Bluewater Bay 03 - Hell on Wheels (MM) by Z.A. Maxfield

Author:Z.A. Maxfield [Maxfield, Z.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2014-11-27T05:00:00+00:00

Spencer wasn’t pacing. He wasn’t. It just seemed like one minute he was happy sitting on the couch, reading Architectural Digest in the living room, and the next he preferred looking out the sliders to the backyard. Could he help it if a minute or two later he felt like making himself a cup of coffee? Or that now he was fascinated by the way that same coffee mixed with clear water as it swirled down the drain?

He was pushing the brightly burning logs around in the fireplace grate with the poker when the doorbell rang. Tick answered, ushering Peter in.

Beautiful, bedeviling Peter. At twenty-nine, he was still a vast repository of boyish charm. This time he was a little damp, which only made him look better. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

And there they were, the holy trinity of Peter’s face: The sheepish smile. The lowered chin. The glance upward from beneath a perfectly ridiculous ruff of spiky, black lashes.

Check. Check. Double check.

I’m sorry, Peter’s look seemed to say. I wuv you thiiiiiiiiis much. For the first time, Spencer was practically immune to it. Peter exhausted him.

“You wanted to talk?” he asked, taking the wingback chair by the fireplace. “Have a seat.”

Peter was forced to choose between the couch and the other wingback. Before he sat, he angled the chair so they sat face-to-face. “Thank you.”

Spencer nodded. Noticing Tick was still in the room, he turned and asked, “Tick, would you mind going for a pizza? Take Bastian with you, please.”

“I don’t think so.” Bast came into the room with stubborn written into every line of his body.

Tick hooked his immense hand around Bast’s shoulders. “Will do.”

“We should call and order it.” Bastian tried to stop Tick from pulling him along, but he might as well have tried pushing the rain back up into the sky. “That way it will be ready when we get there.”

“No, we shouldn’t.” Tick opened the door, pushed Bast out, and then he stepped out and closed it behind them.

“Alone at last,” said Peter.

For the last time, maybe.

Peter’s whiskey gaze made a leisurely perusal of Spencer. He sighed. “Now that I have your attention, I find myself tongue-tied.”

“It’s your thirty minutes. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

A perfect moue formed on Peter’s lips. “Don’t be like that.”

That was a good look. Even when Spencer was angry, hurt, bewildered, and determined not to let it show, that small pout moved him. “How should I be, then? I’m afraid I can’t welcome whatever it is you have to say with open arms, Peter.”

Peter leaned forward, his hands clasped and dangling between his denim-clad thighs. “I never, ever meant to hurt you.”

“All right.” Spencer let his head fall back against his chair. “You get a pass because you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“Come on. For six years you never gave a fuck about the others. About the guys I disappeared with at parties, or the occasional women. We were never exclusive, yet after Evelyn, suddenly I was cheating?”

“We were married,” Spencer said, incredulously.

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