different spin on it?" The words tumbled out of him in a rush of defense. He really thought this year, with his other sister just having gifted the family with a new baby girl, and thus unable to work, he could get away with not going anywhere. There was so much to do here, grapes to grade, the new pages on the website to change...
"Seven nights is all. You need to get away, meet up with your friends and take the vacation, network with the winey-type people."
"You won't be able---" he started to protest, but Abbey held up her hand to stop him.
"We'll be fine. It's all taken care of. We've discussed this already. Alex is taking a break and will be here every day working with Zach." She indicated her husband. Alex was still very quiet but lifted his hand and waved it in agreement.
"We'll talk about this later." Micah huffed. Surely, even though she said she had sorted the flights, she couldn't have booked everything yet? She seemed to read his mind. Damn sibling connection.
"Flights are booked---ROC to LAX, with only one stopover. I booked you into the hotel where they are holding the conference. It's right on the beach, and I got your room upgraded. It's got a hot tub and shower with all kinds of fancy settings. Just what you need."
"But---"
"All you need to find is a hot man when you're there and you'll be all set."
"Abbey---"
"I'm not discussing this with you."
"I'm a grown man. Alex, tell her." Micah pleaded for support, but if anything Alex slumped lower in his chair.
"Yes you are. A grown man who needs a damn vacation," his sister said firmly.
Later as the evening was rolling in and smudging the sky with a purple-gray, Micah stood at the fence, looking out over his grapes, feeling blindsided and completely out-maneuvered. He sensed Alex walk up and stand next to him. Alex would have known what Abbey and Rosie were planning and even though Alex and Micah had been friends since grade school, he couldn't be angry with the guy. His sisters were very persuasive.
The two men stood in companionable silence for a while until Alex cleared his throat. Micah could sense the other man grinning from where he stood. Micah's week away was a standing joke and almost word for word he could guess exactly what his best friend was going to start in on. He wasn't wrong.
"So your gay ass is going to the beach for your annual tail-chasing trip." Same old, same old, every year.
Micah huffed. "If you weren't married to my sister, I would take you down right now." There wasn't really a lot of heat in Micah's tone; he was waiting for the rest of the same old joke Alex made every damn year.
"Did you put lube and condoms on the house grocery list?"
"Fuck off, Alex."
"It's okay, buddy. Leave it to me and I'll get Abbey to add them."
"Your purchases, Mr. Wade."
Liam opened the door wider to allow the bellhop into his room, casting a critical eye over the collection of bags that were being given to him. He hadn't bothered to pack much for his stay at the ocean. In fact, it was very rare he ever really packed to go anywhere. His credit card purchased most of the things he needed in one-stop shopping at hotel boutiques. This was killing two birds with one stone at its best---no outward-bound packing necessary and a near empty suitcase to fill with a new season of clothes. He opened his wallet and pulled out a fifty dollar tip, handing it to the young man, who stood patiently at the door. Fifty was what he imagined was expected given he was in one of the few luxury suites in the hotel, the ones with five rooms and patio areas leading onto the beach.
There wasn't really any way he was going to be recognized. He wasn't known because of publicity or from appearing in tabloids and magazines. He was from old money, which followed him everywhere he went. Still, a week away from his family, with the plans he had in his head, and the things he needed to do, meant he had to rely on the discretion of people around him, and that started here.
Liam tilted his head and read from the badge. "Thank you, Oscar." He was rewarded with a genuine smile before the man slipped past him and left. He began to unpack his purchases, shaking out limited creases and hanging everything on hangers in the bathroom. He could get service to iron everything, but a quick run of the shower to get the steam in the room and everything should be good to go. His phoned signaled an incoming call, and he smiled at the picture on the screen before answering it on the third ring.
"Daddy, I gotta new doll." The voice of his three-year-old daughter held so much excitement, and he couldn't lose the grin.
"Did you, baby? Is it a pretty doll?"
"Uh huh. I called her Susie an' she has a friend called Anna."
"Two new dolls?"
"Two."
"Are you being a good girl for your Nanna?"
"Yes, Daddy...bye."
"Love you, pumpkin."
"Lub you, Daddy." There was a pause then the sound of a phone being passed to another.
"Liam?"
"Hi, Mom, is she being good for you?"
"She is an angel, darling. Are you having fun?"
"Not yet, Mom, only been in the room a while."
"Your dad wants a word." Her voice sounded calm, but the word dad was enough to make Liam sigh semi-dramatically with his hand over the receiver.
"Son?"
"Dad."
"Did you get to look at the Ascot Hemling paperwork?" Yep, straight in there with all the office shit. Great.
"Briefly, Dad." On the plane, for about ten minutes.
"You do remember I'd like your thoughts on the proposals for the meeting on Monday."
"I do, Dad."
"Your mother says goodbye, son. Enjoy your break." The phone disconnected, and Liam felt like banging his head against a wall. Why was it with those three words enjoy your break, Patrick Wade had managed to sour Liam's mood. He was the patriarch of both the family, and of Wade-Bellings, the second biggest firm of corporate attorneys in Seattle. Liam couldn't avoid him, being the middle of three sons and a lawyer with the firm. One week. That is all he wanted, a week away from Seattle where everyone knew his family. Decompression, relaxation, taking photos, and forgetting who he was meant to be.
He missed Emma as he would a limb, but he would be a better father for carving out some space to get his head straight. He had decisions to make, huge judgments on what he should be doing next, and those decisions would greatly impact his life and hers.
He needed time to be Liam, twenty-six and currently way back in the closet. Not engaged-daddy, or responsible-son, or model-employee. This week was all about him; it had to be. He was not going to turn twenty-seven and become married-Liam without deciding things about himself one way or the other.
His family and his fiancée didn't understand. Leigh, usually the perfect attentive fiancée, had not been that attentive lately, seeming almost reluctant to spend any alone time with him. The avoidance was his fault. He was like ice when he was with her, always making excuses for alone time, for moments when he could breathe. He didn't expect them to understand this week away. Especially with the wedding so close now, only six weeks in the future; it was getting too late to change his mind. He had used the bachelor break with a college friend excuse, and thankfully, at least to his face, everyone had bought the reason for the vacation.
Powering up his laptop, he opened his mail and gave it a cursory glance. There was nothing there that wasn't automatically copied to his secretary and several other colleagues. He closed the email down before his nagging conscience decided he needed to open each and every mail and ensure it didn't hold something important. Then he did what he really wanted to do.
Opening his pictures folder, he scrolled to the latest dates, connecting his Canon and downloading the newest batch of photos. They were simple shots from his departure at Seattle, his flight, and then his arrival at LAX. People, places, half-eaten dinners, flight plans, the sky, the well-worn carpet... anything that caught his eye. As he waited for them to download, he glanced out the window to the wide beach in front of him, which was his next subject. At midday the beach was full, each person out there basking in the heat of the sun, all golden, toned and fit. His gaze moved from the view outside to his reflection in the mirror, and he idly noted his indoor-office pallor---pasty skin and tired eyes.
Photography on the beach, out in the sun, would be a start to getting some color before he headed home. Layer by layer he removed his traveling clothes, slathered on copious amounts of sun cream and then donned the uniform for the beach---board shorts, a cerise T-shirt, a cap, sunglasses and flimsy beach shoes---and he was ready to go. He didn't even have to go out through the hotel. The bill for the level of luxury he had this week would probably be equal to the amount he would need to send Emma to college. For what he needed to do though, it was worth it. He had one of the few rooms that opened directly onto the beach, meaning he had to see no one, had to interact with no one, and in seconds, he was locking his beach door and beginning to people-watch from his small veranda.
Life through his lens was so much more controlled than the life he was living. The quick splash or yell of excitement added to the chaos of the people on the sand, and the joy in faces was caught in a frozen moment. Children played in the sand, and for a second, he wished Emma was here with him. She loved the beach and its endless possibilities, the castles and the moats, and the shells decorating crumbling battlements. He should take her to the beach. When he got home, he would book them a vacation; get them an island or something. He spent too much time working and depending on the nanny. He had no balance between work and life to speak of. Soon his little girl would be of school age without him even realizing, and that wasn't right. Her mother would have hated what he had become in the name of providing stability for Emma.
But what kind of father made money and a high flying career his priority when he had no need of either? Whatever he decided this week, at the top of his list was more vacation time and cutting his hours, even if it was down to sixty hours a week instead of the usual eighty. He was losing focus on his daughter, which was no life for her or for him. He wondered if the other girl in his life, Leigh, liked the beach. He considered the evidence he had collected so far about his socialite fiancée. She liked swimming---she made good use of the mansion's pool when she stayed over. Beaches, however, with their associated mess and people, had never appeared to be on her to-do list.
A couple was laughing and joking not more than twenty feet from him. He was too far from them to hear the shared story, but close enough to capture laugh lines and intent on film. She was leaning in, and he was strong and steady, supporting her slight weight in a firm hold. They exchanged laughter and kisses, but it wasn't that part of the couple he was focusing on. He was focused on the play of sun on their entwined hands and the wisps of hair caught by the wind as it caressed her face. She was beautiful, sun-bronzed and slim, and her partner/lover/husband was gorgeous and muscled. They were visually the perfect couple.
He wanted with every fiber of his being to be part of something like that. He had been told on more than one occasion he wasn't ugly, and Leigh was slim and beautiful and the very partner an up-and-coming attorney needed at his side. They had fun; Leigh wasn't the uptight socialite other people saw. When they had occasion to be alone, she had proven to be witty, with a dry irreverent sense of humor.
He jumped the two steps, his feet sinking slightly in the warm sand, prickle-rough against his toes. There was no point in making decisions on his forever based on how ideal or not he looked as part of a society-blessed couple. Still, it had taken him a long time to come to that conclusion. Winding his way through the steady stream of people arriving and leaving, he finally found himself at the shoreline, his toes mere inches from the ocean. He inhaled deeply. The cool breeze was redolent of the brine and white foam that tumbled and slid to a stop at his feet. The expanse of sea brought with it shells and stones from near and distant places. The water left behind fascinating and intriguing patterns as it retreated along the path of least resistance around those shells and stones.
He spent a good while focusing in with precision on the bold striations Mother Nature created. With each second that passed, he could feel the tension slipping from his shoulders, relaxing as the ocean lifted his melancholy. He was easily able to cancel out the noise of the people around him by humming under his breath and concentrating on his pictures. Before long he found himself away from the hotel and at a quieter spot, choosing that moment to sit on the sand Indian style to contemplate his situation.
He carefully placed his camera inside its case and laid it next to him, the strap wrapped around his hand---to be safe.
Maybe he could draw up a list of the pros and cons? That was how he should do it in his pragmatic, sensible fashion. The biggest thing in the plus column was Emma needed a momma. In the negative column it wasn't like Leigh showed any real signs of interest in being a mom. Added to that, Emma and Leigh were not exactly the best of friends. Still, Emma would have stability, someone to talk to, to do girly things with. Then there was the whole having more kids thing.
"I'm not sure I want to have babies," Leigh had said thoughtfully the day they had talked about it. "We have Emma; I want to be a good mom to her, but that doesn't mean I could deal with a new baby."
"We would have the nanny, and I would be there to help. I want to be there to help."
She looked down at her hands on her flat stomach and shivered delicately. "Maybe in a few years. Maybe."
He loved being Emma's dad; that role in her life was the very thing that made him who he was. From the very second he'd held her in his arms, he'd been lost. "You don't want to have our own child one day?" He wanted to share the miracle of a child with the woman he would marry. Not for one minute had he thought she wouldn't want to ever have kids.
"I don't need to." She had turned more stubborn at that point. He had backed off almost immediately. No point in rocking the boat. He had always been honest with her, had told her everything about how he felt, and trusted her with his attraction to other men. Theirs was a marriage of convenience and all she said was she hoped he wouldn't sleep around. She said she understood.
Who the hell understood their soon-to-be husband wandering off for possible illicit meetings or affairs? Still that was part of the bargain he guessed. She accepted Emma as her daughter, accepted his so called leanings, and he provided her with the money and prestige of the Wade name and ignored anything she may want for herself outside of the empty marital bed. What level of society did he belong to where this was even considered normal?
Surely she wanted more for herself? Hell, he certainly wanted more for himself and much more for Emma. She might not be his biological child, but she was a child of his heart. She couldn't be more his daughter, blood or no blood. He rested his elbows on his knees and cupped his face in his hands, closing his eyes and focusing only on the rhythm of the sea. How long he sat there he wasn't sure. His only indicator was the warmth of the day as the midday heat diminished around him. Why was he even here thinking he needed to make decisions, when the only really important thing in his life was Emma?
Micah was sitting back comfortably against the storm wall, idly running sand through his fingers, and he'd been watching the blond guy for some time. The guy hadn't moved for a good hour. He'd started by staring out at the sea before bowing his head and covering his face with his hands. He was clearly meditating or some New Age LA hippy crap, communing with nature and all that.
From this distance, maybe twenty feet or less, Micah couldn't make out much in the way of features, but blond was one asset that was obvious. Fit was another, even if tending towards pale skinned. Micah's whole life meant spending time outside, which left him perpetually sun-kissed. He shouldn't really judge the poor New Age guy---he was probably some desk jockey or herbalist who never saw the light of day.
The tide was turning; the water stretching for the sands. Every so often the lacy foam would sneak a bit too close to the blond guy's feet, but he seemed oblivious. Micah stood, stretching tall, and then spent a few moments observing the situation from his newly vertical position. The guy had been taking photos by the hotel, and the camera he'd been using didn't look cheap. If he still had it with him and he got caught by the water... Someone should go warn him. He looked up and down the beach. His walk had taken him to a quieter place where there were not so many people, and certainly no one else seemed to be staring at the quiet figure hunched on the shoreline. That left him and his frustrating internal need to fix things pushing him down the sand and towards the shoreline. Stupid.
Whether the toned, introspective, fair-haired, pale-skinned hippy guy got wet was not his business. LA wasn't like the Finger Lakes, and he was sure people didn't just up and help others out for no good reason. Digging his hands in his jean pockets and coming to a stop, he considered instead whether he should ignore the situation. It should be easy enough to stop with the damn worrying he was doing and return to his room. The official opening of the wine convention was in a couple of hours, and he needed a shower and to make at least one call to his sister for an update.
Something untraceable in his thoughts, however, made him seemingly unable to move away from the train wreck he could see happening. Sea plus meditating guy plus expensive camera equaled something maybe he should be filming for Candid Camera. The encroaching sea was fascinating, and his inability to back away from saving others from potential embarrassment was guiding his actions. Also even not having seen his face, Micah knew this guy had one seriously hot body, and he wanted to stare. Whatever his reasons for getting involved he wasn't actually moving, and in fact, his brain was telling him to shout out a warning instead.
"Hey," he finally said as firmly as he could, then realized when the guy didn't move he wasn't sure what else to say. Hey, the tide is coming in, watch the camera, you seem hot any chance you are... Nope, not going there. He sauntered closer, one eye on the tide, the other on the camera, until only a few feet separated them. He got a better look at the man and the camera case, which was actually lying on the sand next to him.
"Hey," he said a bit louder, stumbling back as the man jumped and lurched to his feet, both disorientated and surprised.
"What?" the other man forced out, clearly startled.
"Your---" Micah saw two things before a sentence came out of his mouth---the camera and the next wave as it smashed towards them. In a sudden flurry of motion, he bent and grabbed at the camera, just as the water flooded the place where it had been. Hot guy stood there, his mouth open, the water lapping around his feet before retreating.
"My... shit... my camera. Thank you." Micah handed it back, and the stranger grasped it, pulling it to his chest like it was the most precious of things.
"I saw..." Rather overwhelmed, Micah was kind of lost for words. The slim figure, the broad back and the blond hair were nothing compared to the guy's face. He was handsome, beautiful, pretty, and all the other flowery adjectives that probably didn't do real justice to sex on legs. His blond hair was short and slightly spiky, and his eyes as blue as the sea behind him. His current expression was one of open-mouthed shock, but then suddenly, his lips quirked in a crooked smile.
"Thank you," he said, and Micah mumbled "'s'okay" as the man backed up, sketched a wave of thanks and then jogged up the beach and away from him.
Micah didn't move. He watched the other man go, eyebrows raised as he sifted through what had just occurred. New Age meditating guy certainly didn't look like a hippy. In fact he looked like he was not long out of college. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five or so, and he sure did love that camera.
Intriguing.
Smart black pants and crisp blue shirt does not a businessman make, but Micah tried. He wanted to be seen as the responsible, successful co-owner and manager of one of the most established vineyards and wineries in New York State. He had wines he was showcasing alongside other growers and makers in the US, and a good impression of the business behind the taste was always a good thing to show. "I hate this," he stated simply as soon as Rosie answered the phone. She chose to ignore him.
"Is your room nice?"
"It has a bed." He was grumpy and out of sorts, and as it was Abbey and Rosie's fault he was here, he was damn well going to make sure she knew.
"Is it a nice bed?" He sighed, glancing over at what was actually a very nice bed. Draped in white linens and cream and gray throw cushions, it was a solid bed, oak if he wasn't mistaken, with intricate carving on the headboard and almost big enough for three. He looked forward to sleeping in it tonight, although he didn't want to let his sister know that.
"Yes, Rosie. A nice bed, with throwy-type cushiony things."
"Throwy?" she said with that fond patronizing tone that only sisters could fully develop after many years of practice.
"Yeah." He waved expansively, even though she couldn't see. "And there's this huge sofa at the end with a table and fruit."
"Is the bathroom as beautiful as it looked on the website?"
He glanced in through the open door, still steamy from his shower. The bathroom was neat, polished, and white, with a large circular bath sunk into the raised floor.
"I had a shower," he supplied helpfully, and pulled the door closed from the habit of sharing a bathroom at home.
"Did you not try the Jacuzzi bath?" She sounded disappointed. "Abbey said she upgraded you to a room with one."
"I've only been here five hours. Later, I promise."
"Do you have a view?"
"The beach, the ocean and people. Lots of people. I don't like people." He heard her mutter something under her breath, which sounded like "ungrateful brothers", and it made him smile.
"Did you shave?" she asked. Micah ran a hand over the stubble on his face, feeling the roughness of three days' growth against his hand. He could shave in the morning and have five o'clock shadow in the space of a few hours. What was the point shaving all the time?
"I'm on vacation," he protested.
"Jeez, Micah, just shave already."
"Okay, okay." Damn his sister for wanting to add twenty minutes to getting ready. "How're things at home?"
"Since you left this morning? Everything is fine."
"What about the order from the Johnsons? Did you manage to track down---"
"Micah, stop. Everything is good. So, is it the welcome thing now?"
When she changed the subject, Micah knew he would not be allowed to ask about the business again. Idly he turned over the leaflet that included a list of events for the week.
"Champagne and strawberries," he finally said. "Tonight that is, and then..." He traced the list. "Wednesday is some beach thing, and Thursday is the company promotion."
"What are you wearing tonight?"
"Rosie---"
"Did you choose the blue shirt? Because it looks good with your eyes."
"Yes, I---"
"And will you shave?" Ouch, she wasn't leaving it alone. He normally left shaving to every other day or three, so sue him. His job didn't exactly demand he be suited and booted at all time. Hell, jeans and a T were his staple wardrobe.
"I'll shave."
"Okay then, big brother, do that and then get your sparkly ass out there and find a man."
"I hate you."
She laughed and finished the call with a kiss and a "good luck", and Micah placed his cell back on the bedside table. Every year he attended the wine convention, and every year it was the same old thing. His sisters and, by extension, his damn brothers-in-law, always expected him to get tail. He smiled, imagining the elderly Mr. Potter from the Elvendale Winery, or even Mrs. MacElhinney. She wasn't a day under sixty and persisted in pinching his ass every year, despite her husband of forty years standing next to her. Yes, there were younger guys that were new to the different wineries, especially the SoCal ones, but Micah was here to represent his business and then to relax.
Part of that relaxation was finding a club, usually the same one---Liberation---with pretty boys to stare at and music that made you dance. He pulled himself back to the here and now, moving back to the bathroom and wiping the mirror. The water was hot, the soap thick and creamy, the blade sharp, and before long he skimmed a hand over his jaw, smooth and stubble free. He then tipped a small amount of aftershave on his hand. Zach had thrown it to him as he left, promising it always worked for him. That thought alone, of Rosie and Zach at it, was enough to make a grown man cry, but given his sister and her husband now had a baby, they clearly did do it. Still, he decided what the hell and packed it anyway. He sniffed the air appreciatively. Whatever it was it had fresh swells of peppermint and lavender. It had combined with heart notes of what he thought was a spicy coriander, a hint of geranium and sandalwood, finally moving with the warm, sensual flow of amber and musk. When he realized what he was doing---analyzing the chemical composition of aftershave---he wondered who the hell did that. What an idiot. He was procrastinating; he clearly missed his wines and needed to go the hell home.
The stairs swept down, marble hard and gilt edged, to the foyer, which bustled with wine producers. Some he recognized, most he didn't, and as usual he imagined most had bussed in from cheaper hotels and hadn't made use of this one. He guessed that at seven hundred a night it might well be out of the reach of a sensible budget. He was smug. Clearly, melding his annual vacation with the festival had its good points.
"Micah! Micah Adamson!" Brilliant. Mr. Potter and his Elvendale contingent. "You must meet my great-nephew James. Spitting image of his mother, wouldn't you say?" Micah extended his hand in greeting while assessing the new person in their small group. James was clearly happy to be there, and it appeared from his inability to stand straight, he had imbibed more than one glass of something before arriving.
"James," the young man slurred every so slightly, and shook Micah's hand with strength.
"James is my protégé," Mr. Potter said by way of introduction. "It takes a grape grower to see the potential in another, don't you think?" Micah nodded his agreement, wondering privately if the self-medication that James had undertaken was due to inexperience or the fondest wish not to have anything to do with wine or grapes. He resolved to corner the young man at a later time to dig further and turned as he felt a sharp pull on his pants and the pain of an accompanying pinch.
"Why, Micah, how nice to see you." Mrs. MacElhinney was smiling up at him, and despite the handful of his ass she had grabbed, he smiled back at her fondly. He bent to place a kiss on her cheek and stepped back, looking around her for Mr. MacElhinney, who popped out from behind a tall decorative banana plant with the look of the long suffering on his face. They exchanged pleasantries, this small and very odd group, and finally Micah was left to his own devices. Wandering the crowd casually, he found himself at the display table with a variety of champagne and wines as well as plates of chocolate-dipped strawberries. He had a weakness for chocolate and a deep love for the luscious scarlet berries that it covered. Taking a glass of red and a small plate of the fruit, he wandered onto the verandah of the event room, the dark of the evening pulling in and smudging the sky with gray and mauve. The wine was a really nice example of the best of SoCal, and he savored each sip before focusing on the chocolate and strawberries one by one.
"I wanted to thank you properly." Micah turned to see who had spoken to him, blinking at sex personified standing in front of him. The blond guy from the beach stood there, in a suit that molded to every inch of him. Dark gray, almost black, it elevated him from meditating beach bum to CEO in seconds. His shirt was pristine white, and he had a cornflower blue tie knotted perfectly. God, yes, his eyes really were that same incredible shade that Micah remembered from the beach. Micah had words to say, he really did. Important and clever, yet completely casual, words that said it was fine and there were no worries. All that came out was one word.
"Sorry?" The guy looked flustered for a few seconds; clearly he was thinking maybe he had the wrong person.
"Earlier... you... my camera... It was you, wasn't it? On the beach?"
"Yeah, yeah, sorry, I was miles away. You're welcome, no worries." Blond guy thrust out his hand, the glint of a silver-colored watch on his wrist.
"Liam Wade."
"Micah Adamson."
"Can I get you a drink, Mr Adamson, to say thank you?" Micah frowned. Mr. Adamson sounded so formal he decided his guess about this guy---this Liam---working in business wasn't far off if he went round calling people mister.
"Call me Micah."
"Okay, Micah. I would offer to actually buy you a drink, but they seem to be giving it away tonight." He gestured to the layout of all the wines and frowned. "There is a bar here somewhere that probably has beer. I don't know about you---" He lowered his voice. "---but this wine is all a bit too formal for me, not really into it. I really need a beer." Micah nearly choked on his last strawberry, coughing and trying to get control of his breathing.
"It's a welcome party, for a small wine convention" he finally managed to push out.
"Oh, so that explains all the wine snobs sniffing their glasses." Liam nodded wisely, as if he had suddenly discovered the whole reason for being. Micah couldn't think of one thing to say. He was torn between being affronted at Liam's humor and agreeing with the absurdity of what some of these winery reps did in the name of knowing wine. Micah didn't need all the dramatic sniffing and tasting and use of incredibly meaningless long words. He knew wine, he knew grapes; he wanted to share that with others. That was enough.
"I'm a snob," he blurted out, cursing inwardly at the 'what-the-hell-did-I-just-say?' moment. To his credit, Liam said nothing, which left Micah enough time to correct his statement. "I mean I own a winery. My family owns a winery, near Rochester, a vineyard and a winery, Seneca Blue." Liam looked at him, then down at the glass in his hand, pulling his lower lip between his teeth as if in deep thought.
"They have vineyards in New York State?" Liam asked, completely open and honest in his curiosity. Micah smiled. Now that was a question he could handle.
"The Finger Lakes region. We have snow, rain, and storms rolling in from Lake Ontario like you wouldn't believe, but you can also find some of the sweetest, most perfect harvests you could imagine."
"Wow," Liam murmured in response, and Micah narrowed his eyes. Was that a genuine wow or an 'oh-shit-stop-talking' wow? Micah had received both in his twenty-nine years. "Seriously, I imagine New York as this gloomy grayness. Just another Seattle, I guess." Clearly that had been an interested wow.
"Are you staying in the hotel?" Micah asked, placing his empty glass on one of the small tables scattered around. The question was an innocent one, but Liam appeared immediately defensive with a somewhat guarded expression on his face.
"Are you?" he countered fairly quickly.
"I am." At those words, Liam seemed to relax slightly.
"So am I."
Well, that was the oddest exchange Micah had ever had, and the warm fuzzy feelings of friendliness the wine created gave way to a nagging suspicion that the guy with the camera was slightly odd. Typical that the guy was hot---freaking hot, supernova hot--- and clearly a tad... out of the ordinary.
"Anyway---" Micah extended his hand, which Liam took again. "---I must go back to the welcome part of this whole week. It was nice to meet you."
"Thank you again for rescuing my camera," Liam called after him.
Micah turned to wave goodbye, startled at the feeling of complete isolation that seemed to cloak the other man. He looked lost, standing there in his suit and his spit-shined shoes, his blond hair carefully pushed back from his face. Damn, but he looked lonely.
Liam stood for some time, at first staring after a retreating Micah and then shifting to gaze out over the beach. What a fucking idiot! One hot guy, one probably very straight, very unavailable hot guy, and he turned into a mess of crap. He cringed at the memory of being so flustered over something as stupid as whether or not he was staying in the hotel. Damn it! He needed a drink, but to get a drink meant he had to cross through the mingling wine geeks and chance the possibility of running into Micah again. He supposed he could go out onto the beach and walk around the front of the hotel, but it was so nice here on the veranda with the view of the ocean, and the buzz of conversation in the main room would stave off his feelings of being here on his own. Then inspiration hit. One well-placed call from his cell and a member of staff appeared at his side with two bottles of Bud and a small bowl of the chocolate-covered strawberries.
"Hey, Oscar," he said. He relieved the other man of his precious cargo, recognizing him as the same man who had helped him to his room that morning.
"Mr. Wade." Oscar acknowledged his name, and then looked past him at the crowd beyond, the noise levels increasing with each passing minute.
"I'm marooned, Oscar."
"So it seems, sir."
"I called because I really wanted strawberries and beer."
"Please call us if you require anything further." Liam tipped him again almost as generously as the last time and slipped back into the shadows of the veranda, moving a comfy lounger back into an alcove and settling back for beer and strawberries and star gazing. Who needed wine?
Inevitably, as the beer wended its way to his muscles, he relaxed and thoughts turned to his decisions and to his daughter, and then in a roundabout way to Janelle. His best friend since he was five, she was the clichéd housekeeper's daughter and the liveliest of people. They met in a shared tree house, bonded with Ken and Barbie, and loved and laughed for a long time. Until he'd left for college, that was. Four years at Yale and he'd returned to a different Jan, a quieter Jan, and it took her less than a day to divulge to him she was pregnant. Four months pregnant, in fact. She never revealed who the father was, but the Jan he knew wouldn't sleep around, and he assumed she must know. Right there and then he had promised her everything, his money, his protection and his name. They married in less than a week, in a quiet ceremony in the gardens she loved. His family rallied around them---even his father was supportive of his decision which to this day never failed to amaze him---and called Emma their own when she was born. When Jan died only five days after her daughter graced the world, Emma became Liam's, his alone, and his family had never faltered in their love for him or for his new daughter.
He missed Jan. On nights like this when the stars hung heavy in the darkness, he missed her. The dark canopy reminded him of nights lying in the tree house, looking up and giggling over something that had happened at school. She was the only one he had trusted enough to tell, after his twelfth birthday, he was of two minds over his sexuality. She smacked him upside the head and then added, in that feisty no-nonsense way of hers, one simple statement. Liam, you're as gay as the gayest thing that ever gayed.
He knew. Of course, he did. He even did something about it at college, staying well hidden at school but actually experimenting some when he was in the dorms. Drunken fumbles and secret assignations and every bit of it was fucking hot. Then Jan happened. Then Emma happened. And now... Leigh. Perfect society acceptable Leigh, with a good pedigree, she was a brilliant hostess. The venue for the wedding was booked and the tuxes ordered and here he sat thinking about throwing it all away. For what? The chance for a few nights of rough sex with someone bigger than he was? Someone who could hold him down? Was it worth throwing everything away? He would probably end up being some loser who jumped from man to man, unable to form a stable relationship of any quality. That offered no stability for Emma and was a mockery of being a dad.
But tonight...
He'd shaken hands with that wine guy, the one with the intriguing hazel green eyes, the man whose name he immediately remembered even though he pretended he didn't, and whose touch ignited something inside him...
He palmed his dick in his close-fitting pants. Why couldn't he get it up like this for Leigh? Why did he not find her sexually attractive? What the fuck was it about Micah that sent iron to his dick as fast as you could eat a chocolate-covered strawberry? Just sitting here, thinking about it now, was sending him to half mast, and he wriggled uncomfortably in the lounger. Now he had run out of beer as well, and he was forced to sit here with a freaking hard-on in the dark. Closing his eyes, he banged his head on the chair back twice, attempting to clear his head of carnal thoughts.
Today had been a long one, and exhaustion was pulling at him, blurring his concentration. He decided it might be a good idea to keep his eyes closed, which is what led him to fall asleep curled up like a pretzel. This then led him to waking and then stumbling back to his perfectly good bed, his eyes heavy with sleep, and his suit wrinkled and messed around him.
Of course, fate dictated he was attached to the tail end of the wine crowd, and in particular, face to face with the same man that, in his muddled head, had caused him to fall asleep in the cool evening air in the first place. Said man nodded a goodnight then avoided his gaze, so Liam did what every grown-up mature adult male would do when he was deliberately snubbed. He ignored Micah in return.
Micah disappeared into an elevator, and Liam was not watching him leave. Not at all.
"Another beer, sir?" Liam blinked at Oscar who had suddenly appeared at his side as if by magic.
"No thank you, Oscar. My bed is calling."
"Good night, sir."
"Good night, Oscar."
His bed was so good, so big and soft, and once he had thrown off the stupid decorative pillow things, he stripped and collapsed onto the vast expanse of cotton. He ignored his traitorous dick, which was demanding more than he was physically capable of tonight. That was until he circled it in a hold. He was determined not to get him off, until he moved his hand. Then moved it again, until finally, he was so close he could taste the orgasm as it chased down his spine. Images of the dark-haired man from today filled his thoughts. The stranger was so much fucking bigger, taller, broader, darker than he was... The things Liam imagined he could do...
When he came, it was silent and swift. Grabbing at his three hundred dollar shirt, he wiped the cooling fluid from his stomach and hands. He didn't stop to think why he had gotten off to a stranger's face. He floated on the now, and sleep pulled him under in seconds.
Micah decided that being on the fifth floor definitely had its benefits. This floor was where the entrance to the rooftop terrace was with the advertised plunge pool and outdoor Jacuzzi. There were a mere twenty-seven steps from his room to the water, and once Micah arrived, he took a few seconds to appreciate exactly where he was. The deck beside the pool was built from Italian granite according to the brochure in his room, and he admitted it looked very grand. In fact, it was a real throwback to the turn of twentieth century.
The entire area was surrounded by lush landscaping with occasional breaks that afforded views of the sparkling Pacific; views to take your breath away. He could also see parts of the beach, which at five-thirty in the morning were mostly empty, except for a few diehard runners. He smiled to himself and stretched tall, arching his back as the weak morning sunlight cast faint warmth on him. His body clock didn't seem to care he was officially on vacation and he probably could have had more time in bed. Five-thirty had arrived; therefore he was awake with his ready-for-business attitude.
He had actually considered lying in bed for a few more minutes, but the invitation of the new morning through the soft gauzy voile at the windows of his room invited him outside. On one hand, he should have pulled the drapes before he'd fallen asleep to fool his body it was still night. On the other, he hated waking in artificial darkness; it disorientated him.
So, swimming it was, and deciding that the sudden approach to the cool water was the best way, he dived into the deep end and resurfaced halfway up the pool. The clear sparkling water was cold. Damn cold. Without hesitation, he began the repetition of strokes from one end to the other and back, lengths finished and his muscles warm before he even realized it. Mindless yet refreshing, the repetitive movement afforded him the time to think. After the usual vineyard and winery related thoughts, he realized he was drifting close to the impressions of last night and then finally to the guy he had met first on the beach and later on the veranda.
He executed a perfect underwater turn, his body slicing through the water, and considered everything he had seen last night. The confusion of seeing new people and meeting his old friends, had been balanced by tasting wine that burst with passion on his tongue. Then the most incredible eyes, intensely blue, a shade this side of a high summer sky intruded on his thoughts. Since when did he wax poetic about another guy's eyes, for God's sake?
Of course, in the relationships he'd had to date, all three and a half of them, he always found his partners attractive in one way or another. Joe had the most incredible ass and was his first real love. Adam was the one with the copper hair so long Micah could wrap it around his hands when they made love. His eyes had been soft velvety brown. Evan had been the half, far too focused on how much Micah was worth and how much they could potentially sell Seneca Blue for. Come to think of it, once they'd gotten over the mediocre sex, Evan hadn't really possessed much in the way of depth, and for the life of him, Micah couldn't remember the color of Evan's eyes. Then finally there had been Scott, with the changeable hazel gaze, the clever mouth, and the short dark hair. He'd expected to be with Scott for a very long time, but Scott had decided monogamy was over-rated and rode off on the back of his new love's Harley.
Liam was a good four or so inches shorter than Micah, probably five years younger, and had looked like sin personified in that suit last night with his short hair softly and artfully mussed. He wasn't sure if he preferred the other man's hair scruffy like it had been on the beach, or carefully gelled like it had been last night, but either way, his hair and those intense blue eyes captured Micah's imagination. To be fair, conversation had clearly not been Liam's strong point, but Micah would have probably enjoyed the non-wine company as a break.
With another turn on the pool wall, he was concentrating on the man's other features now. He had generous sweeps of sooty black eyelashes, cheekbones to die for, and a neck begging to be marked. At a bar or a club, he might well have approached Liam and sounded out his sexual preferences. If he ever actually frequented bars or clubs, that is. Liam was certainly pretty enough to provide a few nights' warmth to a lonely grape grower without said grape grower getting bored. He wouldn't, though. Casual hook-ups were so not his thing.
His sisters didn't understand, nor could Zach or Alex, just how far off the mark they were when they joked about him unceremoniously hooking up for random sex at his yearly week away. They loved him and tried to understand, but to all of them, his being gay meant he clearly needed to be cruising for tail every minute he was able. He often considered they were possibly disappointed their brother was so determined to find the one he refused to settle for second best. That included random young guys in thousand-dollar suits and blue ties.
Thing is... there was something there in Liam. The younger man had a certain air of vulnerability in his guarded expression and had a layer of shyness that intrigued Micah. He stopped in the shallow end, leaning against the side and stretching out his muscles before heaving himself out of the warming water and into the morning air. Casually he sat on the side, placed his palms flat on the ground behind him and leaned back, his eyes closed and his face up to the weak sun.
"Hey." Micah didn't even need to open his eyes to see who was standing behind him, but he did and looked up and, in an instant, wished he hadn't. He was now facing his fantasy. Big mistake---huge. Not only was Liam Wade, beer aficionado, a walking temptation in clothes, he was pretty damn perfect out of them too, broad shouldered with a body that tapered nicely to his hips, and well-muscled legs that looked very strong. There was a small amount of hair sprinkled on his chest---perfect---and his jersey swim shorts left little to Micah's heated and one-track imagination, right down to the edge of a tattoo that showed over the waistband. Micah couldn't think what to say. He needed to be polite and understated. He really needed to try.
"Morning." Lame.
"I'm going for a swim," Liam offered with a wave of his hand at the pool.
"I've been." Clearly. Micah really needed to stand up, and stop thinking thoughts he really shouldn't be having. Maybe if he stood, the blood would rush to his head so he could concentrate, instead of his groin where his embarrassment would be obvious. He began to move to stand, stopping only when Liam went into a crouch next to him, putting his groin at eye level.
"I owe you an apology, I think," Liam offered carefully.
"You do?" For what? Micah couldn't recall anything that Liam needed to be apologizing for. They hadn't shared inappropriate sweaty open-air sex in view of the wine festival opening. Shit, where did that thought come from? Why the fuck is Liam crouching so damn close? He watched as Liam dragged fingers through his hair, gel free and sleep pressed and saw him considering what to say next.
"I value my privacy," he began carefully, "and I was on edge yesterday. I always am when I'm away from home, takes me a few days to come down off of the nine to five. When you asked me if I was staying in the hotel... I got overly suspicious and defensive, which was an incredibly stupid thing to do. For that I am sorry. Contrary to what you may think, I do have some social skills." He quirked a wry smile.
Micah returned the smile at the earnest words. There wasn't really anything there to forgive, and he scrambled to stand, causing Liam to rise from his crouch.
"Okay, nothing to apologize for really, but thanks anyway." Liam's smile widened. A generous freaking mouth and a perfect freaking smile was enough to add another facet to Micah's fantasies.
He went in through the side door to the corridor, glancing back as Liam executed a perfect dive into the crystal pool water. His body was suspended in the air for a millisecond, enough for Micah to capture the image of him in his head.
Nice.
Liam turned the papers over one by one. This case was one of the first he looked at solo, and his dad expected him to get his head around it before Monday.
The case wasn't really that difficult in black and white. Company A, a biotech firm with a turnover of near seven hundred million dollars, had an employee who moved to Company B, a rival biotech firm, which was growing and looking to encroach on Company A's market share. Problem was the employee took with him knowledge gained at Company A. Simple case really from Liam's point of view. He didn't have to dig far to pull out a precedent on patent of invention. The question was more ethical than anything else. The employee hadn't assigned his rights in the patents to Company A before he went to B.
This is where Wade-Bellings was stepping in. A was concerned that B would exploit their former employee's research. Now A was suing B for infringement and asking the court to compel its former employee to transfer his patent rights to A.
So far so good. The diagrams Liam doodled on the piece of blank paper in front of him had a nice tidy resolution.
Luckily for A, the employee had signed an employment agreement. In it, he agreed that A would own all tangible research he conceived during employment if related to A's business. The problem lay with what was in the employee's head. How did you police people's thoughts and experience? How was it possible to assign a value to a scientist? Could Company A actually demand that any and all knowledge the scientist had was passed back to them? Added to that was the question of how the hell do you record independent thought?
Yale had taught him case law; two years at Wade-Bellings had taught him procedure. Now he needed to deal with ethics in real life situations. That was the reason he'd been handed this case. He just wished he found it interesting.
The diagram stared up at him for an hour and had morphed steadily into a doodle that looked suspiciously like his dad, with horns and a pitchfork. An hour later, he noticed his camera sat on the desk, its very presence shouting at him to grab it and deal with the case law and ethical issues later. Despite his dad wanting answers, in real terms, he had a full seven days before he had to present his conclusions to the man.
Sighing, he pushed the papers to one side. The sun was high in the sky, and he had promised himself an exploration of the pier to add to his portfolio. Grabbing his Canon and the trusty Nikon, he left his suite before he could change his mind. Meeting and apologizing to Micah this morning had left him feeling unsettled and anxious. Photography would center him.
The hotel was only a couple of miles from the pier and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he blended immediately into the crowds of tourists who thronged the California streets. He itched to pull his camera out to capture the images in his viewfinder of moms and kids and family life on the back road he was taking. There were no people crowding on corners, waiting for the lights to change or workers in short-sleeved shirts and ties scurrying past with Starbucks coffee cups grasped in their hands. This road, Ocean Front Walk, was full of apartment buildings and cleared areas ready for building until it widened out, and finally, he was strolling along the oceanfront.
He spent a good hour at the Venice Beach Art Walls, his camera capturing bold designs, listening as people around him read from leaflets about its history. He wanted to come back again. The urban art was amazing, but the pier was calling.
Keeping up a good pace, he passed stalls to his left and the sea beyond and cafes on his right until finally he was at the outer edges of the pier complex. He was pleasantly tired when he returned to the hotel with two memory cards full of images of the pier. Being tired through physical exertion was a new feeling for him. Desk-bound, his physical output in a day was limited to coffee runs, the odd lunch with clients, and using the gym in the mansion. He stripped out of the jeans and T-shirt and stood under the shower in his suite until he was clean, the water this side of painful on his sun-sensitive skin. He imagined pulling the photos together in a slideshow for Emma, showing his daughter the entertainment venues and the views of the beach, and it passed the time until it was time to get ready for dinner.
When it came to dressing, he was unsure what to wear. He was intending to eat at the fish restaurant off the main lobby, and last night in his suit he had felt severely overdressed. Jeans would be too street, a suit clearly too much, so finally he decided on black pants and a blue button-down. Then, in front of the mirror, he rubbed gel through his still damp hair, hoping to hell it managed to stay halfway decent for the rest of the evening.
Part of him hoped to see Micah, the part that was confident and adventurous. The other part was hoping not to see Micah. His head was busy, and his thoughts were confusing and irritating and halfway pathetic. Given the way his luck ran, it was inevitable he would meet Micah. What he hadn't expected was to meet and exchange pleasantries with him in the lobby and then to find himself offering to share a table in the restaurant.
"Sounds good," Micah replied to the offer, standing back and letting Liam pass first. The waiter placed them in the far corner, with a view out over the beach, and left them the wine list.
"So you know why I'm here. Are you at the hotel on business?" The question was innocent, nothing more than polite conversation, but Liam struggled for the right answer.
"I needed a week to myself, away from it all. I wanted to photograph the pier and the sea, and I chose this hotel randomly." There. That covered it all, even if the words had fallen from his mouth like a machine gun.
"A week away from what?" Micah clearly wanted to know more.
"Corporate law."
"Oh." Micah laughed, leaning back in his chair and smiling, before then leaning forward and half whispering, "A lawyer, eh? Your secret is safe with me."
Suddenly the ice was broken. Liam picked up the wine list and stared at the blur of descriptions for a good thirty seconds before he passed it to Micah.
"You're the expert."
"So they say."
The waiter came and took their order, and Liam searched for just the right subject to fill a sudden silence.
"You said you own a vineyard, is it---er---big?" Which was a good question. He was doing okay. This was casual conversation; he could do this. He needed to pretend, firstly, he wasn't gay; and secondly, that Micah wasn't hot and fucking sexy with his hazel-green eyes that spoke volumes when he talked about family and friends. Oh yes, and lastly, that he hadn't been half hard the entire time they were talking.
"An ex of mine said it wasn't big enough, said we should be expanding."
"Is there room for expansion, I mean---" Shit, what's the word I need? "---land and stuff?" Eloquent, not.
"Yeah, a parcel is coming onto the market, but I keep holding back, even though my accountant is desperate for us to do something with our capital."
"Why are you holding back? Is it not good land?"
"More than, but it's small and pushed way back into the foothills. Beautiful, but parts of it are remote." Liam felt that it sounded perfect, the idea of both beautiful and remote suiting the artist side of him.
"So your ex didn't persuade you?"
"He only wanted to add to Seneca Blue so it made it more viable to sell."
Liam stopped listening after the he.
"Liam... earth calling Liam." He snapped back to Micah's words. Micah had an ex that was a man. This wholly non-effeminate, totally wholly completely masculine, dark-haired, hazel-eyed god of a man was gay, or at the very least bi? How the hell had he not picked it up? Weren't men like him supposed to be equipped with some kind of gaydar or shit like that? "Liam?" Micah's voice had turned cold, suddenly icy cold, and Liam snapped himself back to the here and now with a sudden confusion in his head.
"Sorry?"
"Split the bill and charge it to my room; I'm in 553." Micah was standing, no, he was only half standing, hesitating, his face set in stone. Wait? Micah was leaving?
"Wait." Liam needed to say something and get him to stay. Micah leaned in and started to talk in a low growl.
"Yes, I had a partner who was a man. Seeing you zone out about it... I'm not interested in talking to a homophobe." Micah's voice was dripping with ice, his face carefully blank.
"Gay," Liam spat out in a sudden flurry of sound then he looked around nervously as he realized he may have said that loudly. No one looked over or formed an immediate mob with flaming pitchforks. "Me..." Micah was now fully standing, and Liam's brain circulated so many responses he was dizzy. "I think... I know... me too."
Micah stopped. All Liam could think was thank god.
"You too what?"
"Me, I'm..." He paused and lowered his voice. "...gay." Micah tilted his head in confusion, and then slid back into his seat. The waiter arrived at that moment with the wine.
Liam sat back in his chair. It hadn't been that difficult to say the words after all. Micah drew a deep breath, pouring himself a large amount of Oak Chardonnay. Liam gave the other man the time to calm down, biting his lower lip and realizing the enormity of what the hell he had said. He had never said those words to anyone other than Jan, and after meeting this guy a few times, he was already... what? Already labeling himself as the very type of person he couldn't let himself be? Hell.
"Is that a new thing?" Micah finally said, his expression serious.
The main course arrived at that moment, and it gave Liam the breathing time to think of an answer. All kinds of clever replies that were well considered and included a lot of justifications sprang to mind as to why being gay was a bad thing for his daughter and for his life in general. When the waiter left, and Micah refilled Liam's glass, it was time for the answer.
When it came down to it, there was only one thing to say.
"No. I haven't admitted it before or talked to anyone about it." And that was the truth.
"Have you---" Micah gestured vaguely and then stopped, raising his eyebrows in silent question.
"Jeez." Liam was so embarrassed, but he couldn't deny he knew exactly what Micah was asking. "College, but not since."
"Why?"
"It's complicated."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-five, nearly twenty-six." He heard himself rounding his age up like some twelve-year-old who craved being a teenager. More years on his age weren't going to make him any less confused about this whole thing.
"Shit." And with that Micah sat back in his seat. "There must be one complicated reason to wait so long." His words immediately put Liam on the defensive. He certainly wasn't ready to have the dead best friend/single dad/fiancée conversation with a man who wasn't far off from being a complete stranger.
"There is."
Micah hunched forward over his ravioli with wild mushrooms, and Liam found himself leaning in over his own plate of perfectly medium-rare fillet of steak. For a while, there was no talking, only exchanged murmurs of appreciation for the food. As the main course segued into sharing a platter of tiny bite-sized desserts, Liam felt courage build inside him. He wanted to extend this evening. Micah was good company, funny, well educated, and passionate about his vineyard, and Liam wanted to learn more about the man currently in rapture over the tiny white chocolate cheesecake he had popped into his mouth. Micah had a beautiful mouth, strong with lips just made for kissing and marking.
"There is a club I go to when I come here. You want to go after we finish eating?" Micah asked as they signed for the meal. Liam blinked at the sudden change in conversation and forced himself away from the sweets to focus on his dinner companion.
"A gay club?" He was aware that the words sounded kind of ambivalent as they tumbled quickly from his mouth, but Micah didn't appear to judge the reaction badly.
"Yes, gay friendly."
"I don't really do clubs." Liam really didn't. He hadn't done the club scene in college. He was too busy getting his degree; he wasn't the partying sort.
"There are quiet areas where we can get a drink. Just this once?"
"I don't want to go to hook up with a random stranger," Liam snapped and then winced inwardly. He was very aware he was coming across as a prude, but seriously, he had appearances to keep up. He was aware he was literally and figuratively miles away from Seattle, but what if someone who knew him happened to be here and spotted him? Micah looked affronted at the suggestion of the random stranger, and that didn't help matters.
"That's not what I go for," Micah defended.
"What do you go for, then?" Liam was curious, genuinely so. Why else would a gay man go to a gay club than to pick up another gay man?
"Fun." Micah shrugged. "Dancing, some drinking, relaxing where people aren't going to judge, people-watching."
"Fun?"
"Yeah. Fun."
"I'll give it a go." Why, as Micah grinned wolfishly, did Liam suddenly feel like he had signed a deal with the devil?
The club was called Liberation and was on the very edge of Venice Beach, yet it looked very normal from the outside. Liam somehow imagined that it should look more gay, although his definition of gay-only covered bars with big signs outside proclaiming an up and coming twink night, or painted in pink, or some brightly colored rainbow combination. He stopped at the threshold looking down at his Armani pants and five hundred dollar button-down. He wasn't dressed right. He glanced at Micah, who was chatting to the guy at the door. Micah was wearing similar clothes, but they weren't a designer brand familiar to Liam. Micah could wear a sack and still look hot, all sexy hard-muscled male. Liam sighed. He had this attraction thing bad. Micah looked up over at him and gestured they should enter. What Micah wore, or how much his shirt cost, didn't matter. He was a nice person to know. If Liam could push through the look of the man and get to the person beneath the "hot" then maybe he could even be a friend. Liam didn't really have any friends---didn't allow himself friends. Friends could get to know him and could find out his secrets, which wasn't acceptable.
"Liam?" Micah snapped fingers in front of his face, and Liam forced a smile, steeling himself for loud music and flashing lights and sex on the floor as he walked through the large wooden doors.
When they opened to actually reveal a large, airy, restaurant-type lower floor, Liam wasn't entirely sure how to react, but something must have passed over his face as Micah was smirking at him.
"Not what you were expecting then?"
"Not really."
"It isn't all Queer As Folk you know."
"Oh." Liam had seen a few episodes of that; he called it research, and it was actually one pop reference he could understand. He nodded and smiled. He could do this social thing. Easy.
Micah walked through the restaurant, and Liam watched more than one man, and a few women, take a second look. The view of the man's front was hot as hell. Add in Micah's butt in those trousers, his broad back and tapered waist, and he was one sexy guy. Liam moved closer, suddenly feeling very territorial and ever-so-slightly smug that it was him following Micah to wherever the hell they were going.
They reached the bar, Micah climbing on a stool, and Liam copied quirking a brow when Micah ordered a Sam Adams on tap and waited for Liam to add his order.
"Same please," he said to the bartender, and they waited as the order was filled. Micah took a healthy swig of his and then leaned towards him in a manner indicating confidentiality.
"I can't believe you drink beer." Liam said, laughter in his voice.
Micah shuffled closer on his stool. "The wine here is shit," he half whispered. His breath warm on Liam's ear, and suddenly Liam found himself hard and needy in his pants. Shit, that voice sounded like whisky over ice, smooth and damn sexy. Liam turned his head, and their lips were literally a breath apart. It would be so easy to lean that extra inch and steal a kiss, taste the beer on Micah's lips. Blinking, he pulled back, embarrassment flooding him. He didn't do kissing, not in public, and certainly not with men. Micah seemed not to register the move and began chatting again, something about the land for sale, checking his phone at a couple of points in the conversation. Liam kept up. He found it fascinating that this man loved his land and his family so much.
"What do you keep checking? Is there a problem at home?" Liam asked. Micah dropped his gaze, and god, was that embarrassment coloring his face?
"Sorry, it's kinda rude to do that."
"It's fine. If you need to check, it's cool."
"I don't. Not really. My sisters and their husbands have everything in order."
"But you need to check?"
"I'm a control freak, according to my sisters," Micah grumped and shrugged.
"Do you agree with them?"
Micah actually hesitated before answering, then laughing he nodded. "Yeah, mostly."
They talked sisters and babies. Micah even shared pictures on his phone of his new niece, Lydia Paige. When Micah excused himself to go to the bathroom, Liam pulled out his own phone, sliding through each photo he had of Emma, realizing in every one she was dressed pretty and so perfect, and it grated on him. He had been shown pictures of Micah's exhausted sister, still in the hospital, the widest smile on her face despite the evident exhaustion, happiness in her every pore, a tiny mewling scrap of humanity in her arms. All he had were static, posed photos of his perfect daughter, and his realization that it had been Leigh that had sent these particular photos to his phone made him feel sad. He had hundreds of photos of her when she was being her normal scrappy self that were on his camera as well as filed away. He quickly pocketed the phone when Micah returned. He didn't want to mention Emma, nor his family, his money, or even his impending marriage.
"Do you want to dance?" Micah's voice broke into his internal musings, and not for the first time this break, Liam had alcohol loosening his restrictions. Stumbling off his stool, realizing the combination of the wine earlier and the beer now added up to make his head spin, he showed he wanted to dance in actions rather than words. Bringing his half bottle of beer along, he did some more Micah following, this time blatantly checking out his ass. Micah pushed open a set of doors, then another, and there they were, on a dance floor. The floor itself wasn't full, but it had another bar, and the two of them gravitated towards it, the music heavy and enticing and the dark stripping the inhibitions from Liam one by one.
"Love this," he said into Micah's ear.
"You like to dance?"
"Can't dance to save my life," Liam replied cheerfully, and immediately began to prove that fact.
From one song to the next, until his arms ached and he buzzed with alcohol and the high of the music, Liam danced around a broadly smiling Micah. Each song made him braver, and he stopped in between for more beer, until after five or so songs, he was brave enough to touch Micah. In fact the Black Eyed Peas made it very easy for Liam to press himself close to Micah, and Micah certainly wasn't pushing him away. If anything he appeared to be concentrating on catching Liam closer, pressing a thigh between Liam's legs and pushing for friction. The beat changed, segueing into Justin Timberlake, and suddenly, all Liam wanted was Micah, closer, harder, more.
Unspoken, Micah guided Liam back into a corner. Liam didn't care if it was dark or not, they were off of the dance floor, and there was no one else there. They kissed, and it was sexy and hot and explosive. Liam couldn't believe he had waited this many years to kiss a man again. Micah held him rigidly still, his tongue twisting and tasting, and Liam knew he would be begging if he could talk. He needed more than kissing. Twisting as well as he could with so much alcohol in his system, he moved so he had his back against the wall, and then he moved his hands, grabbing at Micah's hard butt, digging his fingers in, urging the man closer. He added teeth to the kisses, nibbling and biting at Micah's soft lips. He could taste beer, and the intoxication of it all brought him to his knees. He pulled back.
"You have gotta fuck me," he breathed on fumes of beer. Suddenly Micah moved, guiding him back out onto the floor, out through doors, through a room filled with light and then outside into the warm Californian air. "Are we fuckin'?" Liam slurred, leaning into Micah, letting himself be literally poured into the cab. Micah said nothing, well, nothing Liam could hear over the buzz in his head. The cab stopped, and Micah was helping him out. "Are we fuckin' now?" he asked again.
"No, Liam, we need to get you to bed." Micah guided him up the steps to the main entrance. "What's your room number?" he asked.
"Four," Liam slurred in response.
"Are you in a suite, Liam?"
Liam tried to remember if that was the right word for it, but the buzzing in his head was getting louder. "Uhhmmm...four," he repeated as carefully as he could. Micah obviously understood him this time because he began to guide Liam somewhere that looked familiar.
"Bed. To sleep," Micah emphasized.
"Why am I going to bed? I want to fuck." Liam wasn't hearing right. Micah wanted him to go to bed? Why didn't Micah want him? "Was' wrong?"
"Liam, I like my men upright," Micah said simply, by which time they had made it to the entrance to the suites and finally to Liam's door. Last chance.
"I like my men fucking me from behind when I'm up against a wall," Liam slurred, with one last push against Micah. Right now Micah taking him up against a wall sounded like a wonderful idea. Micah had his hands in Liam's pants, and for a second, it appeared that Liam was going to get off tonight. Micah was just getting the keycard from his wallet, and the door was freaking open.
"Are you going to be sick?" Micah asked, guiding Liam towards the bed then pulling off his shirt.
"Nah," Liam replied confidently, and then gasped as a surge of nausea hit him. In seconds he was in the bathroom, losing the beer, the hundred dollar dinner, everything. Micah was there putting something cool on his head. Exhaustion slipped over him.
"I'm leaving water here," Micah informed him, and Liam tried to listen, feeling like death. When had wanting to be fucked changed to wanting to puke his guts up? "Also a trashcan, in case you're gonna be sick. You gonna be okay? Liam? Liam?"
"'S'fine... leave me alone," Liam managed, and then, stumbling from bathroom to bed, he collapsed in a heap on the covers. Sleep was the only thing he could do.
On the fifth floor, sleep was a long time coming for Micah. He couldn't settle, despite counting and humming and all the other things he tried to help him sleep. He had already jacked himself off to one orgasm, but fuck if he wasn't still half hard. The taste of Liam was something new---spicy, scared, cautious, uninhibited, so many contradictions in one man. Seeing him dance and feeling that sinuous twisting movement up against him was enough to send him skyward. He had never felt anything so primal before, not to mention the need to just grab at the man and mark him somehow.
Shit.
Completely hard again, he damned his overactive imagination. Liam had no idea how beautiful he was. With his air of innocence and vulnerability, and that damned secretive smile of his, he could have had anyone he wanted in that club. Anyone.
Yet Liam had wanted him, and Micah took him back to the hotel, leaving him at his suite with heated kisses and somehow finding the strength not to jump him there and then. He rolled to sit upright, adjusting his dick in his jersey boxers and wincing as his hand brushed the tip. He was not some fifteen year old kid with a porn mag under his bed. He could handle this lust.
Suddenly determined, he reached for his cell and sent off a text, r u up? If anyone could understand the confusion in his head, it would be one of his sisters, and the only sister likely to be up---he checked his watch 3 a.m. here, later at home---was going to be Rosie. The reply arrived quickly, yes.
Oh, woman of few words, on text anyway. He replied quickly, OK 2 talk?
Her answer, which read switching boobs made him wince and then snort out loud. Trust Rosie to bring it back to boobs. He waited. His newborn niece was not one to be moved quickly from what she was set on doing. She was a bit like his sister really. After about ten minutes, his cell flashed his sister's name, and he answered before he even stopped to think why he'd even wanted to chat.
"Hey." His sister sounded sleepy, and smiling, he leaned back on his bed, one hand pillowing his head.
"You been up all night?" The standard question between them made Rosie chuckle.
"Isn't it like 3 a.m. there? Have you actually been to bed?"
"Not exactly."
"Tell me you've been getting some and youre calling to gloat."
"Rosie, for fuck's sake."
"I'm teasing you. What's up?"
"Nothing. I just wanted to call."
"Hmmm, this is the day three thing, isn't it?" Micah didn't even want to think what the day three thing was and sighed dramatically. She continued. "You are entering day three, and that is when you are caught between relaxing and having fun and worrying about us."
Micah was quick to the defensive. "That is blatantly not true." He knew it was a lie; two days away from the farm was usually his limit before he got antsy, and he'd passed that mark. "So, as I am on the phone, how is everything?" he finally asked with no small amount of big brother regret he was reinforcing her earlier statement.
"It's all good, though I am the only one up."
"Okay." Micah paused again. He wanted to get some advice, which was why he had really called, but what exactly should he be asking?
"Talk to me." Rosie's voice leveled off at calm and careful.
"Met this guy, Liam, nice guy, kinda shy."
"Okay."
"He's hot."
"And?"
"He's in the closet. Or not. Hell, I don't know what he is."
"Okay, taking the closet statement first, how far back? Are we talking near the door, summer clothes, or coats stored for winter?"
"Coats."
"Oh."
"Well, when I say coats, I don't know. He seems so shy about who he is, or what he is, yet we went to Liberation, and he became different." Micah stopped, his head filled with images of the sexy creature Liam had become as soon as the music worked its magic. Writhing against Micah, his body had been so slim and hard and exactly the right height for Micah.
"You took him to Liberation? The gay club? You probably scared the kid to death."
"He's not a kid. He's only four years younger than me."
"So, you take your new friend, who is... what? Twenty-five, gay, but not handling people knowing, to a gay club, where he can relax and then he has fun, and I guess you had fun." She paused. "Consensual?"
"Nothing happened."
"Ahhhh." Micah hated that tone. Why had he even called home? "So, you wanted more and he wasn't putting out."
"No, jeez, other way round. He wanted more. I wasn't putting out." Silence. What could she possibly be thinking? He wasn't some kind of slut. Was it really a shock to hear he hadn't taken advantage of the guy?
"Micah..."
"I'm not some kind of---"
"Of course you aren't. Look, Lydia is sleeping. Talk to me."
Liam's own snoring woke him just before five in the morning with the start of a hangover. He dug into his case for headache pills and swallowed a couple of them gratefully. He remained blissfully unaware of memories from last night for a few seconds, until suddenly his actions the previous night flooded him with shame. He had thrown himself at Micah, offered him sex on a plate, and what had Micah done in return? Brought him home and tucked him in like some kind of recalcitrant child. And those kisses before the beer buzz screwed his head. God, he didn't think he had ever felt this confused before. Sex with other men, the only kind of sex that really satisfied him, was supposed to be hard and rough, meant to mark and hurt. Damn it. Micah was supposed to push him against walls and kiss till his lips split. That is what Liam wanted. What Liam needed.
But, what had happened... the kisses, the kissing. What the fuck had he done wrong to deserve that awful thing bordering on affection? Did he somehow seem like the kind of guy who needed gentle? Was he not doing gay right? His experiences at college had been quick, hard, dirty, bad, and wrong, filled with pain and lust; exactly what he wanted. Kissing with Micah had been possibly the most intense sexual experience of his life, without the getting off. Damn Micah and his wicked tongue.
He had tried so damn hard to turn it around, to tell Micah he could take what he wanted, but none of it had worked. He had all but handed himself on a plate to the older man, all set for a quick fuck to recharge his batteries, make him see that with a soft gentle wife he could be happy. And all Micah had wanted to do was kiss gently, deeply, and the way he'd twisted his fingers into Liam's hair and held his face, touching him, guiding his hands... All of it was wrong. Liam wasn't a fucking woman. He needed it hard and uncompromising.
Climbing back into bed, he twisted uncomfortably in sweat-damp sheets. He couldn't sleep any more. He wrapped his hand around his treacherously hard morning wood. As hard as he tried to recapture the intensity of need and want he had felt when Micah held him, he wasn't going to get off on soft kisses and murmured endearments. He scrubbed Micah's face from his brain, and by rote, he fell back to his usual fantasy to get himself off. Someone taller, bigger, stronger, holding him down and forcing him to submit. But---shit. Instead of the faceless, nameless man who took whatever he wanted, it was Micah's face featured in this fantasy. He fought it for a while. He didn't want that man anywhere near his fantasy, but in the end, it remained easier to imagine the tall muscled man in the position of aggressor.
Micah would use his strength and superior height to force him to his knees, filth dripping from his lips, calling Liam a slut, a whore, telling Liam he was wrong to want this, but he took it anyway. Imagination pushed him higher. He was so close, arching up into his firm grip, his other hand pulling and pinching hard at his left nipple then down to cup his balls and pull at them. The sharp pain there was enough to send him higher, and he finally lost it hard over his clenched fist. That is what he needed, forced to do what another wanted, told what to do. Groaning, and mindless to the cooling fluid that marked his hand and stomach, he turned over and buried his head into cool cotton pillows.
Why, at the very peak of orgasm, did Micah intrude with gentle kisses and his words of need?
All Liam knew was at the very end of it, sated and finally sleepy again, he wanted more, even though with Micah's clear need for gentleness and affection, the other man's gay was clearly as broken and inappropriate as his.
Twenty-nine emails. Liam made sure each one was filed appropriately. He waited while the virus scan showed as completed, then pulled the files for the biotech case. He managed to skim through about fifty percent of the legalese before realizing he remembered nothing. The dull headache could have been responsible, or the faint ringing in his ears, both of which he blamed on the club. Or it could have been the acute embarrassment at what he had tried to do last night or, more accurately, early this morning that itched at his skin and made him blush.
He wandered the suite, his cell in his hand, jumping only slightly when it vibrated and indicated a new call.
"Dad?" Unspoken was is everything okay?
His dad started in on it straight away, no real pleasantries. "This case, boy..." Liam hated it when his dad called him boy, and it sent resentment shooting down his spine.
"I've looked at the papers---" Liam began, but his dad interrupted quickly.
"I'm thinking of getting Samuels to look them over as well."
"I can handle this." Liam tried very hard to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Samuels was an up-and-coming hot shot, and asking him to look over the case underlined his dad's opinion of him getting onto the case.
"You should be here." Not at the beach wasting your time. Such an old argument and his dad would never understand why he needed space, or why it had to be this week. He didn't even try to explain, still going with the excuse of a college friend instead of the real reason---coming to terms with the rest of his life and making choices that would shock his entirely conservative parents.
"Dad---"
"Just get your comments to me."
"You said I had until Monday." His dad muttered a goodbye without responding to the point Liam had made and ended the call. Liam looked at his cell as the screen reverted to his screen saver and then faded to black. His dad had this way of making him feel like a kid again, resentful and hurt that his dad didn't trust his skills. Shutting his eyes, he pushed the bitterness to one side. Liam's career was important to him. He was damn good at what he did, and it was about time his dad trusted him.
Picking up the papers, he shuffled them into order then laid them out on the wide desk in the study part of his suite. They sat there, accusingly, shouting at him to sit down and work. However, just out of sight was his camera, and he needed to get out of this room and into real life, if only for a while. He'd come back; he didn't need to spend all day taking photos. Just an hour, to get his head straight. His watch showed a few minutes past nine, and without conscious thought, he found himself climbing the ornate marble stairs to the fifth floor. Every so often he stopped to take a shot of the intricate details, each filigree curl casting shadows and designs onto papered walls. He wandered past the room that Micah had said he was in, pausing momentarily, wondering if Micah sat behind the carved door. He debated whether he could push through his embarrassment to ever talk to the guy again. He couldn't believe what he had been like. Alcohol or no alcohol, he had been as base as some kind of dog in heat, throwing himself at Micah and demanding to be fucked.
He was lucky Micah hadn't wanted him.
Shit. That hurt. He wasn't ugly. Enough people had told him he was cute, even handsome, and he kept himself fit. He smelled nice, he dressed well, and he took care of his appearance. All in all, he wasn't a bad package. Though it was clear he obviously wasn't the type of guy that men like Micah went for. Perhaps he came across as too needy? His contemplation and self-flagellation carried him onto the wide deck area surrounding the pool, and for a long time, he stood at the wall overlooking the beach and the ocean, his camera in his hands.
He shook off his melancholy, and with his artist's eye, he saw deep cerulean waves, tipped with white, contrasting with the cornflower blue of a new Californian sky. He smiled at the birds dipping and twisting above the water, at the families already on the wide beach, some of their shouting and laughter filtering up to him on the warm breeze. He wanted to capture the day, the laughter, the blues, but still his camera stayed closed. He collected the images for himself, hoarding them selfishly and knowing he could pull them out of his mind when he was back behind his wide oak desk in Seattle. Back home, where memories of this week would be the only thing to remind him of what he could be doing with his life if he had the choice.
Choice. Everyone had it. The ability to guide their own life, be their own person. Every child came into the world born with infinite possibilities in them. He smiled at the thought. Emma had infinite possibilities in her future, and Liam would give everything to make sure she had a good life. He wasn't going to be like his dad. He wanted to make his daughter's life easy, uncomplicated, fulfilling, happy. Jan, beautiful bohemian artistic Jan, would have wanted that for her daughter; for their daughter. Three years gone now. Three whole years with the anniversary of her death tomorrow and he needed to mark her passing as he had done before---with a photograph.
Year one had found him sitting back against the trunk of the perfect oak tree, his head filled with grief and the sun spilling through the leaves and dappling the verdant earth beneath him. His best friend had been gone a whole year, her daughter, his daughter nearly one, and he had found the image that captured that year of heartache and sorrow and joy and exhaustion. A single leaf, and the tiniest of bugs clinging to the lacy frame.
The second year had been as easy, a cloudless summer day and a single kingfisher, fresh from the mansion lake, landing on a fence post on the boundary of his house, it's inquisitive beady eyes gazing back at him as he captured the image on his camera. The bird hadn't moved, and he took about thirty stills he could choose from, until his then two-year-old daughter charged out of the house demanding cookies, and he caught the startled bird in flight. Beautiful. This year he wanted a single image, but it wasn't coming to him, and he couldn't plan it.
He watched the beach and the sea until the sun began to prickle at his skin. Then with a sigh, he turned away from the wall, coming face to face with the man who had been haunting him, the man standing two feet behind him.
Micah looked at him with an expression of pleasure, a half smile, and then he held out a hand. Liam looked at the outstretched fingers, then, by instinct, around him to see if anyone could see. Casually, he took the extended hand, lust shooting through him at Micah's strong grip and the feel of his fingers lacing through Liam's.
"Lunch."
"It's only ten," Liam offered helplessly as Micah guided him in through the main doors and left to Micah's room.
"Go for a drive then we can eat lunch. You got other things organized for today?"
Liam swallowed. Today had mostly been about hiding and avoiding Micah after last night's debacle. Weakly, he waved his camera.
"Photos," he offered as a response, and then dipped his head when Micah smiled and opened the door to his room one-handed.
"Where I'm going to take you is the most beautiful place outside of Seneca Blue. I'm going to grab my wallet." He stopped and looked at Liam. "I rented a car. You'll come out with me today?" Liam nodded immediately. There was no question about it. He wanted to spend more time with the enigmatic wine guy. He showed friendship, and jeez, Liam needed that right now.
"I'd love it."
The car Micah had hired was a small two door compact, nothing special, but it got them out of Santa Monica and onto Highway 1, the Pacific Coast Highway. Liam was struck by the view over the ocean and probably wasn't paying attention to much else apart from the beauty to his left and the sharp smell of some kind of citrus cologne that Micah had used. To look at the ocean, he had to focus past Micah's features, and it remained difficult not to instead stare at his defined profile. Hell, he had it bad, in spite of what had happened last night.
Along the highway were runners and other people simply walking alone or with their dogs. Some were riding bikes or roller-blading, and he even noticed a couple of folks flying kites.
They took a sharp right after a few miles at a sign reading Topanga Canyon. Pretty soon, they'd left the sea behind and were climbing steadily up out of the canyon. The road doubled back on itself on occasion, sometimes in the full shade from the sides of the mountain or from trees, sometimes exposed to the high sun.
At times the canyon walls flanked either side, at others the walls fell away from them, and more than once, it seemed as if the edge and the guardrails were perilously close. There were skid marks left on the road on many of the bends, some on the wrong side of the road, and Liam wondered at the fear in those people when their vehicles slid to a stop.
"It's kinda quiet up here," he commented for want of something to say after ten minutes of silence. Micah just nodded, and then concentrated on the road again.
They entered a small village. Almost before Liam could blink, they were passing through with quick glimpses of scattered cafes, a fire station, and an art gallery along with one or two other places. Right in the most developed part of the small town, there was a left onto Old Topanga Canyon, and Liam leaned as Micah joined the new road.
"Where we're going is just up ahead." Liam craned his neck to see where Micah pointed, a sign proclaiming Inn of the Single Night, off the main road.
"This restaurant was built way back in the 1930s, but it used to be this whole network of different businesses."
"You've been here a lot?"
"They stock Seneca Blue wines." Micah sounded proud and enthusiastic. "I use my visits to the wine convention to come up here at least twice during the week. You can see the parts of the restaurant that used to be a church, and it is really beautiful." Liam said nothing as they passed a very seventies kitschy sign for the restaurant, surrounded by light bulbs he assumed lit up in the dark. Very Vegas wedding. Surely it wasn't a good sign that this could be any kind of decent place to eat.
There was another slight bend and then abruptly, spread out before him under a canopy of gorgeous oak trees, were twenty or so wrought iron tables. Micah parked the small car on a gravel area and climbed out, stretching tall and grinning at Liam as he joined Micah. Liam inhaled deeply, struck by the sweet smell of sage and the lingering ocean breeze as it filtered into the mountains.
"Beautiful," he said, agreeing with Micah's earlier sentiments.
"Want to take a quick walk before lunch?"
Liam nodded, following closely as Micah led them down a winding path to the tangled shrubbery on the banks of a ribbon of water. He guessed it probably fed into the ocean at the base of the mountains and glanced back upwards to where it must start. The water was startlingly clear and reflected the blue skies above in those parts that were open from the shelter of leaves. Micah once again slipped his hand into Liam's, and it felt right. They walked for a long time, scrambling up hillsides and chatting about nothing in particular---wine, corporate law, food, shared history in children's television, even football, although Micah appeared somewhat at a loss there and clearly was not a fan. Liam didn't mention the night before, and Micah appeared to be happy to ignore the elephant in the room... or elephant in the river so to speak.
His photographer's eye looked for the picture, but even as he took the most intricate detail of dappled sun under wide trees, he was more than aware he hadn't found it yet. When Micah wasn't watching, he would slide the range a bit, capturing laughing or smiling or thoughtful Micah where he could.
When they got back to the restaurant they bypassed the front entrance, instead entering through a back door, which Liam found took them directly into the kitchen.
"Micah!" A bear of man pulled Micah into a hug, and Liam had to push down instant jealousy even as Micah hugged the man back.
"Hey, Brad, things look good." He pulled back, grabbing at Liam's hand. "This is Liam. I wanted to show him the best."
"Your usual then?"
"In the garden?" Brad shooed the two men back out the way they came. "Garden, drink, food," Brad added, and Micah laughed. The sound of it was good to hear, and Liam had another hot flash of lust that suddenly flipped on its head to become need. He needed a kiss, and he didn't even bother looking around to see who might be watching. He simply reached up and pressed his lips gently against Micah's. This whole idea of wanting to touch Micah confused Liam; he shouldn't want to kiss like this, with no desire for reward or to an ultimate end. Kissing just for kissing's sake was a new one. He stepped back, and Micah had his eyes shut only opening them slowly when Liam didn't kiss again.
"Tell me about the wine of yours they have here," Liam half stuttered, hiding his confusion behind words.
Micah didn't push, thank goodness. He simply crossed to a table under the shade of the trees, and then slid into a seat. Liam followed and sat at a right angle even as Micah picked up the wine list and waved it under Liam's nose.
"They have over four hundred different wines here, from all over the world, not only the US."
"Wow." Liam tried to look suitably impressed and clearly failed as Micah laid it back down and grinned.
"Wanna hear why there is such a huge use of the light grape in SoCal?"
Liam wrinkled his nose and leaned forward until his face was inches from Micah's.
"Wanna kiss instead?"
Liam had the perfect lunch in a stunning setting with excellent food and good company. Micah hadn't mentioned the fact that Liam had basically demanded sex from him at the club. For that Liam felt grateful, and he finally relaxed enough to enjoy the food and to taste the Seneca Blue wine that Micah had suggested. Lulled into a false sense of security, he didn't really see where the conversation turned until it was too late. It all started off innocently enough, Micah asking about the firm he worked for. Liam pulled out as many funny stories as he could about corporate law, sometimes difficult given that it was both corporate and law.
"You have some pretty upscale clients then?" Micah asked innocently enough as Liam finished with the story of the large petroleum company and the lawsuit from the actress.
"Yeah, lots of suits and boring meetings."
"Is that why you decided to hide being gay?"
"I'm not hiding," Liam protested quickly, then exhaled noisily, reaching for his wine glass and swallowing more than a reasonable mouthful with speed. As a delaying tactic, it failed spectacularly when he choked on the wine and then cough-spit half of it back into his napkin.
Micah waited until he stopped coughing. "Sorry," he finally offered, quirking his mouth and smiling ruefully. "My sisters say I need a padlock on my mouth sometimes." Liam stared back at Micah, trying not to focus on the mouth Micah had mentioned.
"I like your mouth without a padlock," he murmured, but didn't repeat himself when Micah asked him what he had said. This bonding stuff was really getting too intense. He never should drink during the day or, indeed after last night, maybe not drinking ever again would be a good thing. He stretched and pushed away from the table. Some perspective on this would be good. He needed a break and some thinking time.
"I need to get back," he said carefully. "I have some papers I need to look at."
Micah looked at him steadily. "Work papers?"
"Important case," Liam said, defending himself against the surprise in Micah's voice.
"Okay, no worries." Micah paid the bill, despite Liam protesting they should go halves, and finally they were back in the small car and away from the beauty of the hills.
They separated and promised to meet for a drink in the bar at eight and only then did Liam manage to hide in his room and check out the photos from the day. There it was. The photo.
He had captured something special when he pressed the button. There in the shaded area, Micah was front and center, his expression serious He had been explaining about the family he came from; his mom and dad, taken from the family far too young, his new niece and his two sisters. Liam leaned closer to his laptop. Micah's eyes held sadness and a look of deep thought, and damn, his gaze looked so intense. The camera had caught the pensive look off center, Micah's hands buried deep in jean pockets, his shoulders hunched. If Liam titled this photo, it would be something incredibly poetic like grace or duty or maybe even love.
Blinking, he pulled himself out of his thoughts, which had wandered way off of the beaten track and out into the land of fancy. Deliberately, he opened the folder with the other two photos that marked the anniversary of Janelle's death. The bug on the leaf and the bird on the fence, perseverance in year one, beauty in year two, and now... somehow Micah and his love for his family would be his third photo. Janelle would have understood.
Micah didn't want to waste one minute of time with the mystery that was Liam, and he sat in the bar at seven-thirty with half an hour to spare. Ordering a glass of a popular SoCal Chardonnay, he perched on a bar stool and contemplated the twists and turns this week had taken. Liam Wade appeared to be an untidy mess of contradiction, and Micah didn't fool himself for one minute that it hadn't confused him completely. Liam was so damned restrained in the hotel. The lawyer was clearly weighed down with something that gave him a perpetual frown, but then he was so completely unreserved when he had been dancing; alive and bright and laughing. He wondered what his sisters would think of his interest in this complicated man. Jeez, he should be here getting tail like they wanted him to, not collecting shy boys with problematical feelings.
Micah lost himself in his own thoughts, savoring the wine and taking notes even if he didn't realize it at first. The vintage wasn't the best he had tasted, but it wasn't bad for the year, although very expensive at thirty dollars a glass. Spotting Liam standing uneasily at the end of the bar, he grabbed up the bag he held and hefted it over his shoulder, and with a nod to the barman, he crossed to Liam.
"Hey." Liam looked pointedly at the bag and the denim-clad Micah who held it, grimacing and looking down at his black slacks and button-down. "Am I overdressed?"
"Nope, you look hot." The comment may have been a throwaway, but Micah didn't miss the small smile of pleasure that crossed Liam's face. "We're going to the beach."
Liam didn't argue, nor did he ask questions as he followed Micah away from the hotel, chatting about the meal at lunch time and the wines that they had shared. He helped to spread out the borrowed blanket and began opening the containers that Micah had acquired from the kitchen, small sounds of pleasure at each treasure he uncovered. Was it wrong that Micah found those noises cute-sweet and hot-sexy at the same time? In fact, being hard in his jeans could probably be seen as a good measure of interest. Liam certainly did get the blood rushing south in Micah faster than the blink of an eye.
The encroaching dark of the evening lessened the raw heat of the day. Micah's duties with the wine convention gave them both breathing time. It had been two days since they had spent that day together. But meeting up now was easy, with not one minute of awkward silence. The two men enjoyed each other's company, making the most of this escape from their normal lives. The beach wasn't isolated by any stretch of the imagination---couples and groups all walked the golden sands---but no one took a second glance at them.
They chatted about everything and nothing, and the contents of the containers were soon long gone along with a bottle of white and two cans of beer. The silences in the conversation were comfortable, and in Micah's eyes, the whole time was perfect.
The walk back to hotel was slow as they sauntered along the sand. Micah didn't want to rush back to the luxury of the rooms and the bright lights of the lobby. Liam's guard would come up as soon as reality hit again.
"Wanna get a drink?" Micah winced inwardly as he asked. They hadn't quite reached the hotel and were still surrounded by the darkness of night. Liam was clearly still mellow, laid back, and he chuckled.
"I have a whole bar in my room."
"A whole bar?"
"All the good stuff," Liam teased. "Beer, whisky and some of that wine stuff."
"I will educate you." Micah laughed, but it turned quiet when Liam glanced at him with eyes full of heat. I will educate you? Shit. "About the wine," he added helplessly.
"The wine, yeah."
They dropped the basket and containers at the reception desk, and by silent agreement, they found their way to Liam's room. Liam was right, his room---some kind of presidential suite by the look of it, with door after door opening from the main room---had one well stocked mini bar. Alongside the usual, there was a selection of wines, vintages that had been carefully selected to cover most of the popular grapes.
"Are you going to open a bottle?" Liam asked curiously. He crossed to the wide windows, opening them to the evening air, soft and balmy and carrying the scent of the ocean into the room. Micah crouched in front of the large stocked fridge, and the dry storage for the reds, but nothing caught his eye, and not for the first time, he wished he had bought a bottle of Seneca Blue '08 Merlot.
"I never use the stocked bar in the suite."
"Liam, there is over three thousand dollars worth of wine in your room, and you've never tried any of it?"
Liam shrugged, and Micah shook his head.
"I'm not a great wine drinker. It just sits there."
"But you do actually drink wine?" Micah was curious.
"Of course. With meals when I am out."
"So when you're eating out, what is it you prefer? Red or white?" He turned to Liam standing behind him, a mass of barely harnessed energy, shifting from foot to foot and crossing and uncrossing his arms.
"Hmm, I'll have whatever you're thinking is good."
Micah grinned up at him. "Is that your way of saying you have no idea what you want?" Liam returned the smile and dropped to a crouch next to Micah, peering into the fridge.
"I know that the reds stay at room temperature," he said simply, running a finger over the eight bottles that lay there, "and I know that whites and rose go in the chiller." He tapped a finger on the glass fridge door to indicate the white wines and then nodded, clearly proud of that much knowledge.
"Limited, but that's a start." Micah pulled out a red, a Cabernet Franc from a Washington State vineyard, and then pushed himself to stand. Uncorking the bottle, he sniffed the cork and then he poured a small amount into the crystal glasses that sat on the top of the cabinet. He offered one to Liam, who took it carefully, mimicking how Micah held it by the stem and then waiting.
"Take a sip and tell me what you can taste."
Liam wrinkled his nose. "Do I need to do that spitting out thing?" He looked really concerned, and Micah contemplated teasing him for a few seconds and then decided this was far too serious a moment to dilute.
"No, let the wine run over your tongue before you swallow. That will do fine." He watched as Liam cautiously sipped the red in his glass and then did as he instructed, half closing his eyes in absolute concentration. Finally he finished and then looked at Micah, consternation in his eyes.
"Hmm" he said and then stopped, so adorably out of his depth that Micah wanted to scoop him up and carry him to bed there and then. Taking pity on him, he sipped his own wine, letting the rich taste of it swirl in his mouth.
"Cabernet Franc," he began, closing his eyes to imagine the elements he tasted. "We have that at Seneca Blue, but the cabernets from Washington State have a fruit forward style with blueberry and raspberry. Did you taste that?"
"I want to say yes." Liam's voice held a note of doubt, and Micah opened his eyes. Liam's gaze was trained on him.
"Years of practice makes a wine snob," Micah offered gently, "and as much as I think it is the be all and end all of everything, if you enjoy wine, then that is good enough for me."
"The flavor had a hint..." Liam started and then immediately stopped.
"Go on..."
"I don't know, I mean, this is going to sound stupid."
"Nothing you say will sound stupid. Wine tasting and enjoyment is subjective, I promise you."
"Coffee. Like ground coffee, and olives. Almost bitter."
"Excellent. Typical of the Washington state grape. We'll make a wine connoisseur of you yet." Liam leaned forward enough to touch his lips to Micah, pulling back with another look of confusion and hesitation on his face. Micah had that unsettling feeling, even as he chased for the kiss that something remained seriously wrong with the picture, but this time he let the brain in his dick do the talking. Placing his glass to the side and relieving Liam of his, he pulled Liam in for another kiss, settling his hands onto Liam's hips and pushing his fingers up and under the cotton shirt. Liam's hands were on his ass, pulling Micah closer until they were hard against each other. Liam beginning a hip roll that meant within seconds they were near rutting against each other. Jeez. If Liam didn't slow down, Micah would do exactly what he did the first time he'd kissed a boy and come in his pants before he breathed. Chuckling, he pushed Liam back.
"Slow down," he half whispered, but Liam wasn't listening, pushing him back against the cabinet and grinding again, capturing Micah's lips in a bruising, punishing kiss, more teeth than finesse. Micah tasted blood, and okay, he could be on board with frenzied, hurried sex, with biting and dominance and a battle of wills, but after the night in the club, he didn't want that with Liam. "No," he pushed Liam away, wincing as the other man stumbled back and his face darkened with anger.
"What the hell? I thought you wanted me."
"I do, Liam, but slow down. We have all night."
"I want you to fuck me." Liam sounded disbelieving. "You don't need all this kissing romance shit with me. Seriously, I'm a sure thing." He pressed himself up against Micah, an obscene grinding motion underlining the words he had spat out.
"I don't want to fuck you," Micah protested quickly, placing the flat of his hands on Liam's chest to put distance between them. Liam reached between them and closed one hand around Micah's dick.
"This tells me you do."
"It's not about fucking---"
"Stop with the shit, Micah." In a fluid movement, Liam pulled his shirt over his head and then pushed his pants and boxers down, hooking his socks until he stood naked. "Just get on with it and fuck me."
Micah was torn between doing that exact thing and running for his life. Liam naked, erect, muscles delineating each edible part of his body, was something Micah only saw in his dreams---a broad chest, with very sparse hair, tapering to a narrow waist and hip bones begging to be sucked. The curls at the base of his dick were dark, and the dick itself, engorged with blood, glistening at the tip, was a thing of complete beauty. His mouth nearly watered with the thought of sucking down on that. He palmed his own erection, his brain not functioning at one hundred percent. Liam moved, but not towards Micah. He moved away from Micah, pulling a bottle and condoms out of the drawer, dropping them on the bed, and then leaning over the carved wood end of the four poster, his ass pushed out invitingly.
"Fuck me," he ordered. Micah didn't know left from right. Everything he desired in a man was here waiting for him, and all he could do was stare. "Micah, just fuck me." Liam's voice was strident and then plaintive, a contradiction in Micah's head, then it was impossible to think any more. How could it hurt to sink himself into Liam's body? Maybe he should push his ideals and his values to one side and for once go with the hot and heavy sex. Just sex. No affection. He took the few steps that bought him within touching distance of the naked man, and on automatic pilot, he stripped his clothes and dropped them in an untidy heap on the floor. The wine buzzed in his head, and the heat in the room felt like a blanket around him, so still it suffocated, and then he touched. Gripping tight onto Liam's hips, he slid his dick up the cleft of Liam's ass and groaned.
He couldn't help himself. It was both erotic and empowering to have this man opened and ready, begging for prep, begging for him to fuck him. They could go slow next time. All he needed to do was slick Liam, open him, stretch him wide with fingers, find the gland and touch it. He moaned low in his throat, grabbing at the lube and coating his fingers, touching Liam gently, groaning when Liam pushed back against his fingers and the first two forced past the ring of muscle.
"Get a fucking move on," Liam ground out. "Push them in."
Micah tried to go slow, but the idea of sex was overpowering his brain until finally, sheathed and lubed, he was buried balls deep into Liam. He tried to set a rhythm, but Liam was out-topping him with desperate lunges and reverses onto his dick, cursing and demanding beneath him, his arms spread, hands grasping at the wooden supports like some kind of sacrifice. His words were like something from a porno---fill me, fuck me, harder--- and Micah's base brain reacted with a near savagery he had not experienced before and then suddenly...with a strength of will he didn't know he had, he retrieved his control.
Using what muscle strength he had in his arms, he stilled Liam's movements. Liam attempted to continue moving, his language upping the stakes, but Micah was back in control of his head and of Liam. He withdrew completely, urging Liam up on the bed, no words left his lips, but he knew what he wanted. He knelt behind Liam, who presented himself on all fours, his head low, his shoulders tight, and finally Micah knew how this would go.
"Lay down on your side," he ordered.
"What the hell?" Liam responded with a frantic push of his dick against the quilt. "Just finish fucking me already."
"Lay the hell down," Micah emphasized firmly, and for a second, it seemed Liam would argue some more. When Liam actually acquiesced, disapproval in every inch of him, Micah curled around him from behind. He slipped back in, seated again balls to ass, one hand curled under Liam's head, the other reaching around to close around Liam's heavy dick. Then he began. He began to talk, but his words weren't flowery. There were no declarations of love or of beauty. They were clinical explanations of profanity, desire and need, and finally Liam stopped telling him what to do.
He set up a counter rhythm with his hand. Liam had gone from talking and demanding to groaning and writhing on Micah's dick, and it was a powerful feeling to reduce a man who didn't want gentle and insistent to one begging for more. Micah heard Liam's breath hitch and felt his body stiffen as his lover orgasmed. The tightening of muscles around his dick pushed him over the edge, and finally, he allowed himself to orgasm, filling the condom and moaning his pleasure against Liam's back.
Carefully, he pulled himself out and rolled onto his back, lethargy washing over him, wincing as Liam turned to face him, rigid temper in every line. Clearly, orgasm hadn't taken the edge off.
"What the fuck was that?" Liam demanded, scrambling off the bed and picking up his discarded pants, come wet on his stomach.
"Me fucking you. I didn't hear you complaining. In fact I heard you begging for more."
"I don't know what the hell that was, but it sure as hell wasn't a fuck." He visibly shook with emotion, grabbing his shirt, his eyes sparking with fire.
"Felt like screwing you from where I was," Micah snapped back, lying through his teeth. "Meaningless, quick, and you're out of the bed." He indicated. Liam forcing his arms through shirt sleeves, temper making his movements uncoordinated and jerky.
"You don't get to do that to me," Liam ground out, and Micah had reached his limit on patience.
"What the hell did I actually do here, Liam? I like you. We had a good day. I don't do impersonal fucks; I wanted to make love---"
"That's not how it should be." Frustration gave his words an edge. "I don't need that shit you pulled. Get the fuck out of my room." Scrambling backwards, he moved into the bathroom, and with a final look of disgust, he shut the door.
Micah let him stew in his own temper for exactly five minutes, and then pulling on his boxers, he crossed to the closed door and leaned against the doorframe. He wasn't going to push his way in. He didn't fully understand what the hell was going on, but Liam was entitled to privacy if that is what he needed.
"Liam?"
"Go away."
Jeez, was Liam all right in there? He sounded like shit. "Are you okay?"
"Fuck off, Micah.
"Liam---"
"Go back to your own room and leave me the fuck alone."
Liam waited until he heard the outside door shut before releasing a heavy sigh, but even then, he couldn't be bothered to force himself to stand. He was happy here, leaning back against the bath. It's funny, he thought, doesn't matter how expensive the room. Sitting on the bathroom floor always feels the same; cold and uncomfortable.
What the hell had he been thinking letting this happen? All he wanted this week was to work his way through everything in his head, find some anonymous guy in a club, get himself fucked up against a wall, and get it out of his system. Then maybe, just maybe, he could go home and marry Leigh and get on with the rest of his life, for him and for his daughter. His family expected him to do the right thing. His daughter needed a mom, and Leigh was a good choice. He repeated it over and over again, but every so often in the litany, the feel of Micah around him, over him, in him, broke through. He groaned and wrapped his hands around his knees, resting his forehead on them. His shirt was still damp from where he had come on himself, and his ass ached. There were too many reminders in his room of what had happened.
Micah had given him more than he needed, more than he wanted, particularly tenderness, getting Liam off with his large firm hand wrapped around his dick. Strong, capable, not punishing. Frustration tightened in his throat, and he forced back the tears that threatened to fall. He hadn't cried since Jan had died, and then only in the privacy of his own rooms and he wasn't about to start now.
Perhaps in the morning he should find Micah, explain to him what was in his head, that what he needed from this week was the polar opposite of what Micah appeared to want to give him. Just lay it out there in black and white, in detail. He dismissed the thought. They only had a few more nights in the hotel after tonight. There was no sense in muddying the waters because they wouldn't see each other again after then. He had to stay out of Micah's way and not look into hazel eyes that questioned his every move.
Sighing, he finally pushed himself to his feet and crossed to the sink, grimacing at the damp material against his skin and pulling the soiled shirt away. In seconds, he was naked again, the pants and shirt a pathetic huddle of wasted dollars in the corner of the room. The shower, a complicated cubicle with buttons and dials, called. It could be a steam room, a sauna, anything he wanted it to be but not somewhere he could forget Micah. The water was hot, the steam intense, and finally he could say to himself he had washed himself clean of all the evidence. The scent of tea tree oil hung in the mist of water, and he leaned back against the cool tile wall, lifting his face to the soft spray. He followed the trail of water with his hands, pursuing the rivulets that traced his muscles, twisted his hands in the curls, and touched his dick, hard and unyielding in his grasp.
Micah had been so strong. Jeez, he had lifted Liam and made him feel. His muscles were taut and strong and so damned hard. The strength sent fire to his dick. Micah made him want more. His own hands explored where Micah had touched, and as he reached orgasm again, it was Micah's name on his lips, nothing more than a sob of sound. He was ridiculous, bedraggled, verging on pathetic. He should grow some balls and actually go find Micah and try to explain. Maybe he should book some therapy? Maybe anyone who was contemplating coming out went through this utter fear of isolation. Could it be possible that it didn't have to be just sex between two men, that there was a man out there for him that could give him what he craved? Love, affection, and a family? God, he didn't even really know Micah. They'd had three days, nothing more, of talking, laughing. How could he base a life decision on one man and one less than ordinary vacation?
His mind made up to talk to Micah, to apologize to him, he resolved to get dressed and then grab the most expensive wine he could find from the cabinet. Maybe if he took a bribe, Micah would sit and talk and even listen to the crap in Liam's head. Turning off the water, he grabbed at the nearest towel, and with a desperate need for a talk and then sleep, he walked back out into his bedroom.
Only his bedroom wasn't empty. Micah sat on the side of the bed, fully dressed, with a blank expression on his face. Clearly he hadn't actually left the suite at all. They could go through the whole what-the-hell-happened crap over and over but Micah was in his room in creased clothes looking concerned, and all Liam wanted was to fall asleep now. Preferably sleeping in Micah's arms and perhaps with another bout of frankly awesome sex. This could be his one night, his last fling, and he might as well enjoy it properly. Micah didn't look like he wanted an argument or some kind of heavy emotional scene. In fact, he looked incredibly calm, if a little sad.
"Bed?" Liam asked. Micah nodded pulling off clothes until, in boxers, he climbed under the covers. He scooted over until Liam snuggled back into his hold.
Being held felt nice. It wasn't something he was going to let himself get used to, but for one night, maybe two, he could handle that.
"This is what I want, Micah."
"What?"
"To be here with you for tonight. Now. At this time." Liam guessed he'd made a declaration of sorts, a decision he had finally managed to vocalize.
"I'm not going anywhere." Micah tightened his hold, and it felt safe and warm to be held.
"I'm gay, you know," Liam said softly.
"Liam..." Micah's voice tailed off, and he gently kissed the back of Liam's neck
"I never really admitted it like you make me admit it. I'm gay, Micah, and I want more affection, more of you, and this, and God... I have to sort my life out."
"Okay."
"I'm not even sure it's possible for a relationship between two men to work."
"You're talking too much."
"I need to think this through. I thought... two men... it would never be anything but fucking... I need something more than that, something stable for..."
"We can talk more in the morning yeah?"
"In the morning," Liam repeated softly and yawned.
"Sleep now, Liam, just sleep."
"Breakfast?"
Micah turned over in bed, and murmured something low, along the lines of "Guh, half hour more." Liam contemplated what to do. He could order breakfast to the room, but looking at his watch, it wasn't much past six, and by his reckoning, Micah and he had had about three hours of sleep, if that.
"I'll meet you in the lobby. We'll go out have coffee on the beach," he replied softly. The caring side of him made him pull the covers up over his sleeping lover, and with a smile on his face, he let himself out of the room. He had a phone call to make to Leigh, and he needed to be standing on the beach, away from Micah, away from the hotel and staff. He wanted to talk to his fiancée, maybe get her to come here, away from everything that stifled him. Okay a phone call wasn't face to face, but he could at least start her thinking about what it would be like to be in a loveless marriage.
He didn't know what was going on with Micah, but if anything their meeting up had shown him he wasn't ready to settle with Leigh. He had more questions than answers, and he had to get his head around it. Maybe he and Micah could spend a bit more time here, a few more days. He could even pay, after explaining to Micah he could afford it. Liam had only really been here a few days, and only one of those nights with Micah's arms wrapped around him. The ratio was too low. With a new enthusiasm in his step, he entered the lobby and crossed to the front entrance.
"Liam!" Liam turned at the shout of his name, stunned to see Leigh, along with Emma, standing by the desk. He blinked in confusion. Wasn't it really early? What the hell? Why were his fiancée and his daughter at the hotel? He didn't have time to form the words as Emma ran full tilt into arms and jumped as he lifted, settling into him and giving him the biggest, most clinging hug in the history of hugs.
"Dadda," she whispered into his neck, and Liam clung back in reaction. He leaned down for Leigh's kiss, but at the last minute, she turned her face so his lips contacted with her cheek.
"We phoned your room, Liam," she commented carefully, apparently not expecting an answer as she continued, "Emma was missing you." Unspoken was the reason why she had felt it was a good thing to turn up at Liam's hotel at six in the morning with his daughter in tow. Clearly, there was a reason, and just as clearly, Leigh was not talking about it in front of Emma.
"I missed Emma," Liam said softly, hugging his daughter close. With the feel of her in his arms and his fiancée a foot away, suddenly his conviction about his decisions wavered. Emma needed a mom, a good woman who made them the perfect unit. How the hell would Emma survive with two dads, whether it was Micah or another man? Who even did that? In his circle of people, it wouldn't work. It wasn't done. His parents would disown him, his friends---
"Is there somewhere we can get coffee?" Leigh interrupted his self-destructive train of thought, tilting her head as she asked, and once again, Liam was stunned that this beautiful woman had agreed to be his wife, despite their lackluster relationship. Tall, slim, an icy beauty in palest pink, she was polished and perfect for his arm when he attended events. She had superb lineage in Seattle society and would make a match made in corporate heaven. If only her blue eyes were hazel. If only she were taller, broader, with messy dark hair...
"M'hungry." Emma pouted and rested her cheek against his chest.
"Do you want some breakfast, honey?" Liam asked his daughter softly.
"Pancakes?" Emma asked, her face a sudden picture of enthusiasm.
"Pancakes, sweetheart." He looked around; if they moved to the breakfast room, maybe he could sort out some quiet time for Leigh and him.
The slowest twenty minutes of his life passed while waiting for the privacy to talk. Emma didn't miss a beat, tucking into pancakes with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning and then skipping off to the small table to one side where one of the waitresses had set up coloring paper and crayons.
"What's wrong, Leigh?"
"Emma wanted her daddy," Leigh offered, then shrugged. They both knew Liam was going home to Seattle the next day, that in a day or so, Emma would have been seeing him. She sighed dramatically. "No, that isn't fair to use her as an excuse. I had to tell you face to face. I can't do it, Liam." He could have asked her what, but inside he already knew.
"The wedding," he confirmed, and she nodded. "What have I missed? I thought we were okay about this."
"I thought I could settle for less, Liam, thought I could do what our families wanted. I even imagined I could be a mom to Emma, but if anything, this week has shown me that isn't possible."
"Did something happen?" Why was he asking that? He should accept what she said. His heart wasn't exactly breaking at the news. If anything he was sideswiped. Did that make him hard hearted?
"I want to be honest with you. Liam. Can I be honest with you?" He nodded and poured another cup of coffee, hoping to hell his head started to wake up so he could handle this. "There's someone else."
"Okay." Shit, that hurt.
"He isn't what my daddy wants for me. God, Liam, he's a singer in an unknown indie band, and he has no day job. But when I'm with him, he has such passion, and he makes me feel loved." She reached across the small table, grasping his hand. "I'm not going home. Daddy already blustered about disowning me when I talked to him, called me a failure, stupid, and said the relationship with the singer is all wrong. That it wasn't going to get me anywhere socially." She sighed noisily, "I took Emma this morning because I needed an excuse to see you and to let you know I finally made a decision for myself."
He squeezed her hand in return. "Leigh, honestly, I'm sorry I couldn't be that person for you." He attempted to be reasonable and fair, but in the back of his mind, the sudden realization hit him that his whole world had changed in the space of a minute.
"I haven't told Emma, but she knows, Liam. She isn't stupid, and I was never going to be a good momma. I'm not sure I ever will be."
"Of course you will," Liam said gently, "when the time is right, when the person you choose as your partner is the person you were meant to be with."
"I have embarrassed my family." She paused, straightened her posture and continued. "I don't care. I don't, and maybe that makes me sound like a bitch, but I finally decided to be me. God, Liam, you're a good guy, please... Does that make any sense?"
"More than you know," Liam said simply.
"Liam, I'm sorry."
He was a good guy? Hardly. He was a man with secrets of his own. He wanted to say he had been having second thoughts, but there was so much indecision in him he didn't know anything for sure. "I may have decisions of my own to make," he said hastily, "things that have happened to me..." He shrugged helplessly. She leaned in, a smile on her face.
"I hope he makes you happy." Shock cut through him, and he opened his mouth to speak, but she had already gotten up to leave.
Always the gentleman, Liam rose. Impulse had him embracing her in a tight hug, and she chuckled into his shoulder, leaning back to look up at him. He stole a kiss, a simple touch of lips, a goodbye really, and then feeling Emma tug at his jeans, he scooped her up, and for one final time, he wanted that hug where everything could be as normal. He'd analyze why he wanted that later, but for the time being, it was probably time to think about exactly who he was, and how he would explain it all to Emma once she was old enough. He wasn't going to lie anymore.
"Liam?" Micah's voice. Liam groaned inwardly, looking left into hazel eyes. A curious Micah stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Jeez, he couldn't handle any more this morning.
"Micah," he said simply. Micah looked at Liam, then to Leigh, then to Emma who reached out a syrup-sticky hand in welcome. "This is Emma, my daughter... and Leigh..." His voice tailed off, how the hell did he describe his ex-fiancée to his short-term lover and did it even matter? Leigh clearly thought Micah was some sort of guy who didn't need to know shit about anything going on and went into supportive fiancée mode. She wouldn't know it would do more harm than good, and it wasn't as if he stopped her in any way.
"His fiancée," she said firmly and held out her hand as Emma had done. Micah took the hand and shook it firmly before releasing it, then looked Liam direct in the eye. The hazel was dark. There was pain in his eyes, embarrassment, even a flash of temper, and then he released his hold on Leigh's hand and turned on his heel. This was stupid, letting Micah leave like that. With a few words, Liam could explain it all, but something held him back from saying a word. He just wasn't ready to talk about this. It was all too soon, and there were too many decisions he needed to make. He had his daughter to think about.
He would catch up with him in his room and explain it all. No harm done. As soon as he spent time with Emma.
"Micah, I'll talk to you later," he called after the retreating man, but Micah didn't turn, and Liam's stomach twisted. He would have one hell of a lot of explaining to do.
"Daddy, can we go on the beach?"
"I'm going to go now."
Leigh and Emma spoke at the same time, and Liam's priority was to answer Emma. "Of course we can, baby."
"Bye, Liam."
Suddenly it hit him that he and Emma, and a bag full of what he assumed was Emma's things, were alone together in the breakfast room. A slow trickle of people walked around them, chattering about usual stuff like what they were going to eat. Normal things.
Leigh had gone, Emma wanted to go on the beach, and Micah probably had an entire head full of misconceptions.
Fuck.
Micah chalked it up to one night of really good sex. That was all it was, and it could be easily dismissed. So why did it hurt so much to see Liam lip-locked with a freaking fiancée in the restaurant and with his daughter in tow? A knife of disappointment had stabbed Micah through the chest when he saw Liam pull back and look down at the fiancée with a smile on his face. A daughter for fuck's sake? What was Liam? Bi? Curious? Clearly, whatever Liam was after, Micah had been a willing dick to fill the vacation. All that bullshit of wanting to talk. God, if it hadn't been for the little girl with her wide eyes and sticky hands, he would have laid Liam out with a punch to the face, expensive hotel or not. Instead, Micah climbed the stairs to his floor in a semi-angry semi-dazed stumble. Whatever. It wasn't like the last few days had really meant anything, and he could handle the embarrassment of being used for sex.
There were worse things in the world. He was out of here anyway, and it was time to get ready to go. He packed his case and did a final check on the room. Okay, so twelve hours early to the airport could be seen as running, but his seven days were up, and he was happy to be going home. So much for extending his stay a few days to spend more time with Liam. The bill was already covered by his credit card, and he could easily steal away down the back stairs and take the exit that led to the beach. However, masochist that he was, he went down to the marble pillared reception area to arrange a taxi to the airport.
A large part of him hoped Liam would still be there. He would bring over the woman, his fiancée, and the daughter, and explain the terrible mistake. Maybe he would reveal she was actually his best friend, and the little girl was a godchild or something equally innocent, anything so that the ache of betrayal inside Micah would ease. Maybe if he saw Liam, he could plant his fist into his face, show him that it wasn't right to use people like this or to lie. The adult part of him wanted to simply ask What the hell Liam? He wasn't going to subside into misery over what he had seen, and he wanted to leave.
Micah didn't see his erstwhile lover in reception. There was no sign of him while he stood on the front steps, and no one watched him get into the taxi as far as he was aware; nor did anyone follow him to the airport.
By the time his flight was called, the bitterness of embarrassment and betrayal and the need to ask questions had turned to cold icy dismissal. He had been used as some pseudo-straight guy's week off. The flash of attraction between them had merely been Liam's way of getting his fill of dick before going back to his soon-to-be wife. No wonder all he wanted to do was fuck with no affection.
A confused newbie he wasn't. He was just suffering from guilt overload, getting fucked over by a man who, all the time, had a fiancée and kid waiting on him at home. The bastard was simply living a lie. Had Micah known then he wouldn't have even bothered with tempering the sex with patience and affection. He really should have just enjoyed the fucking for what it was. No, actually, if he'd known, he had to be honest with himself, he wouldn't have gone anywhere near Liam. Ice turned to temper, and the idea of punching Liam repeatedly in the face pushed to the forefront of his mind once more. As his plane flew east, temper became the resolve to never think about the asshole again, and to never, ever, go away to the wine convention again. Ever.
Next time, his sisters would have to listen to him.
Because this time, however much he tried to rationalize it, this had hurt.
"This is utterly ridiculous. You can't announce your marriage is off, and then leave the company and the family in one go." Patrick Wade turned purple, a particularly florid shade that flooded his skin, which wasn't unusual for Liam's father whenever he got stressed. Liam's mom fluttered like some kind of wounded bird at his dad's side, the fingers of one hand across her lips and a look of horror on her face. She looked between her son and her husband, and her eyes were wide and shiny with tears.
"I'm not arguing with you, Dad, I made my decision." Staying firm, he didn't let one small hint of his feelings filter into his voice. If his dad got one sniff of the fear inside him, he would lose the upper hand.
"You have a career, a life here. I won't have you making a mess of either, Liam."
"It's what I want to do." Liam swallowed the anger building inside him, aware his dad had moved from stunned to furious and then to demanding in the space of a minute. "My life here isn't real. I'm not who I am supposed to be. I want---"
"Who you are supposed to be?" Patrick thundered, advancing on Liam, his fists clenched at his side. Liam stood his ground, although half of him wanted to turn tail and regretted even telling his parents what he was planning to do. Maybe he should have grabbed Emma and left without saying anything.
"Liam...please..." His mom's voice was tiny, her other hand now on his dad's arm. Annabelle Wade had strength in her that Liam didn't even think she realized she had. Just the touch of her seemed to slow his dad's temper. She never used that strength for anything more useful than being a good wife and hostess.
"I'm sorry, Momma," Liam started. "I've made my decision. I promise to come home as often as I can."
"Come home?" There was temper emanating from his dad again, resonant in every word. "You're not going anywhere, my boy. Your job is here."
"I resign. The letter is on your desk at the office."
"Wade's don't resign. Being lawyers is in our blood."
"Dad---"
"You are being totally absurd. When I retire, this is all coming to you and your brothers, the house, the partnership---"
"You are not listening to me. I don't want any of it."
"Don't be preposterous. Of course you want it. Is this your way of asking for more money? I won't be blackmailed, boy, with your petty schemes and threatening to leave."
Liam shook his head. Money was the least of his worries, and he was far from trying to blackmail anyone. "I don't need money, Dad---"
"For God's sake, Liam, I don't expect this of you. You were getting married. Your mother had plans. Everything is booked. You could be an important man one day. Damn it, son, I had my eye on the perfect house for the two of you."
Shit, it didn't take long to get to the 'everything is organized and paid for' part, and a house? For God's sake. "Leigh and I have talked. It's for the best. Neither of us wants a marriage of convenience. If it helps, I'll pay for any expenses."
"What will people say?" This came from his mom, who suddenly seemed to realize what the potential fallout of this could be.
"Mom, I'm sorry, but what people say has to be least of my worries." If, for one minute, he allowed himself to think what other people said about him mattered a damn, then he was fucked.
"A year, Liam," Patrick snapped. "For a damn year, your mother has been planning this. Leigh is perfect for you. Her family line is impeccable. There may not be love now, but you like her and she likes you, and you could learn to love her as I did your mother." Liam sighed inwardly. His parents were the latest in a long line of Wades who had married for mutual benefit, but it would be a cold day in hell before he became the next well connected Wade now that he'd seen the light.
"I'm not getting married." Liam tried to repeat the words patiently, emphasis on the word "not." Clearly, Patrick had moved way past the listening stage.
"Okay," Patrick said finally and ever so calmly, "I see what is happening here."
"You do?" Liam felt anxiety twist inside him. What exactly could his dad see? Surely Patrick Wade wasn't privy to the fact Liam had finally decided to come out? Fuck. He wanted to be an entire continent away from his dad before he wrote a letter, or emailed, or even called, when the shit hit the fan. He wasn't sure he was ready to add being gay into the mix here. It seemed enough he'd told his parents the wedding had been cancelled and he was moving away.
"Maybe this marriage is too early for you," his dad pondered carefully. "You clearly need time to get this photography nonsense of yours out of your system. Perfectly understandable, son, I mean I was young once. I had urges." He sniffed at the last word. "What I say is take a year off to play, sow your oats, and then come back here and you can knuckle down." Patrick sounded so smug, like he had every single problem all wrapped up with one sentence. What kind of father did that make Liam if his own dad thought he wanted to go off for random sex and to play at photography? Where did Emma figure in this mighty plan from the great Patrick Wade?
"I have a daughter," he began, but his dad was there, interrupting, not letting him get a word in edgeways.
"You can leave her here with us. If you're ready to have a wife---"
"I am not leaving her here with you. She's my daughter." Wait, this conversation wasn't going the way Liam had planned. Emma was his daughter; no one would be raising his daughter except him. Did Patrick not see Liam loved his daughter? Was it not obvious he wanted to spend every hour he could with her?
"Not by blood, Liam," Patrick said confidently. "Don't worry about it. We can get some papers drawn up, an addendum to the official adoption papers you have, and pass the responsibility for the child to us." This was the final straw for Liam.
"She is not 'the child'. She is your granddaughter. I am moving away with my daughter to concentrate on my photography and to find some part of myself in the mire of shit that I've fallen into."
"Patrick!" Liam was startled as his mom half shouted his dad's name. Wow, her voice actually held passion for a second, horrified passion, but an unrestrained emotion nonetheless. "We love Emma. It doesn't matter whether she is Liam's by blood or not. As far as we're concerned, she is our beautiful granddaughter." She looked up at Patrick, who had the grace to look embarrassed at what he had said.
"Then surely you can see, Momma. I want to be a good father, actually in her life, not some absent person who works all hours. I want to make a home for us, and I need to have a life where I take Emma to school, attend teacher conferences, and watch her school plays."
Patrick snorted. "So take time off---"
"Dad, really, can we leave that now?"
The sudden silence was horribly pregnant with expectation of what level this would be taken to by the senior Wade. Liam knew his dad could either completely lose it, which gave Liam the chance to grab his bags and run, or he could move to the icy calm stage. The direction of the conversation soon revealed itself.
"Maybe Leigh wasn't right for you," Patrick started thoughtfully. "She wasn't the most affectionate of people where Emma was concerned. Maybe I'll have a think on who else might be a suitable match. Then you can stop this nonsense, and we can move on." Great, his dad was going with the icy calm dismissal of everything Liam had said.
"I'm telling you, Dad, there won't be anyone suitable," Liam started, and then immediately wondered why the hell he had said that and hadn't simply said no. His brain was clearly looking for a way to undermine his decision not to share the whole gay thing with his parents.
"Rubbish. I am sure I can find an appropriate match. I know that Groves has a daughter, eighteen, a bit on the plain side, but acceptable. We could get her polished up a bit, and your mother could advise her on---"
"I'm gay." The words fell like heavy stones into water. There was a silence and then ripples of shock that radiated from his father to his mom. "I didn't want to tell you," Liam continued, desperate to make them see that, "but you need to know." Then it all came tumbling out. When the first secret fell, inevitably the rest fell too. "I met someone at the hotel. His name's Micah. He's part owner of a vineyard in Rochester. Dad. Mom. I think there could be something there, and I need the chance to see if he wants to make something good with me and with Emma."
"Liam..." His mom was full-on sobbing now, her bony shoulders shaking as she leaned into his dad. His dad said nothing. Absolutely nothing. As still as a rock, he stood and stared, then his gaze narrowed, and his lips pressed tight. Liam held his breath. He wasn't expecting anything other than shock and derision, and hell, he probably deserved it. Not for being gay, and finally being himself, but for letting his life go this far without being honest with himself as a gay man. Gently, his dad guided Liam's mother to the sofa and seated her, before sitting himself. Then he gestured to the other sofa, still implacably calm and composed.
"I think you need to sit down, Liam, and let's start from the beginning."
He didn't believe his dad would really ever forgive him. Even as explained about Micah and how he had always known he was gay.
"I'm disappointed in you Liam," his father said.
"I know you are," Liam summarized, "I've never been anything else than one big disappointment."
"I expected more than secrets and half truths." There was no passion in his father's voice, no pleading, just the icy sting of dismissal. "But as to work, we'll be more than fine. I'll move Samuels over to cover your position."
"Will you be asking Samuels to be your son as well?" Liam snapped, immediately regretting lowering himself to sarcasm as Wade senior simply lifted an eyebrow at Liam's impassioned words.
"If you insist on taking your future east to see this man, then I trust you have assessed educational opportunities for Emma in the locale. I know of many wonderful private New York schools that will---"
"Emma will be attending a local school in the Lakes area."
"Your money can buy her a better school---"
"Dad, I have more money in one of my accounts than I could possibly spend in my lifetime. That doesn't mean it can buy anything of worth. I'm not discounting any education, but I want us to try normal for a while."
"Don't be hasty. A good education would give Emma a sound grounding. She has many commitments that will fall to her in her life as a Wade."
"She has nothing except what she makes for herself," Liam argued. "My daughter isn't going to some private school where she learns nothing except how to be a hostess."
"Now you are being ridiculous. Emma should have every opportunity money can buy."
Liam didn't even begin to answer that one. He wanted what was best for Emma, and maybe one day she would go to a private school, but to start off with, he just wanted normal for them both. He said his goodbyes, and didn't really even pack. He simply scooped dolls and teddy bears into a bag, along with the blanket his daughter insisted on sleeping with. After the simple goodbyes and promises to be in touch, he left.
Micah could well take one look at him and shut the proverbial door in his face. This wasn't some dramatic romance novel. He wasn't expecting Micah to vow total love. This was going to be hard work. If Micah wasn't interested in exploring a relationship, then maybe there could be friendship. Maybe, once Liam explained about Leigh and Emma. So many times he had penned an email to Micah, but the generic office email address for the vineyard meant any eyes might read it, and he now had seven draft emails on his laptop. If Micah didn't want friendship? Well, Liam was going to make sure Micah had every chance for any decisions to be reversed. He had remembered the land that Micah spoke of. The plot set back against the foot of the mountains with the crumbling cabin. It would be a perfect place to concentrate on his photography.
He didn't take his Ferrari. He left the four hundred thousand dollar scarlet birthday present in the circular driveway, and instead, they took a cab to the center of Seattle. He purchased a nearly new Suburban with one of his credit cards, and together he and his daughter began the journey east, towards the start of their new lives.
"Why can't Zach do the wine tour?"
"Micah, you know he's with the accountant," Rosie replied patiently, though her focus remained on the tiny baby in her arms.
"Abbey then." There had to be someone other than him, anyone, who could do this public relations thing. What was the point in having two sisters anyway if he had to do the whole talking to the public side as well as actually make the damn wine?
"Abbey is down manning the shop. There is only you left."
"Well what about you? What if we waited a while? I mean how long is this gonna take?" With a wave of his hand, he indicated her and the baby. He winced as Rosie simply looked up at him with that little sister expression of disbelief at how idiotic a brother could be.
"You seriously want a time line for how long it will take your niece to finish on my left boob before I switch her to my right one?"
He blanched at the question and couldn't quite look her in the eye. She loved to embarrass him by bringing boobs into every conversation she could recently, and it wasn't right that a brother should know so much about his sister's chest. He realized he really should stop talking as he saw the enormity of what a huge pit he was digging for himself. Rosie was on a knife edge at the moment, tired, irritable, although mostly happy, but God help anyone who got on the wrong side of his sleep-deprived and overly-hormonal sister.
He muttered an expletive under his breath as he looked out through the small window at the expectant group who waited for him. They were gathered like bees around honey at the sign that displayed Queue for tour here.
"Fuck," he repeated, this time with more strength.
"Micah Thomas Adamson, mind your language."
Micah looked back at his sister, raising his middle finger in retort, unable to do anything but smile as she covered Lydia Paige's eyes in response. Now was not the time for him to be thinking his tough-as-nails sister looked like she was born to be a mother, bordering on maternally cute.
Sighing with an exhalation of the greatly put-upon, he opened the side door and crossed to the small group. Long scruffy bangs dipped to cover his eyes, and he pushed them back and wished silently he had gotten a haircut or stopped to gel his damn hair this morning. Either that or at least had a shave to look halfway smart.
"Hi, guys," he started, nerves churning in his stomach as they all turned as one to face him. The group of people shuffled to stand around him in a loose semi-circle and waited expectantly. He hated this, and it was definitely the last time he was going to be taking groups on the tour. Rosie skated on thin ice if she thought having a baby was a good enough excuse to skip out on guiding another tour.
He categorized them briefly. A girl and boy, who couldn't be much past legal drinking age, two older couples who had winery guides clutched tight in their hands, and one dark-haired guy who stuck out like a sore thumb, dressed smartly in a suit and tie with glass-shined shoes. Taking a deep breath, Micah began the spiel, one he knew word for word, spewing out sentences describing the history of his home. He'd memorized it at fourteen when he had begun to work on tours during any out-of-school time. He couldn't say it was what he wanted to do, but it had earned him money, which he hoarded for his first laptop. He wanted to be at the cutting edge, learning the grapes, learning the process, touching and feeling the history, not only talking it out. As soon as Abbey turned fourteen, he was away, handing over the mantle of tour guide willingly. At eighteen, his parents' deaths had pushed him to the front and center of the winery he loved. That meant no more freaking tours.
"Welcome to the Seneca Blue Vineyard and Winery, one of the very first established in the Finger Lakes area. My name is Micah, and I will be your guide today." Leaving no room for questions, he went straight into the introduction. "The best thing about this corner of New York State is the climate. You would never think that a place that gets tons of snow would be able to also have wineries of great distinction..."
He received all the usual questions---questions from merely brainless to completely searching---and it went as well as could be expected. He answered them all without giving away too many of the secrets that made the vineyards so special and how the winery worked. The young girl on the tour wanted to taste every single sample he placed out, and the older couples kissed and flirted their way through the soft inebriation that came with twelve different wines in half an hour. Only the oldest, clearly the designated driver, held off from any alcohol.
The only other person who stayed away from the tasting was the man on his own. He seemed interested enough, but Micah imagined he was maybe here to kill some time on a business trip or something as he didn't imbibe, nor did he really ask any questions. Micah didn't think anything of it, though. He was caught up in remembering what he should be saying about the winery and vineyard that had been in his family for four generations.
The group stopped for a long while at the shop near the end of the tour, picking up bottles of wine, corkscrews with the Seneca Blue Vineyard and Wineries label, and other tourist crap that his Abbey, seemed to think made them money. He stopped to chat with Abbey as she waited for the group to choose souvenirs.
"I'm not doing this ever again," he began with steel in his voice. Abbey blinked at him. He was aware she had heard this before. Hell, he had said it enough times.
"Yes you are," Abbey replied, reaching up and tucking stray hair neatly behind his left ear. A lot passed unspoken between them. As much as he complained, she was always so damn understanding and knew he hated interacting with people. He was happiest with his soil, his grapes, his brick levels and his experiments. That is what he did---the vineyard side, the winery. Abbey did the marketing, and Rosie did everything else. He was a fish out of water here with the whole 'having to be nice to idiots' thing.
Abbey had been the most observant since he came home. She hadn't actually come out and said anything directly, but she had hinted enough. Only this morning she had cornered him in the kitchen as the two of them helped themselves to coffee and cereal.
"You look tired," she had commented gently, and he could do nothing but shrug.
"Was up late doing paperwork," he had quickly replied. No way was he going to talk about meeting Liam, nor how it had opened up a barrelful of regrets. Temper and disappointment warred within him for priority; and he really didn't want to think about how he'd given in last night and googled Liam Wade, finding much more than he bargained for. He was from a freaking rich socialite family, attended private schools, the engagement announcement; the whole kit and caboodle.
"The land stuff?" Abbey, Rosie, and he had spent a good hour finally dismissing the idea of buying the extra land to the north of their vineyard. There was another bid. The amount of which was significant enough that, if Seneca Blue tried to compete, would be like exposing its belly. "You are happy not expanding?"
"More than happy, Abs." He attempted to push enthusiasm into the words, but clearly failed.
"You know, I'm not sure Cali was good for you this year."
"Abs, honest, it was fine. I had fun."
"Rosie said you phoned halfway through the week, and you had met a guy called Liam."
Great, save me from meddling sisters. Exactly ten days had passed since he'd left Santa Monica, and the girls had clearly decided Abbey should ask the questions and dig for dirt.
"Yeah. Blond, blue eyes, pretty, totally in the closet, actually engaged to a woman, with a kid involved, so it never even started." Abbey listened and then wrapped her arms around him in a sisterly hug.
"I'm sorry."
He could have defended himself, added he wasn't bothered, but he didn't. He never lied to his sisters, and he wasn't about to start now. Liam knew where he was and could have tracked him down through the hotel or the vineyard, but he didn't. Clearly, he was back in the closet with the coats and his fiancée. Micah needed to deal with the unease inside him that perhaps he didn't know it all, that maybe he should be tracking Liam down and shaking him until he got the full story.
"It's fine."
"There's someone out there willing to put up with your shit, big brother. Don't worry, you'll find him some day."
"Brat." The word was said affectionately with no heat.
In the shop, the young kids spent fifty dollars on two bottles of wine, a Pinot Gris '07 and an Oak Chardonnay '08. Good choices both, and he narrowed his eyes as he watched Abbey wrapping and charging.
"Stop it," Abbey stage-whispered. She poked him in the side, and he moved out of her reach.
"Waste of good wine," he muttered so low only she could hear. "Kids'll drink it with McDonalds at freaking room temperature." She ignored him, as she always did when he sniffed at those who he felt weren't treating his wine right.
He couldn't say any more as the two pair of seniors chose that moment to stop at the till. They left, well over four hundred dollars lighter, the money spent between them on wine, souvenirs, and taste-rotting knickknacks that didn't link to wine in any obvious way. They bought photos of the Big Apple, American flags, and other things they could definitely pick up anywhere.
The guy on his own bought one bottle, a particularly dry white from '06 that Micah himself favored. After Abbey rang the bottle in at nearly two hundred dollars, Micah regarded the guy with a new respect. That particular grape had been a sound basis for experimentation and a success story for Seneca Blue. Although only produced in limited amounts and not really marketed, it was very definitely a gem among all the bottles.
With that done, everyone was happy to move on. Finally, he could leave what he fondly referred to as "Abbey's fortress of crap" to head the group back up to the visitors center.
"I am never doing this again," he whispered with a low growl, but his sister looked at him, a picture of innocence with her fingers stuck in her ears and a grin on her face.
He guided the group up to the end of the tour and waved them away with his best smile. He waited until the three cars---a low sexy convertible, a sensible Ford Focus, and a small Dodge Neon that had seen better days---were driven off. Only once they were simply dust clouds on the horizon and had clearly passed the main gate did Micah relax and wander back to find solitude.
The weather was closing in on this corner of New York State. The static-charged air was the culmination of a day of promised storms coming from the lakes. He loved the storms and the blessed rain that nurtured his grapes, and he wandered down to the main fence line to watch as it built on the horizon. Zach came out of the main house, ushering their company accountant to his car, and waved at him. He waited a while, sensing his brother-in-law would come find him and give him the lowdown on what the accountant had said.
"Profits are up from what they were this time last year," Zach started when he reached Micah and leaned his long slim body against the same fence.
"Good." More taxes yes, but any profit, especially in times of recession, was a good thing.
"I hate that accountancy shit." Zach had definite venom in his voice, shrugging and rolling his shoulders and sighing hard.
"I hate being a tour guide," Micah grumbled back, looking out at the vines beyond them. He didn't abhor the tours quite as much as being forced to deal with numbers, but it was close.
"Tours are up too." Zach chuckled low in his throat. "That's partly why our sales were stable."
Micah might understand that they needed these tourists here, but the relief when they left the winery and his haven resumed its tranquility was exquisite. Damn day-tripping wine-guzzling Neanderthals, ruining his peace and taking him away from his grapes.
"Accountant still says we should think again about buying up the Coulter land when the estate is processed through probate."
"I've been thinking on it. Abbey, Rosie and I have agreed we don't want to expose ourselves. We don't need the land for anything other than closing access to the north of here."
"Plenty of people interested in it. They've had that one offer, and the estate is considering it."
"The land is largely inaccessible. Did you manage to get out of him if it's another wine company?" He couldn't imagine why anyone else would want the land. It could only be reached by one long dusty road and had only a small three bedroom cabin in one corner. The Coulter family had dwindled down until only Old Jeremiah Coulter had been there, clinging to the dust and the land with a tenacious grip.
"He doesn't know, just that it's a pretty hefty bid. Anyway, it has a closing date for next Friday, if the family is interested."
"Nah, it's enough to keep an eye on it."
Liam was waiting at the door of the rented house. "How did he look?" he asked quickly as soon as the door shut behind Edward. The older man took the time to remove his jacket and run fingers through his steel gray hair.
"The young man who led the tour?" He summarized, as if he wasn't fully aware that this was exactly what Liam was asking. Edward had been the family lawyer for more years than Liam had been alive, and he was a family friend. Liam was used to his ways and the air of superiority Edward wore like a cloak around him. He was here as a means to an end. With client privilege, Liam knew nothing that happened in New York state would get back to his family. Not until it was too late.
"Micah," Liam pointed out quickly. "His name is Micah."
"He looked like I would expect a young man not of your usual acquaintance to look. Scruffy, if you want me to be entirely honest, sir."
"Scruffy?" Liam half smiled. Anyone that Edward thought looked scruffy was generally actually very hot.
"Tired and he clearly hadn't shaved." Edward sniffed disapprovingly, but Liam ignored him.
Why was Micah tired? Was he working too hard? Was it too much to hope he'd had anything to do with that? He doubted he even featured as a blip in Micah's ordered life. Still, he wanted to be a blip in Micah's life, and he was so close now.
"What is it like? The vineyard, I mean."
"Tidy, expansive, well run," Edward said in his usual competent way, and then added in a less serious tone, "Dusty." There was a small glimpse of the humor Edward hid behind the serious lawyer face he presented to the world. The humor was part of the reason why, at the end of it, Liam had affection for the older man. The fact that Edward adored Emma and spoiled her with small gifts all the time helped.
"And the bid?" Which was a more complicated question, simple in words, but any reply Edward gave would hold so much of his future.
"The bid has been filed, and I believe, from discussions with the family, that it is close to being accepted. Offering fifty thousand over asking price probably sealed it."
"And Seneca Blue, Micah and his sisters... they hadn't bid on it?" He didn't want to usurp land that Micah needed. If worse came to worst, Liam would find land elsewhere that was as close to Micah as he could get.
"The owner's agents tried not to give much away, but from my investigations, I believe you were the only bidder. I also drove to the site today."
"And?"
"That too was very dusty, and not really a good road for my convertible. I would suggest your purchase of the suitable off-road vehicle was a good one."
"What is the cabin like?"
"Labor will be needed to fix a multitude of problems, both externally and internally." Edward pulled details from his folder "Three bedrooms, water, sewage, electric, gas, and the building is old."
"We can deal with that, right? We're fine in this rental and I can call in for some quotes. Emma and I will be in for an adventure. I spoke to the school today, and I have her enrolled in preschool for two mornings a week to start in September."
"I should imagine your father is quite perturbed you are taking his granddaughter to the back of beyond, and to public school nonetheless."
"This is good country. I feel safe, and I know I can make a real home here. I'll be able to drive her to school and be there when she finishes."
"And the young man you had me check out? How does he figure into this new life?"
"I don't know where to start Edward." How did he explain the compulsion to move to Rochester, or the impulse to look into the land? Micah hadn't offered anything past one night, not in so many words. They never did get to have the talk the morning after. "This is the biggest thing I have ever done," he began carefully. "I only ever had one real friend in my life, and she left me Emma when she died."
Edward nodded. "A sad loss. I had a lot of respect for Janelle; she was a good person."
"I need a friend, Edward, and I'm hoping I can find a friend in Micah, maybe even find some peace for Emma and I. Plus I want to work on my photography...I want to slow down, live a life."
"Then I wish you luck, sir. The very best of luck to you and the little lady."
Money talked, and within fourteen days of escrow, the cabin was habitable to the standard Liam set for Emma. They moved into a cabin smelling of fresh paint and varnish over his father's protests, causing possibly the biggest rift in the family since crazy Aunt Mabel had run off with a jazz singer in the late forties.
For the first time, he was his own man. He was gay, and he wanted to explore that side of him without interference. He wanted forever with someone, to have a family for Emma.
He wanted to talk to Micah, and he wanted to learn more about Micah. He was willing to fight every step of the way.
"There's been a lot of work going on over at the Coulter place," Abbey said conversationally as she was packing away bunting from the September Wine Fair.
Rosie shifted Lydia to her other hip and held the box lid down so Abbey could tape it shut. "I heard there's been a landscaper up there too, fencing the whole thing in."
"You remember Joe, from school?"
"Joe Ames?"
"Yeah, he's got quite a good business in construction. Alex saw him at the fair, and apparently he's been there and this rich guy is converting one of the rooms into a dark room."
"A rich guy?"
They chattered on, and Micah tried to blank it out as he totaled sales. The fair had been very successful, a lot of local companies showcasing home-grown produce and goods, and all held at Seneca Blue for the fourth year running. Micah was listening to his sisters talk but was in a half daze. Despite trying to add up the columns, he was getting nowhere, and he had been like this since morning, ever since he'd glimpsed a man with blond hair who looked like Liam from the back in the crowds at the fair. Stupid idiot, it's ridiculous to think Liam is anywhere near here. Although...
"A rich guy you said?" He interrupted his sister's flow, and both turned to him expectantly.
"Yeah, rich as the Kennedys, so Joe said."
"Hmmm," he finally said and returned to adding numbers. He was not going to dwell on the remote, isolated possibility that Liam was the rich guy who'd bought the Coulter land. Whatever his fantasies, Liam realizing he missed Micah was not one of them. He was probably married now, although the date set in the papers had come and gone with no splash of announcement, not that Micah would admit to checking Google on a daily basis.
Something niggled at the back of his mind, something in Liam's eyes that final morning when Micah had seen him with his daughter in his arms and his fiancée hanging onto him. The look was one of utter confusion and desperation, and Micah still hadn't got his head around it. Micah was a man, not some prepubescent girl. He kicked himself because he should have come out with it there and then in the hotel restaurant and said, what the fuck Liam? After everything Liam had said, about how he had his life to sort out, about how he wanted time with Micah, where had it all gone wrong?
Suddenly, completely and utterly determined, he stood, and in a flurry of motion knocked the piles of receipts off the table.
"I'm going out," he announced to no one in particular, and within five minutes, he was walking the mile to the north of Seneca Blue. Dusk had begun to work its magic, dark blue pulling in around the mountains, the earth dusty and solid beneath his feet. This could potentially be the most important thing he had ever done, walking this small distance to see who had bought the Coulter land.
He reached the boundary of Seneca Blue and paused. The cabin wasn't far onto the Coulter land. It was in sight, a smudge of real against the beautiful quality of the encroaching night, and he heard laughter, a small child's tone, and ...
The door was open, a small blond imp of a child standing in the doorway, a teddy trailing behind, and as he walked closer, the small shadow turned and darted back into the house and then returned, pulling someone behind her.
"Told you, Daddy, he's here... that man in tha' photy in Momma's special book."
Micah reached the bottom step, a hesitant smile on his face, and looked up at Liam in the doorway. Emma sat on the top step, drawing up her knees and looking curiously between her daddy and Micah.
"I wanted to come and see my new neighbor." Micah managed to force the words out through the emotion clogging his throat. Why was Liam here? Was it to torment him with things Micah couldn't have. "Is your wife---"
"My fiancée, ex-fiancée...."
"I'm sorry." Micah folded his arms across his chest and waited.
"Don't be sorry. She's a good person, but she wasn't the best one for Emma and me, and we weren't the best people for her."
"Still. I'm sorry given you were engaged and all..."
"You want to come in for a coffee?" Liam's words were hesitant, and he took the first step. Only two more and Micah would be able to touch him.
"Daddy said it was okay for the man in the photy to come in our house if he ever wanted to," Emma offered, smiling up at Micah.
Liam coughed and held out a hand. "Hey, Em, why don't you go in and finish your game, and I'll be in to see you in a bit."
Emma didn't argue, simply pulled herself up against Liam, and then went inside.
"Your daughter..." Micah started. "She's beautiful."
"I should explain. I wanted to at the hotel, but when I finally got the words in my head to make sense, you had already left. I wanted to tell you that, though Emma is the daughter of my heart, she isn't my biological daughter. She's my best friend's daughter, and I had married her mom."
"You've been married?"
"She was my best friend; her name was Jan, she was pregnant, young and didn't have anyone. I just gave her my name, promised I would be a father to Emma. When Jan died... I thought I needed to find a new mom for Emma. It's a long story." Liam took another step down towards him. With the added inches of the step, he was on the same level as Micah, and they ended up staring at each other for a long drawn-out moment.
"What photo does she mean?"
Liam ducked his head, embarrassment clear in his actions and in his words. "She has a book full of photos of her mom, and each year I add pictures of special moments."
"And I'm in there?" Micah couldn't help feeling a little incredulous that Liam had chosen a picture of him to place in a memory book.
"From lunch in the hills. Under the trees in the shadows. You had just finished explaining about your sisters, and your expression showed devotion to your family and to your vineyard." Liam smiled crookedly in what Micah assumed was apology. He took a deep breath and decided to cut to the chase.
"So you aren't engaged to be married anymore?" The words were calm, but he couldn't stop them sounding like accusation.
"No," Liam explained quickly, "I'm not---"
"In bed that morning, you said you were going to sort your life out," Micah finally said, dropping his hands to his sides and clenching his fists to stop himself from reaching for Liam. "Did that include ditching your fiancée?"
"No. It's not like that. She called it off, she's with someone else. Someone who makes her happy. I meant what I said Micah. I really did. I want to live my life differently and it's part of the long story. I didn't love Leigh. I was marrying her for Emma. Look, this is complicated. Do you want to maybe... would you like to come in? Emma's ready for bed, and when I've read to her, we could talk?"
"What will you be saying to me, Liam, at the core of it all?" Micah asked softly. He didn't want to go inside this cabin, this home, to be told that any burgeoning emotions he had felt at the hotel had been wasted.
"I'm gay, Micah." Liam frowned at his own words, and Micah realized he should be saying something incredibly profound at this point. Those two words---I'm gay---held so much in the way of admission and self-belief.
"I know," he finally said.
"Everyone knows now, and it isn't a secret anymore. What we need in our lives, Emma and me, is different from what other people want for us. What I feel for you wouldn't have to be a secret." Liam reached out a single hand and cupped Micah's cheek. Micah instinctively leaned into the touch. "At the ocean, I thought you could be part of my future, and help me be me. Even with all the denial, I think I was unconsciously doing the right thing for Emma without even realizing it."
"You do?"
"Yes, even if I wasn't ready to admit it. Please, Micah. Will you come in so we can at least talk?"
"Talk about our one night?" Micah paused and then leaned forward to place a single gentle kiss on Liam's soft lips, pulling back and seeing emotions mirroring his in Liam's expressive light-colored eyes. "If I come in, then you'll have me around a lot longer than one night."
"Micah," Liam began, with solemnity in his voice and a smile on his face, "one night would only be the start of it all...with you."
THE END
Also by R J Scott
Available at Silver Publishing:
Oracle
Moments
The Christmas Throwaway
The Heart of Texas
Valentine 2525
All The King's Men
Back Home
Deefur Dog
THE FIRE TRILOGY
Kian
Darach
Eoin (coming soon)
THE FITZWARREN INHERITANCE
The Psychic's Tale, by Chris Quinton
The Soldier's Tale, by RJ Scott
The Lord's Tale, by Sue Brown
Available at Love Lane Young Adult Books:
Love Is In The Title
Available at Dreamspinner Press:
Two Plus One
"Ascension" in A Brush of Wings
Award Winning Titles:
The Christmas Throwaway
Bestselling Book of 2010
All Romance E-books
Best Paranormal Author 2010
Nomination: Love Romance Café
Best GBLTQ Author 2010
Nomination: Love Romance Café
Oracle
Best Gay Paranormal / Horror 2010: Honorable Mention (5th)
Elisa Rolle's Rainbow Awards
Oracle
Best Cover 2010: Second Place
Elisa Rolle's Rainbow Awards
Oracle
Best Cover 2010: Runner Up
Love Romance Café
Reviews:
Lisa from Michele n Jeff Reviews gives 5/5 to The Christmas Throwaway
RJ Scott has created a beautiful and inspirational story that grabs hold of the heart and doesn't let go, even after its final words are read. It is a sweetly sentimental book that cultivates an emotional response and inspires belief that love can prevail under the most improbable of circumstances. The characters are well developed and engaging, and the attraction between Zach and Ben was entirely credible. To use a trite but true cliché, The Christmas Throwaway is simply a feel-good story, a touching and romantic read that embodies the meaning of new beginnings and happy endings.
Book Wenches give 4.5 to Moments
Although I began reading it looking for a Hollywood train wreck, this novel is much more than that. It is a well-told story of love, personal growth and redemption that I found to be touching and quite involving. It features well-developed and arresting characters, heartfelt emotion, and a romance that's both intriguing and affecting... I will definitely be seeking out more of Ms. Scott's work in the future.
Readers Roundtable gives 5/5 to Oracle
Oracle by RJ Scott is in one word beautiful. You have to take the journey with Alex to find that beauty but it's there and it will bring a smile, and a few tears, to your face.
Dark Diva Reviews gives 4/5 to Back Home
Back Home by RJ Scott is a delightfully engaging novel. Strong family ties and flawed characters provide added depth and authenticity to this well-plotted story. RJ Scott has once again written a powerful and passionate romance that will resonate with her readers.

