Truth & Tenderness (4 page)

No word from Evan, which meant he’d be home late. Probably another meeting with Casper, a name he was already tired of hearing from his boyfriend’s mouth.

So Matt drove slower because there wasn’t a reason to hurry.

Jim’s obsession with Tripp Ingersoll poked at him, dragged him through his own memory bank. On the force, he had felt an all-consuming need to close his cases—every single one of them, no matter if the victim was innocent or anything but.

He wanted to have an ending.

He wanted to know his efforts led to justice.

He wanted the badge to mean something all the time, for each case.

It cost him his badge in the end.

The rain beat down on the windshield, obscuring his view. Matt slowed down a little more, caught in a swamp of memories.

G
RIFFIN
D
RAKE
walked on shaky legs from the idling sedan in the driveway to the house. Whatever the thing past utter exhaustion was, well, he felt about two weeks of no sleep past that. The movie had wrapped, the postproduction was underway, and Griffin could finally go home.

At three thirty in the morning.

He vaguely registered the car pulling away, focused intently on the front door with its cheery pussy willow wreath that clearly wasn’t the work of his fiancé.

Shivering in the night air, Griffin dropped his carry-on and suitcase on the front steps. He needed both hands to fumble with the key and lock, taking three tries to get his fingers to cooperate.

On try number four, the tumblers clicked and the door opened.

Jim, framed in the doorway and backlit with the foyer chandelier, smiled down at him, and Griffin tried not to burst into hysterics. Tears or laughter—he had no idea which would come out if he opened his mouth.

“Like the first time we met,” he managed before Jim reached out and pulled him into the house—and his arms.

“Luggage,” Griffin said against his chest, but Jim—big, silent, beautiful Jim, whose hands felt like a gift on Griffin’s body—manhandled him through the foyer and into the living room and then down on the couch.

“I’ll get it. Just relax, okay?” he murmured as Griffin sprawled back on the pillows and throw blanket on the long couch. Griffin realized a second later that Jim had been waiting for him here.

“Oh God.” Griffin closed his eyes and let the sound of Jim moving back to get his bags soothe him. He was here, and Jim was here, and all the distance was almost over.

Griffin woke with a start, jumping a little when he opened his eyes and realized he was home and not in a hotel room or the near-empty loft. He sat up slowly, running both hands through his wrecked hair as he twisted the kinks out of his back. It took a minute, but he realized his clothes—save his underwear and socks—were gone, the air toasty warm and the blanket from their bed laid over his legs.

And the sun was out.

“Jim?” Griffin called quietly. He moved the blanket as he swung his legs over the side of the couch.

A sound from the direction of the kitchen drew Griffin to the other side of the house.

In their gourmet kitchen—domain of the housekeeper unless you counted putting leftovers away as cooking—Jim stood over the stovetop, poking at something in a frying pan.

Griffin slid his socked feet over the smooth wood floor, making as little noise as possible. He admired Jim’s strong shoulders and muscular legs, currently on display in an outfit of gym shorts and a tank top. He revisited the back of his fiancé’s neck, so excellently built for nuzzling or biting, depending on what Griffin was doing back there.

Nothing about Jim had changed since they met—at least not on the outside. No, it was the revelations of who he was on the inside that made Griffin’s insides flutter.

“You’re just standing there staring at my ass,” Jim said suddenly. Griffin jumped at the sound. “I feel cheap,” Jim added, not turning around.

“Actually I was thinking about your big heart and super-smart brain, but now I’m thinking about your monstrous ego.”

Griffin wandered over to slip his arms around Jim’s waist and bury his face against that fabulous patch of skin. “Thank you for taking care of me last night,” he murmured, dropping kisses between words. The smell of eggs and bacon wafted up to his nose.

“Are you grinding up against me because you missed me or because you smell breakfast?” Jim asked dryly.

“Um—I love you?”

They both laughed and Griffin’s exhausted disorientation lifted a bit more; making the movie had been an amazing opportunity, but God, he was just glad to be here, in this moment.

T
HEY
ATE
in the dining room once Jim moved the stacks of books, mail, and tile samples to the opposite end so they had room to put their plates.

“Do I want to know?” Griffin asked, fork poised and expression wary.

“Your mail, we need another bookcase, and Daisy said you have to pick tile for the bathroom,” Jim recited obediently. He ripped his slice of toast in half, then began transferring half the jar of apple butter to its crispy surface. Nirvana.

“Right. Crap.” Griffin sighed as he shoved some of his scrambled eggs in his mouth.

Jim watched him chew, then reach for the hot sauce. “Eggs should not be spicy.”

“Spicy is debatable but taste is not.”

“Fine. Last time I make you breakfast.” He defiantly put another layer of apple butter on his apple butter.

“Salt is not a spice, James.”

Jim’s scowl became hard to maintain as Griffin began to trail his foot up his bare leg under the table.

T
HEY
LEFT
the dirty plates on the dining room table, which was how Griffin knew Jim had reached a state of “sex-starved” that overruled all his other functions. On the couch, Griffin pushed Jim down among the blanket and pillows and cushions, dropping to his knees between the V of his fiancé’s legs.

“I missed you so much,” Griffin murmured, rubbing his hands up and down the furred length of Jim’s thighs, dipping under the leg of his shorts.

The tense muscles, the mouthwatering bulge pressing against the seam of Jim’s shorts—Griffin made a little sound of want as he leaned down, breathing in the scent of masculine arousal, nuzzling against the inside of Jim’s thigh.

“Stop playing,” Jim whispered, hands on his waistband. Griffin looked up to see the sheen of sweat on his fiancé’s face, the way he trembled as he lifted his hips and began to push his shorts down.

Griffin moaned as he grabbed a handful of cotton and helped divest Jim of his shorts. They didn’t even get them entirely off—the shorts hung off Jim’s knee, as Griffin couldn’t wait to get his mouth around Jim’s straining cock.

The sound Jim made as his dick hit the back of Griffin’s throat unraveled something desperate in him. He was home, Jim was his, and everything was going to be all right.

A
FTER
THIRTY
-
SIX
hours of reconnecting with Jim, Griffin felt ready to turn his phone back on.

Only 111 texts, e-mails, and voice mails. He considered himself lucky.

On the ride to Manhattan, Jim drove and Griffin managed his life on his smartphone. He tried to chat with Jim at the same time, keenly aware of the growing tension from the driver’s seat.

“Almost done,” he said cheerfully. “Just a few more.”

He forwarded things, delegated, demurred, and delayed. Anything he wanted to brag about died on his tongue; Griffin didn’t miss the irony that the case that had brought him to the love of his life was currently opening a valley of strain between them.

“Gosh, I’m so glad to be back on the East Coast,” Griffin enthused, answering yet another question for the movie’s media coordinator. “All that lousy sun was giving me a headache.”

Jim made a sound of agreement. Or he was being attacked by a bat.

Griffin snuck a look. No bats.

“We have a ton of stuff to do, so I hope your schedule is clear. Wedding plans, of course, and let’s just get that bathroom done,” he rambled. “Maybe spend a weekend at my dad’s house?”

“He’s in Atlantic City next weekend with Dotty. Then he has that reunion thing with his friends from high school in Maine,” Jim said, changing lanes as they sped toward the city.

“Oh.”

Jim knew his father’s schedule better than he did. Also…. “Who’s Dotty?”

J
IM
HAD
the pleasure of explaining to Griffin that his long-widowed father was now dating a woman named Dotty, who owned a yarn store in the next town over—and he had actually been dating her for almost two years. Dating her with carnal relations being had, that was for damn sure. The sisters didn’t know yet, and Jim demurred from taking on that responsibility.

Eight women, one father’s girlfriend—he didn’t have riot gear anymore.

“Oh.”

It was the only thing Griffin said for the next twenty minutes.

J
IM
PARKED
in the underground garage of the Midtown building where Bennett Ames’s new offices were housed. The view of Bryant Park—gorgeous. The proximity to great restaurants and all the city had to offer—obvious and generous.

The need to move offices yet again, including a full renovation?

Well, Jim had no clue.

While the money filled the coffers of his and Matt’s business, he didn’t see the point. There was some story about being close to the theater where Bennett’s latest production had found a home, but frankly Jim thought that was bullshit.

Whatever. Not his money.

Griffin finally finished his business on the phone and the thing disappeared into his pocket—something Jim was grateful for. Throwing it out the window while they went over the Tappan Zee Bridge seemed like the best idea he’d ever had at the time.

“So I’m going to have this meeting with Bennett; then we’re all going to lunch,” Griffin said for the eleventh time. The Dotty story had clearly left him flustered as he fussed with his hair in the side mirror.

“I know. I brought a book to read to fill my lonely hours,” Jim said lightly, but Griffin straightened up and gave him an awkward look over the hood of the car. “So you can take as long as you need,” he added.

Griffin nodded and then walked toward the garage elevator.

Okay, then.

Jim caught up with him in two quick strides and slid his hand into Griffin’s, linking their fingers together.

They didn’t talk, but Jim couldn’t help noticing Griffin holding on for dear life.

J
IM
HAD
indeed brought a book: the new Dan Brown in paperback, a grocery receipt for a bookmark somewhere in the middle. Griffin’s heart fluttered as he leaned over to drop a kiss on Jim’s mouth.

“I love you,” Griffin said, taking the smile Jim rewarded him with all the way back to Bennett’s office.

Of course everything was gorgeously decorated, masculine and bold, with a view of the park that looked straight out of a movie. Bennett greeted him from behind a parson’s table, looking like a supermodel in tight blue jeans and a lightweight V-neck sweater.

“Welcome home,” Bennett said as he gave Griffin a hug. “How are you doing?”

“It’s weird—I kinda feel like an astronaut that just returned to earth. How was that my life once upon a time?” Griffin sat down in one of the two wing chairs in front of Bennett’s desk.

Bennett dropped into the chair next to him.

“Well, your life is here on the East Coast now, and unless that changes….”

Griffin was already shaking his head. “No. I want to be here.”

“Wonderful.”

They chatted for a bit about Daisy (considering another play) and Sadie (walking and talking and eating like a champ) and then dove into the postmortem on the movie’s production. All of Griffin’s fears about his first producing job, his carefully and lovingly crafted script, began to melt away as Bennett went on a spree of praise and congratulations.

Test audiences were being booked, music and effects were almost finished, the media campaign was revving up. It was finally going to happen.

Griffin’s heart beat like a wild drum in his chest. “Thank you for this opportunity—” he started, but Bennett cut him off.

“No. Don’t thank me. You did a wonderful job—everyone had something positive to say. I should be thanking you for adding another person to my community of creative friends,” he added, winking as Griffin blushed.

How different a working relationship from when he worked for Claus, Daisy’s first husband and a supreme asshole.

“Well, if you need anything else,” joked Griffin.

Bennett’s grin got wider. “Actually, I was thinking you might want to take a look at some old projects that I haven’t had a chance to develop.”

Griffin blinked. “What?”

“I have properties I purchased with the hope of doing something, but life got in the way and some really amazing stories got lost in the bottom of the filing cabinet. How’d you like a shot at them?”