Under the Skin (29 page)

Mikhail spread his legs, letting Patrick settle more closely against him. “Is more than okay with me,” he asserted, cupping Patrick’s cheeks and pushing his hips upward to rub their cocks against each other. “Been waiting long time to feel you inside me again.”

S
EVERAL
hours later, having worn himself and Mikhail out making love a second time and dozed in each other’s arms, Patrick sat in Mikhail’s tiny kitchen, watching as his lover puttered around putting together a light dinner. The apartment was nearly bare, obviously a place to sleep at night rather than a home. The only thing Patrick recognized from Alexei’s apartment in Chicago was the icon of St. Michael he had seen the one night he spent in Alexei’s bed. “Do you like working at the winery?” Patrick asked. “It’s so… at odds with my image of you. And yes, I know some of that was to protect your cover and do what they sent you in to do, but it still doesn’t quite add up.”

Mikhail cracked several eggs over the mushrooms he’d sautéed and stirred the mixture before turning to Patrick. “When I was boy, my mother had garden. I always helped her with it. I never work with grapes before, so is much to learn about different kinds and how they grow.” He checked the omelet again, adding a sprinkle of salt. “Is very different from Chicago, but I like it here. Near to mountains, near to ocean, not too hot, not too cold. Good place to put down roots.”

Patrick shook his head even as he smiled. “Listen to you,” he teased gently, “putting down roots. I can see why you love it here. I’ve only been here for a few hours, and I spent most of those in your bed, but it’s definitely a welcome change from winter in Chicago. So what would you think about me looking for a job in the area? I don’t know if the Dundee police department is hiring, but I drove through quite a few little towns on my way down here. Somebody has to need an experienced cop.”

After folding the omelet and turning off the burner, Mikhail walked to the table and wrapped his arms over Patrick’s shoulders, bending to press a kiss to his lover’s lips. “Would be very different than work you do in Chicago,” he said.

“Being a cop will never be a nine-to-five job, even in a small town, but in Chicago, being a cop was all I had. I have a chance at a life outside my job now. Something a little more likely to let me come home to you every night wouldn’t be a bad thing.” He leaned back against Mikhail. “Would it?”

“Would be very good thing,” Mikhail agreed. “But maybe you should look in Portland and Salem too. Small town like Dundee, you would be crazy with boredom after first month.”

“You’d just have to find ways to keep me occupied,” Patrick teased, knowing Mikhail was right. “I’m sure you could think of something.”

“First you eat this excellent meal I cook, then I find way to keep you occupied,” Mikhail promised.

Patrick grinned. “I can’t wait.” He took the plate Mikhail handed him and dug in. “How much longer is your lease on this apartment?” he asked after a few bites. “I love you, but we’d kill each other inside a week trying to share such a small space, not to mention that all of my stuff would never fit.”

“No lease, I rent by month,” Mikhail answered. “We could look for larger place now, or wait and see where you find job first before you move all your ‘stuff’.” His voice mimicked Patrick’s Chicago brogue.

The teasing delighted Patrick. Alexei had relaxed somewhat during their nights alone in his loft, but nothing like this. He looked forward to discovering all the new facets of his lover’s personality. “I probably should find a job first,” Patrick said. “I don’t want to live near Salem and then have to commute all the way to Portland or vice versa. Maybe I can make some calls tomorrow while you’re at the winery. I didn’t bring a suit for an interview, but I can do the groundwork at least.” He reached across the table for Mikhail’s hand. “I can’t believe we’re here like this, planning a life together. I wanted it, but I didn’t really think we’d get here. I didn’t think we could.”

Mikhail’s fingers closed around Patrick’s. The faded tattoos over his knuckles would always be a reminder of his past, but for the first time, he truly believed he could put that life behind him. “I never saw way we could be together either. As my mother would say, ‘
vsyo khorosho, chto khorosho konchayetsa
’. Or I should say in English now, all is well that ends well.”

Epilogue

P
ATRICK
drove down the country lanes at a relaxed pace. The day had been a quiet one, as most of them were. Dundee had all of 2,600 residents on a good day. Being their Chief of Police was a huge change from the work he had done in Chicago, but he found himself enjoying it more than he expected. He liked being able to come home to Mikhail every night without worrying that a case would call him away. He dealt with the occasional domestic squabble and petty crime, but nothing of the magnitude he had seen in Chicago.

Patrick pulled into the long driveway that led up to the little farmhouse he and Mikhail had purchased nearly a year before with the money he had gotten from selling his condo and the nest egg Alexei had saved during the time he had worked for the Volkovs. He smiled at the sight of Mikhail’s pickup truck next to the house. The Silverado hybrid was the smallest change the year had wrought in his lover. He found he liked them all.

Living in a small town had its share of challenges too, but Patrick appreciated the acceptance they had found here. When he had interviewed for the job of Chief of Police, he had been very clear that he was moving to Oregon to be with his lover. His male lover. The comment had created a few ripples, but not enough to keep them from hiring him. It was a good thing, too, because they would never have been able to hide it. Even out in the country the way they were, the neighbors knew everything that went on around them. More than once, he had run into an acquaintance who told him what Mikhail was making for dinner.

Walking inside, he tossed his keys on the table and stripped off his jacket and holster. He called Mikhail’s name, but silence greeted him. Frowning a little, he walked into the den, finding the back door open. He stepped out onto the porch and grinned. Mikhail knelt in the dirt near the back fence, his shirt tossed aside to reveal one of the few things that hadn’t changed: the tattoos that told the story of his former life.

“I’m home, Lyosha,” he called. Mikhail rarely reacted when someone walked up behind him unexpectedly now, but Patrick saw no reason to take any chances. Their visit to Chicago at Thanksgiving had proven both how far Mikhail had come and how far he had to go. Mikhail hadn’t run out of the house screaming, but he had carefully positioned himself with his back to the wall any time they weren’t all sitting around a table. Patrick’s family had welcomed Mikhail with open arms and no more than a blink at the change of name, and little by little, Mikhail had accepted it. Before they left, Mikhail had kissed Patrick’s mother on the cheek, called her “
matiushka
,” and made her promise to come to Oregon to visit.

Mikhail tamped down the ground around the grapevine’s roots one last time, then rose to his feet, wiping the soil from his hands on the thighs of his jeans before turning toward his lover. Patrick wore a uniform to work now, something he had not needed to do while working as a detective in Chicago, and Mikhail found it surprisingly arousing. Or perhaps it was removing it to reveal the hard planes of smooth skin beneath that he found so arousing, he admitted to himself. Letting his eyes roam over the tall, slender form, he smiled. “Perhaps you should take off more than just gun,” he said as he walked toward the house. “Would be shame to get dirt on your clean uniform.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t play in the dirt all the time,” Patrick retorted, beginning to unbutton his shirt. He smiled at the sunlight glinting off the St. Michael medallion Mikhail wore around his neck, a birthday gift from Patrick. Mikhail might not need the saint’s protection anymore, but they both knew how blessed they were to have survived long enough to be together. “What are you planting, anyway?”

“Grapevine,” Mikhail answered, close enough now to help push the loosened shirt from Patrick’s shoulders. His hand slid beneath the fabric still tucked into the waist of Patrick’s slacks, his lips following the line of collarbone to linger at the hollow of his lover’s throat. The golden cross Patrick had worn since the first time they met was warm from his skin beneath Mikhail’s lips.

“Don’t you get enough of grapes at work?” Patrick teased, stroking his fingers through Mikhail’s hair. It had grown longer, lightened by the sun and tousled by the wind.

Mikhail closed his eyes for a moment, the better to focus on the play of Patrick’s fingers against his scalp, the touch tightening his cock for all that there was nothing blatantly erotic about it. Then, any touch from Patrick had the power to arouse him, however innocent. “Those belong to vineyard,” he answered, following the tendon of Patrick’s throat upward to graze at the skin behind his ear. “This one is ours. Will be too soon for grapes, but first vines should be established by the time your parents come to visit over summer.”

“Mom hasn’t stopped talking about all the things she wants to see since they made their plane reservations. We aren’t going to have a minute to ourselves while they’re here,” Patrick said, kissing Mikhail lightly. It still thrilled him how much his lover had taken to his family.

“Did not stop you while we were visiting them,” Mikhail answered dryly. Returning to Chicago to spend Thanksgiving with Patrick’s parents had been a test, both of his acceptance by Patrick’s family and of the strength of his new identity. They had been invited for Christmas, but Patrick had suggested the earlier holiday instead. Though he hadn’t admitted it to his parents, not wanting to risk hurting their feelings, they both preferred to spend their first Christmas together alone. The holiday dinner had been a raucous affair, and Mikhail was sure he would never remember the names of all Patrick’s cousins and nieces and nephews, but he had been surprised at how readily and unquestioningly he had been accepted as Patrick’s lover. He’d been even more surprised when Patrick had pushed two beds together in the bedroom he had shared with his brothers as a child and made love to Mikhail while his parents slept just a few rooms away.

Patrick chuckled and kissed Mikhail again, a little deeper this time. “I don't remember you complaining at the time.” It had been a challenge to stay quiet as he and Mikhail had made love in his childhood bedroom, but he’d refused to act as if they had anything to be ashamed of. He loved Mikhail and was loved in return.

“Is not polite to speak with mouth full.” Mikhail spread his hands across the smooth skin of Patrick’s back, drawing his lover closer.

They had only stayed in Chicago a few days—Mikhail did not have much vacation time yet at the winery—but it was enough to convince him that the
vory
truly believed Alexei was dead at Konstantin’s hands. Fyodor had been convicted of the murder of the undercover detective, Eddie Stachowicz, though Patrick’s sister Claire, who worked as a public defender, had assured them that the appeals could drag on for years. The other
vory
families were fighting over the spoils of the Volkovs’ shattered territory, but all of that was no longer Mikhail’s concern. He had begun to come to accept that he could not bring down the entire
vory v zakone
. He had done what was in his power to avenge Piotr, but he had put that need to rest along with the flowers he had laid at Konstantin’s grave, letting it serve as a memorial for Alexei as well. He was Mikhail again, and it was enough for him to feel his hands in the earth tending growing things during the day and to share his nights with the man he loved.

“Is not polite to keep me waiting either,” Patrick teased. “Mom said she wants a tour of Green Slopes.”
Patrick turned his head, capturing Mikhail’s lips with his. His tongue delved deep, tasting the salt of sweat. “I still can’t believe you work in a winery.”

Opening his lips to the loving exploration, Mikhail welcomed Patrick’s tongue with his own measure of passion but let Patrick control the kiss. Alexei had needed to dominate every encounter between them, but Mikhail found just as much pleasure in letting his lover take the lead as often as not. As he had suspected, Patrick was not in general a submissive lover, and Mikhail made no complaints about that. When Patrick released his lips, he raised his head to meet the smoldering brown eyes. “What you think I should do?” he answered with a hint of a smile.

“I don’t know,” Patrick teased. “You could always try stripping. I’d pay to see it.”

That wrung a still-rare laugh from his lover. “You would be only one. Nobody else need to see my tattoos.” At the vineyard, he had never bared more than his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves, but even the marks on his hands had not garnered any special attention. Several of the other workers had tattoos, and one of them, Ray, had at least as much body art as Mikhail, though the designs were far more colorful. The breath caught in Mikhail’s chest as Patrick trailed a finger over the inked outline of the cross, grazing his nipples. “Lucky for you, I show them to you for free.”