The Only Gold (23 page)

Ahead
, the rooming house loomed like an old, abandoned prison; perhaps an aspect with which he would do well to inure himself. He turned to Reid, who nodded. “Not the Astor House, I know. But I didn’t think you’d care to go to your place.”

He was embarrassed, Jonah realized. “Do you still have that whiskey?”

Reid’s smile came back. “It does lend an agreeable light to the surroundings.” He opened the gate. “But not so well as other things,” he added, so softly Jonah almost missed it. Warmed as though he’d already drunk half a bottle, Jonah gave only cursory attention to the voices and laughter behind closed doors along the corridor. It was of the raucous sort, and he supposed that whiskey and gin were the favored refreshments of more than one resident. But he was in no position to pass judgment on the sins of others.

“Why do you stay here?” he asked as he started up the stairs after Reid.

“You think it’s beneath a bank cashier.” Reid sounded amused.

“It’s beneath you.”

The remark earned him a backward glance full of curiosity. “Suits me well enough. But we can share the price of a hotel, if you want—”

“I want to discuss it someplace private,” Jonah whispered, nudging him to continue up the stairs. Once inside, Reid crossed the room to close a window that had been left partway open. The place was as Jonah remembered, all the more austere in the chill gloom of the winter evening. Even the noise from the saloon across the road seemed subdued. Reid had made up for the lack of a hearth with the procurement of a small stove, more rust than iron, situated beside a settee that looked as though it had spent the better part of its existence outdoors. Jonah closed the door but lingered just inside. “There’s someone on the stairs.”

Reid smiled. “There’s always someone on the stairs. Better get used to it.” But he turned the key in the lock. “Whiskey?” He’d brought the bottle and two glasses.

“So you don’t always drink alone,” Jonah said. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than his gaze lit on a well-worn gray plaid scarf hanging over the open door of the wardrobe. “Mr. Abbott has called on you.”

Reid watched him with that damnable knowing glint. “Does that bother you?”

“Why should it? I know you consider him a friend.”

“Do you consider me one?” Reid handed him a glass of whiskey in the most timely fashion. Jonah gulped a mouthful, then swallowed again as the whiskey burned its way down.

“I’m afraid I may,” he said finally. “But I will admit to some confusion.”

“I’m not intimate with Liam Abbott.” Reid downed the whiskey in one swallow. “Just to be clear.”

“No?” It troubled him, the relief he felt.

“No. He doesn’t share our deficiency, as you put it. Not sure I’d be interested, if he did.” Reid took Jonah’s glass and set it with his beside the bottle on the floor. “You, on the other hand ….” He straightened and his gaze was altogether too direct. “That fire.” He began to unbutton Jonah’s waistcoat. “Day after day, damping it down. Year after year.” He plucked apart the shirt buttons and laid his hand on Jonah’s skin. Jonah held his breath as firm fingers grazed his ribcage and roamed toward more yielding flesh. Reid leaned nearer. “Driving it into respectable channels when it won’t stay damped.” His voice dropped. “Trying to convince yourself you can contain it. That you’ve got it so under control, there’s no possibility it’ll ever be sparked by some chance meeting and consume you.”

“I am not so easily read,” Jonah whispered.

Reid only smiled. “You think I haven’t been through the same?” He slipped his arms under Jonah’s shirt and around his waist to pull him close. Close enough that Reid surely felt the thundering in his chest.

“You weren’t really sent to Blackwell’s?”

The smile deepened. “Something in that idea you find arousing?”

Jonah deemed it safer not to answer. He closed his eyes as lips brushed his cheek. Reid’s voice was soft, a mere hum against his skin. “If they locked me up, would you visit me?”

Startled, Jonah opened his eyes. “Certainly not.”

The hum became a low laugh, in it the promise of everything that had driven Jonah half-mad the last time. “Visit me.”

“No….”

Reid’s lips parted his, pushed, demanded, and Jonah imagined he might well be consumed. He let out a gasping breath as Reid drew back. “Once,” he agreed, and noting the satisfaction in Reid’s eyes, shook his head. “Perhaps.”

Reid grinned. “How much more before I have you robbing banks?”

“Don’t say that, even in jest.”

The next kiss took him over, and he gave little attention to the appropriation of his overcoat and suit coat, nor could he say where his hat had gone. Reid’s mouth on his, Reid’s hands melting skin and bone every place they touched accomplished what even a bottle of whiskey couldn’t, and Jonah left off only long enough for Reid to gingerly confiscate his glasses. “See me all right?” Reid whispered.

“As long as you’re near.”

That inspired a dizzying spin from the door to the bed, where he landed on a lumpy mattress, with no time to catch his breath before Reid, without ceremony, fell upon him and grinned wolfishly. “Near enough?”

Bewitched by the dark sparkle of single-minded intent directed at him, Jonah gave the barest shake of his head. It got him the desired kiss, the one that could make him lose track of not just minute, hour, and day, but himself, as well. He could not comprehend Reid’s power. The man had stolen everything from him—had stolen
him
—and Jonah could not summon the smallest resistance. To the contrary, he encouraged Reid, if in a wordless, breathless way, as they pulled and tugged at each other’s clothes, cumbersome now that even fast and fevered kisses weren’t enough. When Reid separated the buttons on his trousers, Jonah tried to keep quiet. But he was already erect and the feel of Reid’s mouth, more heated breath than brush of lips, tore a gasp from him.

So encouraged, Reid took him in, until every part of him seemed submerged in that close furnace and pulled upon with such relentless movement, he could only let it sweep him under. Another surrender, and—God help him—he wanted it. His body was all at once an unfamiliar habitat, consumed by the sensation wrung from it. If flesh
could
melt, thaw, and turn to dew….

Ordinary consciousness reclaimed him by slow degrees, pleasure still an intermittent pulse in his veins, and he wondered if the unguarded affection in Reid’s eyes meant he’d uttered something foolish.

Reid seemed to know his thoughts. “Wouldn’t have guessed you could be that quiet. Hardly a sound. Just my name.” He rested his forehead against Jonah’s, smiling, eyes closed. “I’ll take that.”

Jonah had barely breath to speak. “You find compliments in the oddest things.”

“I’d take it as a compliment if you compromised me further.” The tension beneath the humor brought back a memory of their hurried first night. Reid’s confidence showed itself in his touch—when he was the aggressor, at any rate—but that confidence slipped, allowing through a certain fragility when he relinquished control. Then he was transparent with an almost boyish surprise and pleasure in Jonah’s returned interest.

For a man so sure of himself, it seemed an unusual reaction—and an endearing one. Jonah wanted to see it again, the wonder and yearning Reid couldn’t entirely mask with rakish pretense. In a house among strangers, with nothing at the moment to fear in the gloom beyond the bed, Jonah kept his kiss slow and tender and, to his heightened senses, intimate beyond all that was decent. Reid groaned in apparent agreement and crushed his hard length against Jonah’s thigh. His mouth sought Jonah’s as desperately, but Jonah pulled away, gasping, and loomed over him.

Reid fell willingly to the brown and cream patchwork. “For God’s sake. I’ll take the correspondence the rest of the week. The month, if you want. The year.”

Slumping upon him, Jonah pressed a sympathetic if triumphant kiss to his perspiration-sheened cheek. From there, he found his way to the instrument of contention, unwilted despite his neglect. Though he could not contain the better portion of it in the confines of his mouth, it seemed to matter little to Reid.

The hour went forgotten, as did all the hours that followed until Jonah woke to the first rays of Tuesday morning. Beside him, Reid slept, unmindful of the sun on his face or the gooseflesh on his bare shoulder. Jonah eased the quilt over it and lay for a long minute, studying the face close to his, struck by how very unfamiliar it was, though he had seen it frequently enough to know it by heart. An ordinary face, really, with lashes thick but short, and brown brows shot through with lighter shades that made them seem crooked, as a consequence. The jaw was more angular than square, the chin possessed of a forward quality that confirmed his contrariness, and a small bump on the bridge of the nose kept it from being perfectly straight.

An ordinary face. It was the smiling overconfidence that commanded such admiring attention. That, and eyes that could suss out one’s secrets so neatly, there seemed hardly a point in hiding anything. They were eyes that invited talk, invited trust, and despite the most heartfelt resistance, won it eventually. But surrender did not have the bittersweet flavor Jonah expected. He’d left the reliable road he’d traveled so long and steadfastly, to commence down a path overgrown with windswept grasses and redolent with wildflowers. He might become hopelessly lost, but for the moment, he was too enchanted to turn back. He wanted to linger and take in the wide world. He wanted to wrap his arms around Reid, close his eyes, and forget the world altogether.

But the world would not forget him. Jonah sat up, grimacing at the snap in the air, and looked around for his clothes. He found his shirt, rumpled and so cold his flesh shrank as he pulled it on. When Reid did not wake, Jonah gave him a gentle push. “It’s half past seven. Lend me a collar?”

Reid yawned. “In the wardrobe.”

“Thank you. Water closet?”

“Middle of the hall.”

Jonah slipped out just as the door at the opposite end of the hall opened. It was too late to duck back into the room. An elderly couple emerged, and at the sight of him, smiled cheerily. As they passed, he nodded, hoping they would go, but luck was not on his side. The woman turned friendly blue eyes on him. “Mr. Hylliard hasn’t moved out, has he?”

“No, no,” Jonah said. “He… We… I’m a guest of his.”

“Oh, good. He’s such a dear. We would hate to see him go.”

“Would, indeed.” The man extended a hand. “Charles Green. My wife, Lottie. We’ve just moved in. Mr. Hylliard helped us with our bags when we arrived. You’re a relative?”

“A friend.” Jonah smiled with an effort and shook his hand. “Jonah—” He cleared his throat. “Smith.”

“Are you a clerk too, Mr. Smith?” Lottie asked.

Jonah blinked. “Too?” He realized they were speaking of Reid. “Of course. Yes. We work in the same… office.”

“Quite the standards, that office,” Charles said, grinning. “Worked as a clerk twenty years, myself. Never had to dress so fine.”

Lottie patted Jonah’s sleeve in motherly fashion. “You mustn’t listen to him. This ain’t a fancy establishment, but it’s a good, plain, respectable one, and I’m glad to see a young man taking pride in his appearance—”

“Lottie, for heaven’s sake. You’ll have him late for work.” Charles lifted his hat. “Good morning, Mr. Smith.”

“Drop in for tea Saturday, if you like,” Lottie said as her husband spirited her away.

Jonah heard them chattering all the way downstairs. It wasn’t until they were out of earshot that he let out a relieved breath and crept swiftly to the door with the key strung over the knob. As he washed up at a rust-stained sink, he wondered if everyone at home was worried by his absence. He hadn’t meant to stay the night. Now he would have to come up with an explanation—a lie, rather. It wouldn’t be the first he’d told. But the other lies had covered up a regrettable past. This one had to conceal all the sins of the present.