Brainy and the Beast (17 page)

I’d already cut a piece of his creation and shoved it into my mouth. “Oh.” The flavor of the hollandaise burst on my tongue. “Okay.” I hummed around the bite. “I could probably get one.” I’d get whatever he wanted if he kept cooking like this.

“I assumed you’d drink milk, Grant. Is that okay?” Henry nodded at the tall glass in front of my nephew. I could tell he was trying.

Still picking at his food, Grant shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” I gave him a warning stare.

“Yes. Thanks.” Grant sent me a challenging look in return.

“Try it, will you, for crying out loud? You might actually like it.” I spotted spinach in Henry’s creation, which ordinarily I wouldn’t eat. But whatever he’d done to it, it was damned good.

I didn’t know whether I was embarrassed or pissed when Grant made a production of sticking just the tip of his tongue into a tiny forkful of his food.

“Ew.”

I thought things had been better between us since Grant and I had worked on the Mustang together. The kid had done a good job assisting me with the oil change. I’d shown him around the garage a little bit; we’d talked cars. I thought we’d come to an understanding.

Apparently not.

“So. You’re studying tae kwon do.” Henry bit into his eggs. “I assume it would be very helpful to you, Grant, to have your uncle able to assist you.”

Grant mumbled something, his head down over his plate. Since he was actually cutting into his eggs, though, I didn’t reach over to poke him.

“Kid’s got a kick like a mule.” I made a face. “I’m living proof, let me tell you.” I sent a sideways glance at Grant before looking back at Henry. “Yesterday… God, was it only yesterday? Anyway, he caught me a good one in the shoulder.”

“I thought I saw you favoring it. You should think about a massage. Could loosen it up, get rid of any leftover lactic acid in your muscles.”

“Yeah?” I forked up another bite. “Man, this is good. What’s in here besides the spin—” I darted a quick look at Grant to see if he’d caught my slip of the tongue. Eyes down, focused on his plate, he appeared to be ignoring me.

“I put some artichoke on, and yes, there’s spinach as well. I was hesitant to tell you, though, before you both tried it.”

“Cute.” Grant was still eating his, though he’d definitely paused when the dreaded vegetable
S
word was uttered. I shrugged, digging in again. “Anyway, about that massage thing. I wouldn’t know where to go. I don’t know anybody who gets them.”

Henry took a sip of his coffee, eyeing me over the cup. “Yes, you do.”

“I do? Oh, I do.” I realized he meant himself.

“There’s a great spa in downtown Lake Forest. I’ll give you the number.” He tilted his head at my nephew. “You could bring Grant. He might enjoy it too.”

Grant and I looked at each other. I didn’t know for sure what was running through his brain in response to that weird suggestion. I could hazard a guess, though, based on his expression. I thought
horror
described it nicely.

“You want me to get all naked and let somebody feel me up?” He sounded scandalized. He sent an accusing glare toward Henry.

I eased my butt in the chair, watching the two of them. This was going to be interesting.

“That’s hardly what I was suggesting, as I think you well know.” Henry actually did roll his eyes then.

“That’s probably what dudes like you go for. But I’m not doing it.” Grant shoved his plate away and crossed his arms over his chest.

I was inordinately pleased when I saw that he’d just about cleaned his plate.

“Dudes like me?” Henry said delicately. “Do you mean gay men?”

“No!” The sound burst out of Grant, and he shot to his feet. He planted his hands flat on the table. “Not gay!” Grant’s mouth worked, as if he was trying to figure out how to phrase his answer. “Fussy! Smart! Know-it-all!” He threw up his hands. “I don’t know!”

When Grant stalked from the kitchen, Henry’s eyes met mine.

“Wow.” I rubbed my hand over my mouth. “Um. Okay.”

“Nicholas, if you even think about laughing at your nephew calling me fussy, I’ll seriously consider spanking you.”

My glutes clenched involuntarily at that statement. “Dude. I’m not into the kinky stuff.” I’d die before I’d admit that my balls were tingling just at the thought of laying myself over Henry’s lap. Visions of pornos flashed through my head.

“Oh, we’ll see about that.” He cocked a brow at me. “And my name’s not Dude.”

We finished breakfast, and I confess I ate most of the bacon—at least, what Grant hadn’t grabbed. I yawned as I stood to clear the table. “God, that was really good. You can cook for me anytime.”

“I’d enjoy that.” Henry’s voice was a little husky.

I smiled at him, feeling shy all of a sudden. What was up with that? I was hardly fourteen. Ducking my head, I concentrated on reaching for his plate.

Henry’s hand covered mine. “I mean it.”

His skin looked pale on top of mine, but I could see the strength in the long fingers. Henry’s appearance was deceptive. His lean elegance hid a core of steel.

“You do, don’t you?” I was so tempted to flip my hand and actually hold his, sliding our digits together. Not really something I did often.

“Yes, I do.” He meant it, I could tell. “I like to cook, and I especially like it when my guests enjoy it as much as you do.” He tilted his head, the look on his face as relaxed as I’d yet seen him. “I…like satisfying you.”

Those fingers started stroking mine, and despite my fatigue, I felt my dick twitch. “Um. I-I’m too tired for that.” And he was getting a little close. I shot a look over my shoulder. “Besides. The kid’s right there in the living room.” The sounds from Grant’s video game made that clear.

“I’m just touching your hand. That’s all.” He slid his hand around, fingers caressing my palm.

“Uh-huh. And I’m Robert Downey, Jr.”

“Who?”

The honest bafflement on Dr. Love’s face was adorable. There was no other word for it. And poof, my nervousness disappeared. “Doc. Doc.” I chuckled as I guided Henry’s chair back from the table. I slid a leg over, straddling him, then pressed my forehead to his. “You’ve got to watch some movies from this century.” Then I kissed him.

The kiss tasted a little like the hollandaise sauce we’d had on the eggs, but underneath, it was sex. And perhaps a little something more. I shoved my tongue deep, and then I gripped his head, his hair silky and thick under my fingers.

“You
do
like kissing.” He held on by cupping my ass, and my dick got hard with the feeling of him spreading me open, tugging as much as he could through my jeans.

Maybe—but only him. “Shh.” It felt really good to be in his lap. I ground myself against him, and I swore he whimpered. His hips bumped upward, and his cock had fattened nicely.

We kissed for long minutes, our breath getting shorter, the chair creaking beneath us. Moving back, I was just about to pull my turtleneck up when a particularly loud explosion from the television made me pause. I looked toward the living room, remembering just where the hell I was. “Damn. You make me forget.”

Henry was busy trying to steady his breathing. “Forget what?” He ran a thumb along the edge of my mouth, capturing some of the wetness of our kiss.

There was no way I was resisting that sweet confusion. “Never mind.” I dived into the kiss again, and this time Henry was the aggressor. He changed angles, tilting my head, his tongue pressing inward. I shivered, he moaned, and it was good.

“Uncle Nick?” Grant’s voice jerked us apart, and I whipped my head around in time to catch the shocked expression on my nephew’s mug. “Oh, God.” He bounced off the door frame in his hurry to back out of the kitchen.

“Jeez. That kid has rotten timing. Or we do.” I rested my cheek against Henry’s shoulder for a few seconds before forcing myself to my feet. It was a little tough to step away from him. Something about this man was different from other guys I’d played with.

Shaking my head, I sighed as I caught a glimpse of the delicious hardness in Henry’s slacks. It had felt so good to rub against that.
No time for that now
. “I’ve got to go talk to him.”

Adjusting myself as I walked to the living room, I grunted when I found the place empty. The television was still showing Grant’s game on, but the sound had been muted. Huh. “Great. He’s probably upstairs hiding in his bedroom.” My brow furrowed when I spotted my cell phone on the floor near the stairs. I was pretty sure I’d left it on the coffee table before I’d zonked out.

I picked it up to stick in my pocket, but out of habit pressed the Home button. A missed call popped up, and the exchange on it looked like it might have been from the hospital. I tapped the button for my voice mail. Sure enough, it was the ER, telling me my dad was ready to go home.

My chest lifted in a huge exhalation of relief, and I sagged against the entry wall for a second or two.

“Is everything okay?” Henry came to stand next to me, a look of concern on his handsome face.

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Yes. My dad’s ready to come home. I can go get him now.”

“That’s wonderful.” Henry ran a hand along my shoulder, then down my arm. The contact felt so good for some reason. “Come here.”

He pulled me into a hug, and for long moments, I stood there with my arms around his waist, just basking in the comfort he was offering. I laid my head on his shoulder, not really seeing anything. “I guess I…um, I didn’t—I didn’t know how scared I was until just now, I think.”

Henry’s hands were slowly moving up and down my back, and the touch was very soothing.
I could get used to this.

“It’s natural to be scared. It was a serious warning that your father just got. I hope he pays attention.”

I nodded, rubbing my cheek against the soft knit of his maroon sweater. “You wear the nicest clothes.”

Henry laughed, and I could feel the vibration in his chest muscles. “Thank you.”

“Seriously. You always look so…so put together.” I eased away just enough to run my gaze over him. He did look good. And fuckable. He always looked fuckable. And he was thoughtful too. Did I mention thoughtful? As in, he worried about me. Couldn’t recall the last time I’d had a guy concerned about me beyond what I could do for him.

“You're a nice guy.” I lifted my head, meeting his gaze.

He snorted softly. “You sound surprised.”

“I…I don’t know. Maybe I am?” I was asking myself as much as him.

“Maybe you could use some nice in your life, Nicholas. Maybe we both could.” He leaned close enough to press his lips to mine. His kiss was soft, slow, soothing.

But unfortunately I had something more important to take care of just then. I squeezed him in a quick hug. “I’ve got to go.” I looked at him apologetically. “Sorry, Doc. I’ll clean up from breakfast; then I’ve got to get over to the hospital. I’ll drop you at your place on the way.” I backed toward the kitchen.

He waved a hand in dismissal. “I can get a ride from Miranda. We’re meeting at the office later anyway.” When I stopped to look at him, he nodded in encouragement. “Go on. I’ll take care of the kitchen. Put your coat on, and go get your father.” Henry patted my shoulder as he passed me in the doorway.

I had what felt like an idiotic grin on my face all of a sudden. Henry was a good guy. Made me stop and think for a few seconds. I turned to look at him.

He was smart, way smarter than I was, and he had a seriously important job, but he was…nice. “Nice.” I tried the word on for size.

“Yes, it is.” Henry nodded at me as he picked up Grant’s plate. “I’m sure it will be good to have him home.”

What a guy. I leaned against the doorjamb and stuck my fingers in my front pockets, feeling absurdly shy for a second. “I meant you.”

“Oh.” His eyes met mine; then he paused for a long moment, staring at the dish in his hand. “That’s, well, that’s kind of you to say.” Picking up the pace again, he grabbed another plate.

“Uh-uh. I sort of think it’s true.” Pushing upright, I saluted him with a couple of fingers to my brow. “You’re all right, Henry.”

* * * *

My dad had been cranky when he got home, but mostly he was tired. I’d had a long talk with the cardiologist, who gave me a whole bunch of papers to bring home, along with a list of Web sites to consult for lifestyle restrictions.

I just knew Big Mike was going to love that. When I was talking to the doctor, it was all I could do to not grimace at just the thought of having to keep my old man on the straight and narrow. His idea of a healthy meal, after all, had been to add all that fresh cheese.

Still, over the next few weeks, we did begin to adjust. My dad stayed home from the garage for the first week, and I was there with him most of the time. I went in for a couple of hours before he got up; then I came back. Sarita helped us by stopping by each afternoon to check on him after she left the shop.

It was all I could do to keep Dad home. The second week, I gave in, but made sure he was at work for only a few hours each day—and that he was sitting down as much as possible. That wasn’t too hard to accomplish if he was working on the car interiors; he could sit inside for that.

He’d also started going to a rehab place two times a week, helping him build strength and lose some of the weight he’d put on in the last five years. At the doctor’s suggestion, I asked Dad to walk the dogs with me, and I was amazed that my dad and I actually talked as we walked. Oh, it might have been about stupid things, like who’d been on the last cover of the local Lake Forest magazine—boy, was that ever a cream puff society rag, or what?—or who’d made the play of the day in the game the night before. Stuff like that. Just yesterday, though, we’d talked about the kid.

“Dad.” I tried to figure out how to put it into words. “Grant, he’s, well, don’t you think he’s been acting really…well, weird lately?”

“Slow down a little, will you?” My dad was puffing a little bit as we climbed a slight slope.

“Here. Let’s change. You take Coke.” Rum was a puller, and it took a strong hand to remind him that we weren’t running the Iditarod.

My dad gave me a half grin, half grimace. “The little bugger likes to move.” He took Coke’s leash, and our pace immediately slowed as Rum gave in to my sharp tug.