Snowball in Hell - lanyon Josh - Страница 24
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«That's true as far as it goes,» Nathan said, «but Bob's not the kind of guy who would murder his kid brother. Not even if he didn't like the kid much.»
«Is it true the old man forced Philip to marry Claire Winters?»
«Pretty much. Clay Winters was Benedict Arlen's partner in some early business ventures. The Arlens were Claire's god parents, so I think Arlen was trying to kill two birds with one stone: take care of Claire and get Phil on the right track. Claire's been in love with Phil since she was a school girl, don't ask me why.»
«What about Robert Arlen? Did the old man arrange his marriage too?»
«No.» Nathan smiled at the idea. «No, that was a love match. They're crazy about each other. Ronnie was a navy nurse. She nursed Bob back to health after he cracked his plane up, and they fell in love. I think the old man threatened to disown Bob for a while, but for once Bob stood up to him, and Arlen backed down.»
«What's Veronica's background?»
«I don't think it's anything scandalous. Her family comes from some chicken scratch town in Texas. Poor but honest stock.» Nathan's smile was mocking. «One of her grandfathers was supposed to be an old west gunfighter. In fact, that's probably why Arlen finally acquiesced to the marriage. He's a nut about the old west.»
«I noticed.» Mathew said slowly, «You were probably too busy tracking Pearl across the state to notice, but we've found the murder weapon.» He told Nathan about the
Derringer Rider found in Carl Winters' bookstore, and the fact that everyone-including Nathan-had apparently had opportunity to plant the gun there.
«And the gun is definitely from Arlen's collection?»
«No doubt about it. The last time Arlen examined the collection was a month ago, so he wasn't able to narrow down for us when it disappeared or who might have had access to it.»
«Maybe he didn't want to narrow it down.»
Mathew gave him a funny look but didn't say anything.
When they'd finished eating, they moved over to the bed and lay down side by side, facing each other, studying each other.
Nathan smiled faintly. He thought Mathew had no idea what to do next. He rested his hand against Mathew's face, stroked his bristling jaw. He wanted to kiss him-his belly felt like it was swarming with butterflies at the very thought, but he figured that would be going way too far for Mathew, so he contented himself, brushing his thumb over his full bottom lip.
Mathew caught his hand, held it, and leaned forward, kissing Nathan's mouth-soft full lips pressing warmly, firmly against Nathan's-and Nathan realized that maybe he was the one unprepared for this, unready for this. He was shaking when Mathew raised his head.
«You're freezing,» Mathew said. «Let's get under the covers.» They sat up, scrambling out of their clothes, pulling back the sheets and blankets, snuggling down into the warmth, rolling quite naturally into each other's arms.
Matt touched the little silver cross Nathan wore about his neck.
«Do you always wear this?»
Nathan nodded.
Mathew's fingertips brushed the chain and Nathan's skin and collar bones. All at once he seemed peculiarly gentle. «We've got all night,» he whispered. «Why don't you sleep for a while?» He settled Nathan more closely against him, cushioning his body with his own, offering his shoulder as a rest for Nathan's head.
Suddenly Nathan was so tired he could hardly think straight. The temptation of doing just that, of giving into the forbidden pleasure of sleeping in another man's arms-this man's arms-giving up control, permitting himself to trust for just a little while. He let his body relax against Mathew's, closed his eyes.
The light was off when he woke much later, the music downstairs was silent, but he could feel that Mathew was awake, feel his erection probing his belly. His own dick was painfully hard, balls aching-what the hell dreams had he been having?
He pushed his hips forward, relieved when Mathew immediately thrust back. They began to rub against each other, skin on skin, the soft pelt of Mathew's chest hair brushing his own chest, teasing his nipples, rough but somehow sweet, Mathew's hands smoothed up and down his spine, and he was whispering hot things into Nathan's ear. Quiet, but not quiet enough-not nearly afraid enough-not
realizing how the squeak of bedsprings, the creak of headboard could give them away.
Nathan knew. He bit his lip hard to keep from making any sounds, all the while wishing he could understand those words breathed against his ear.
Mathew came first, Nathan felt that slick hot spill on his belly, and he wriggled frantically, writhing, panting, gritting his jaw to keep from crying out when Mathew's hand closed around his dick, pumping him. Like he knew Nathan needed this. Not quite the right angle, not quite the right grip, but just the touch was enough to bring him off.
Afterwards they held each other while their hearts calmed and their breathing evened out.
It was dangerous to feel this happy, but Nathan wouldn't have traded a moment of it.
* * * *
Matt's experience with sex-this kind of sex-was limited. Oh, he'd had plenty of experience with lovemaking, and that was probably why. He had loved Rachel very much. Yet in some bittersweet way this strange encounter with Nathan Doyle in a remote ski lodge was as momentous as any happening Matt had known-up to and including being born.
In a way it was like being born. Like oxygen when your lungs were burning for air, or cold water when you were dying of thirst.
The rushed and harried encounters of marine barracks and showers, the stolen moments in the dry grasses and steamy jungle of Guadalcanal had nothing to do with this, had no
reality against the feel of Nathan's wiry warmth strength resting peacefully in his arms. He'd never known anyone like Nathan, and he'd known-lived and nearly died-with a lot of guys. Great guys.
He didn't kid himself that this meant anything much to Nathan, and he hoped he was enough of a realist not to let it mean too much to himself-they weren't starting a romance, for Chrissake-but he was glad that there were still many more hours of darkness, and that they would be staying over tomorrow-and tomorrow night.
Nathan shifted in his sleep, a slight restless movement, and Matt ducked his head, whispering something silly, tightening his grip. Nathan stilled, his breath light and surprisingly sweet against Matt's shoulder.
Nathan was exhausted. Well, he'd had a rough couple of days, and he was the type who lived on his nerves. This breathing space was probably just what he needed. Maybe what Matt needed too-a little distance. From Jonesy, from the press, from Tara Renee, from Police Chief Horrall, from everyone and everything.
Toward dawn Nathan woke and they fucked again, slowly, savoring it. And this time Matt was conscious, painfully and pleasurably conscious, of all the ways Nathan Doyle was different from the last person Mathew had made love to: the broad shoulders and hard planes of his chest instead of delicate neck and pillowy breasts; the jut of his bony, narrow hips and the sleek aggression of his cock instead of the soft reception and safe passageway of rounded belly and silky
thighs; the roughness of his strong jaw, the bluntness of masculine features instead of fragile bones and feminine face.
Matt liked his strength and his silent intensity; he liked the way Nathan held his gaze while their dicks scraped and stroked in enjoyable friction. Liked the way Nathan's thin, hard fingers dug into the muscles of Matt's arms. And especially he liked the way Nathan woke up randy and ready, just like himself. No coaxing, no sweet talking necessary. Nathan wanted it every bit as much as Matt.
Sensation rolled through him like a tidal wave, leaving him shaken and gasping. He didn't realize he'd cried out until Nathan moved, covering his mouth. «Shhh…»
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