Bonds of Earth (22 page)

He withdrew from Seward with infinite care, but there was still a grunt of discomfort when they separated. To his surprise, Seward immediately pulled him into an embrace, and they lay together, sated and panting, recovering by slow degrees.

“Did I hurt you?” Michael asked, his hand stroking down Seward’s back.

Seward shook his head. “I’m fine.” He turned his head to smile at Michael. “I must say I believe that to be my favorite form of massage yet.”

Michael moved his hand a little lower, finding one of the many shrapnel scars that adorned Seward’s back, scars he could map by touch alone. He traced it with a fingertip, and Seward shivered. “Prostate massage is actually described in the textbooks,” Michael drawled, “but I think my technique would be considered a little unorthodox.”

“Well, I happen to be very fond of your technique,” Seward murmured, his expression filled with such open affection that Michael had to look away. Seeming to sense his unease, or perhaps experiencing some of his own, Seward cleared his throat and said, “I suppose I shouldn’t have admitted that. Now you’ll work me twice as hard.”

Smiling wickedly, Michael leaned in and bit Seward’s chin. “I’m inclined to be merciful given the proper incentive,” he murmured, hooking an arm around Seward’s neck and pulling him down into a rougher, more insistent kiss that soon had them both breathless and eager for more.

“What do you want?” Seward demanded, hands roaming over his chest, his shoulders, his face, as though he were trying to memorize the surface of his skin.

“I don’t know,” Michael admitted, so addled that the words came without conscious thought. “I haven’t wanted anything in a very long time.”

Seward’s hands stilled, and Michael sucked in a breath at his own carelessness. And then those hands cupped his face gently, with a care usually bestowed upon the most fragile and valuable objects, and Michael’s heart slammed against his ribs.

“Then you have some catching up to do,” Seward told him softly, his green gaze holding Michael’s captive. Easing him over onto his back, he bent to Michael’s chest and kissed his breastbone. “Let me know when I stumble across something that appeals to you.”

As Seward’s mouth slid down his body, Michael gasped and gripped the mattress. “You’ll—oh—you’ll be the first to hear,” he promised. 

13

“
W
HAT
’
S
the matter?”

Blinking, Michael looked up from the bed he was weeding and met Sarah’s concerned gaze. “Nothing, m’dearie,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

Sarah frowned at him. “You were just standing there staring off into space.”

Michael shook himself and affected a yawn. “Didn’t sleep very well last night. I’m a little tired.”

Sarah eyed him again, and he struggled to hold her gaze. “I remember hearing you climbing the stairs to the attic around dawn,” she said.

“Yes, I, ah,” Michael began stupidly, “I couldn’t sleep, so I walked around for a long time—on the grounds.”

She frowned. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Never felt better in my life.”

Sarah nodded, apparently satisfied, and they worked in silence for a time until she asked abruptly, “Are you and Uncle John fighting?”

Michael nearly dropped his hoe. “Why do you ask that?”

“You wouldn’t look at one another at breakfast.”

“Oh, well, that’s nothing,” Michael said hastily, mind scrambling for an explanation that wasn’t
We were afraid that if we looked at one another, we’d start grinning like idiots
, “you see, we—”

“Uncle John!” Sarah exclaimed, interrupting him. Michael spun to see Seward approaching them across the lawn, his steps sure, his gaze determined. Much to his chagrin, Michael felt his body react to the sight and made a grand show of inspecting the flowerbed for any stray weeds, allowing him a few moments to regain his composure.

“What beautiful work you have done, Sarah darling,” he heard Seward say.

“Uncle Michael helped,” Sarah added, smiling up at Seward as she hugged him about the waist. Michael was stunned to hear Sarah call him “uncle” the way she now did Seward. It would never have occurred to him that she would think of them both in the same way, with a kindred affection.

He then made the mistake of meeting Seward’s gaze, and when he did he found that he was trapped between the fire and the warmth in it. “Well, Uncle Michael does beautiful work as well,” he said softly. One corner of his mouth quirked, as though sensing Michael’s discomfort. Michael’s brows knitted together as he countered with his best glare. The bastard was toying with him and enjoying every moment of it.

And if Michael cared to admit it, he was enjoying it far too much himself.

Finally, Seward broke his hold over Michael, shifting his gaze back to Sarah. “Would you be upset if I left you without a helper for the next couple of days?” he asked, playing absently with one of her pigtails.

Sarah shook her head. “Are you going away?”

“Not for long. My doctor called; he wants to see me in the city. I thought Michael might be kind enough to drive me.” At this he looked a question at Michael, whose first reaction was consternation. This was the first he’d heard of a call from Parrish, or indeed of any need for a trip, and to be honest, there was little Michael wanted less at the moment than to return to Manhattan. He was trying his damnedest to keep all consideration of his future from his mind, especially after last night, and revisiting the city was the surest way to bring those unpleasant thoughts to the fore once again. But Seward was, if not his boss, then his patient, and he could not refuse Parrish’s orders regarding his treatment. After a slight, stunned delay, he nodded imperceptibly and watched Seward’s expression clear, dissolving into something oddly like relief.

“Very well, then,” Seward said heartily, clapping his hands. “Why don’t you throw a few things in a bag, and I will help the lady until you’re ready?”

Michael nodded again and headed up toward the house, only stopping for one final look as he reached the kitchen door. The sight that he beheld was startling: Seward was on his knees beside Sarah, his hands buried in the earth as he wrestled with a particularly difficult weed. Michael froze, waiting for an adverse reaction like the one of a few weeks past, but there was none that he could see, and when he realized he’d been staring at the man like a fool for God knew how long, he spun on his heel and sprinted for the kitchen door.

“
T
URN
left here.”

Michael braked the car and turned to regard Seward. “New York is to the right.”

Seward’s gaze was infuriatingly serene and impenetrable. “Yes, I know.”

Michael stared at him. “I take it Parrish didn’t call, then.”

Seward lifted his chin. “No,” he said cheerfully, obviously unwilling to give out any useful information. Gritting his teeth, Michael shoved in the clutch and shifted the old clunker into gear. The car lurched into the turn, tires skidding on the loose dirt.

“Aren’t you curious to know where we’re going?” Seward asked after a couple of minutes.

“No,” Michael said tartly, hands gripping the wheel. He had no idea why he was so thoroughly enraged, only that he was livid with anger, his heart threatening to pound its way out of his chest, his thoughts murderous. Though he knew intellectually that Seward was not the manipulative type, the small deception hit him much harder than it would have had Seward been just another fuck. If twenty-four hours ago he had known that the man had the power to transform him into an unreasoning lunatic, he never would have—

Well, all right, that was a lie, but nevertheless, it was frustrating to be so ruled by the tides of emotion after long months floating along on the calm seas of indifference.

“You’re not the least bit curious?” Seward persisted, snapping the last thread of Michael’s patience.

“I go where I’m told,” he snarled. “After all, I’m only the hired help.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Seward huffed, “it was meant to be a surprise. A pleasant surprise. You have heard of those, haven’t you?”

Michael darted a glance at Seward, whose features were refreshingly stormy. As if in response to the blackening of Seward’s mood, Michael found his own anger dissipating. “Vaguely,” he drawled. “For most of my life, I was too poor to afford surprises. But I have been saving up for one, as I hear they’re simply marvelous.”

“Oh, shut up,” Seward muttered, without real heat.

“All right, so I’m curious,” Michael admitted after a few more minutes of silence.

Seward’s answering smile was truly wicked. “Good,” he said firmly.

It took well over two hours for them to reach their destination. Not being familiar with the byways of upstate New York, Michael soon lost track once they left the main road to Albany, turning when Seward told him to turn and keeping his mouth shut. The further they drove into the wilderness, the more Michael’s curiosity grew, until it was a persistent itch under his skin. Since the journey also took them further into the mountains, however, his interest was mixed with concern. It was by no means certain that the car’s engine could take the strain of bearing itself, its passengers, their bags, and Mary’s three overflowing baskets of food up the increasingly steep inclines. Michael had to stop twice along the way to fill the radiator with fresh, cool water from a nearby stream.

Mercifully, before the car could expire altogether, Seward instructed him to take a road that was little more than a cart path. After following it a couple of hundred yards through dense forest, they suddenly arrived at a small but well-made cabin perched on the edge of a cliff. The engine sighed gratefully as Michael shut it off, and he climbed out, his steps carrying him to the edge of the overlook.

The view left him breathless. A long, narrow lake lay stretched out far beneath him, guarded by steep slopes carpeted with green. He was so amazed that he failed to notice Seward’s approach until he was standing right beside him.

“Well, do you like your surprise?” Seward asked, and for the first time Michael realized there was a hint of trepidation in Seward’s manner, as though he were uncertain of the answer he would receive. Without allowing himself to think, Michael reached out blindly, slinging an arm around Seward’s shoulders and drawing him closer to his side.

“I like it,” Michael murmured, turning his head to nuzzle Seward’s soft hair, smiling when Seward’s tense shoulder relaxed under his hand. “How did you manage it in—” He took a split second to count. “—five hours?”

“It belongs to an old family friend who rarely uses it. He’d told me I could come up whenever I wanted. He was quite surprised when I called him out of the blue this morning, but he was perfectly happy to let me have it for a few days. It was my father’s favorite hunting cabin, and he imagined I would have the same interest in the place.”

Michael snorted. “I can’t imagine you enjoying hunting.”

Seward chuckled. “You’re right, I detest it. The one time my father dragged me up here, he was terribly disappointed in me. I spent the whole week painting the view.”

Michael felt Seward shudder as his lips brushed Seward’s earlobe. “Why didn’t you bring your painting supplies this time?”

“I did bring my sketchbook, but I believe I have better things to do,” Seward murmured.

“And what would those be?” Michael teased, nipping at the soft flesh under Seward’s mouth. “Hike to the summit of the mountain? Tame the bears? Get fat on Mary’s fine cooking?”

Seward made a frustrated sound that went straight to Michael’s groin, and then he was turning toward Michael, one hand gripping the back of Michael’s neck to hold him still for a rough, possessive kiss. Michael groaned and slid his own hands to Seward’s hips, jerking him forward until their bodies were flush against one another, not a breath between them.

“Any neighbors nearby?” Michael whispered when they finally broke for air.

Seward shook his head. “Not another cabin for miles.”

Grinning in response, Michael’s fingers began working at Seward’s belt.

“What are you—” Seward choked on his words as Michael slid to his knees in front of him, eagerly tugging at his trousers to free his cock. Seward’s cock was astonishingly pretty in daylight, long and flushed and already fully erect. Michael’s mouth watered in anticipation as he leaned forward and swallowed it down without preamble.

“Oh, sweet Christ,” Seward groaned, one hand flying to Michael’s head, the other flailing out as he tried to maintain his balance. Michael bracketed Seward’s hips with his hands, helping to steady them both as he sucked greedily. While it certainly wasn’t the first time he had done this outdoors, it was the first time he had done it in such a setting. The cramped shadows behind the bushes in Central Park late at night, where a thousand others had gone on their knees before him, could hardly compare. Here there was no one to judge, no one to point and scream for a copper, only the soft afternoon breeze and the song of the sparrows and Seward’s gasped, breathless entreaties as Michael took what he needed and gave what he could no longer deny he must.