Craft Brew Page 4

  “Let’s see what Lauren turns up. If he’s clean, we’ll consider it.”

  “I can live with that,” Cam said with a satisfied smile.

  That turned wicked on a dime.

  Levering up, Cam knee-walked to Nic’s end of the couch and threw a leg over his lap, straddling him. “Now, I need to know if there’s something—someone—else you can live with?” With the both of them sans boxers under their sweats, Nic because he was out of clean clothes and Cam because he just liked going commando, the instant warmth of Cam’s dick against his own through the thin cotton distracted Nic. For a second. Before the implication of Cam’s words cut through the flare of lust.

  He tried to scoot away, but Cam caged him in, hands braced on either side of his shoulders in the cushion behind him.

  “Boston,” he warned.

  “Just for now, until you’re cleared to move back into your unit. I need to know you’re safe, and right now, you’re safest here with me.”

  Nic’s objection was on the tip of his tongue—that his presence here wasn’t safe for Cam at all, a major reason he’d run in the first place—but then Cam rolled his hips and the fog of lust clouded his better sense again. “Playing dirty,” he growled.

  “I’ll show you dirty.” Cam lifted a hand out of the cushion, spit in his palm, and without any posturing or pretense, without foreplay or teasing, went straight for Nic’s waistband and wrestled free his hardening cock.

  Nic gasped, hips rocking forward. “Dirty’s right.”

  It got dirtier when Cam yanked out his own cock and clasped them both in his spit-slick palm, hot and tight. He stroked and listed forward, forehead resting against Nic’s.

  Mouths close, Nic claimed the lips and tongue he’d been deprived full ravaging of earlier. Cam countered, fighting to lick every dark corner of Nic’s mouth.

  “Dirty and desperate,” Cam breathed, the words puffed against Nic’s lips. Scorching to his ears. “A month with nothing but my own hand and dick, after four with this gorgeous one here.” He twisted his hand on the down stroke, and the blaze burned hotter.

  Unable to hold his head up any longer, Nic let it fall back on the couch cushions. He could hold something else up, though. He added his hand to Cam’s around them, Cam’s spit and their pre-come making it easy to stroke hard and fast. Judging by Cam’s pitching hips and his teeth sinking into the tendon of Nic’s neck, it was just the kind of dirty he had in mind.

  “Missed you,” escaped among the fuck yeahs, fuck mes, and harders. Nic was just as desperate, just as tired of solo jack offs and contorting himself in showers. So unfulfilling when he had this waiting for him here at—

  Nic yanked the wheel of his thoughts off that path, veering off-road instead, tumbling in sensation. Moaning, he threaded his fingers through Cam’s hair and held that delectable mouth against his skin, as he thrust up into their grip, harder and faster still.

  Driving them to finish at record pace.

  Apart for too long, the time to climax was too short, a desperate race to their finish. But the perfect dirtiness of their come splattering them together was the most fulfilled Nic had been in months.

  He couldn’t fathom this decision being wrong.

  * * *

  Cam was still sprawled across Nic, reveling in his favorite hard body back beneath him, when the rumbling under his ear shook him out of his haze.

  Sitting up, he laughed as Nic half woke himself on another snore, struggling to lift his head and open his eyes.

  “Sleepy head,” Cam teased, as he yanked Nic’s then his own tee the rest of the way off and tossed them onto the floor. He dragged a hand through their come and spread it over Nic’s tattooed torso, now on full display. Over the rainbow frog and trident, the SEAL mottos and emblems, his teammates’ names, the kill count Nic worked so hard to atone for every day. Dirty and beautiful. The most beautiful man he’d ever known. “Maybe I shouldn’t have kept you up so late.”

  Nic bounced his knees, toppling Cam back into him. “Worth it.” They indulged in a lazy kiss that lasted until a cautious meow preceded an oomph at the other end of the couch. “Fuckin’ Bird,” Nic grumbled.

  Chuckling, Cam pushed upright, waved the cat off, and wiped his messy hand on his sweats. “We should clean up.”

  “Times like these,” Nic said, chin lolling on his chest, “I feel the ten-year age difference.”

  “Nine, at least until next month.” Cam ruffled his hair, more gray mixed in with the brown. “See it too, old man.”

  Nic shot him a one-eyed death glare. “Watch it, Boston.”

  “Silver foxes are hot.”

  Nic tried to topple him forward again, but Cam clambered off him, slapping his hip. “All right, Counselor. Sleep.”

  Nic heaved to his feet, then bent, collecting the bowls Cam had set aside. “Let me help wash these. Won’t have to do it in the morning.”

  Half asleep, Nic didn’t think to clean himself first, or to react to the domesticity of his own words, but Cam’s insides blazed, stoked by the simple gestures. He didn’t expect to have Nic here again so soon, and he wasn’t going to pressure him into staying permanently, if that’s not what Nic wanted. Now, though, Cam had unexpectedly gotten what he wanted, at least temporarily. He only regretted that it had come by way of suspicious circumstances.

  Picking up their T-shirts, Cam wiped himself down and followed Nic, stopping at the end of the granite-topped bar separating the kitchen and dining area. Nic stood in front of the corner sink, wiping himself down with a hand towel. Cam admired the long lean lines of the former soldier and the exquisite tattoo that spanned his back. Five months and Cam still didn’t have an answer as to who GS might be either.

  “You’re staring,” Nic mumbled, as if he had eyes in the back of his head. Or just a halfway decent pair of ears. He tossed the rag out the garage door, to where the washer and dryer were, and gave his ass a shake.

  Cam’s dick roused. “Don’t tempt.”

  He shook his ass again, and Cam was halfway across the kitchen, dick leading the charge, when “Sweet Caroline” blared from his phone in the adjacent office.

  That was the ringtone he’d assigned his family members back in Boston. He should hurry to answer it, before the call rolled to voicemail, but he was rooted to the spot, cinder blocks for feet. Why were they calling him in the middle of the night? Had something happened to one of his brothers? Keith was home on leave, so less likely him. Bobby or Quinn? Or their wives or kids? His parents? Cam’s stomach sank. Nothing good came from calls at this hour. He knew that well enough after ten years as an agent.

  The ringer cut off abruptly. Maybe just a butt dial then. He blew out the breath he’d been holding.

  Then sucked in another when Neil Diamond started crooning again.

  Nic appeared in front of him, all trace of sleep gone. “That’s your family’s ringtone, correct?”

  Cam nodded.

  “They’re three hours ahead,” Nic said. “It’s morning there. Early, but not for fishermen or school kids.” Nic rubbed his hands over the goosebumps that had risen on Cam’s arms. “Don’t jump to the worst-case scenario.”

  “Says the attorney.”

  Nic lifted a hand, cupping his cheek. “Do you want me to answer it?”

  “No,” he answered too quickly, causing Nic’s brows to snap together. That was a situation he’d explain to Nic and his family later, if and when Cam won his argument about their future. Right now, he needed to deal with the present. He covered Nic’s hand with his, lowering it. “I’ve got it, but thank you.”

  And I’ve got you, said Nic’s unrelenting grip.

  In the office, Bobby’s face lit up the phone screen. Cam yanked the device off the dual charger where it was plugged in next to Nic’s and answered it, just before it rolled over to voicemail again. “Hey, Bobby.”

 
“Did I wake you?” His older brother’s voice sounded rough, scraped over.

  Cam’s stomach plummeted. “No, I was up. Phone was just in another room. It’s early there.”

  “And late there.” Bobby cleared his throat. “Listen, need you to book a flight home. As soon as you can.”

  Cam squeezed Nic’s hand harder. “Home? What’s going on?”

  Nic drew closer, laying a hand on his back.

  “It’s Ma,” Bobby choked out.

  Cam swayed into Nic’s body and would have dropped the phone if Nic hadn’t covered his hand, helping holding it to his ear. “What happened?” Cam managed.

  “I can’t... Cam...” Bobby’s voice broke, and all Cam could do was shout “Bobby!” into the line, desperate to know more yet cut off while there was muffled shuffling on the other end of the line. “Somebody tell me what’s going on!”

  Nic’s hand on his back circled his waist, pulling him back against his chest. “Give ’em a second, Boston.” He was clearly close enough to hear what was going on and no doubt close enough to feel the shaking that had started in Cam’s knees.

  “Cameron, you there?” Quinn, his oldest brother, came on the line, his voice likewise rough but steadier than Bobby’s.

  “Q,” Cam said, making his fingers work again and clutching the phone tighter. “Please, tell me what’s going on.” In his periphery, Nic, with his free hand, reached out and drew his phone off the dual charger, texting someone.

  “Ma had a heart attack.”

  Off balance again, Cam gave more of his weight to Nic. “Is she okay?” he asked, voice a choked whisper.

  “She’s in ICU.”

  “What happened?”

  “She woke up early feeling off,” Quinn explained. “Told Dad she felt a bit nauseous. Maybe a bad cannoli.” Cam wanted to laugh, it was totally something his mother would say, but all he felt was sick. “She went into the bathroom, and Dad heard a crash a minute later.”

  “Did she break anything?”

  “Mercifully, no, but given her age and the severity of the attack, they’re gonna have to do a bypass. Maybe multiples. The docs are worried about her throwing a clot and having a stroke.”

  Which could happen at any minute. Like had happened to their aunt Linda two years ago, when she’d passed. His mother could be gone at any minute, and he was stuck out here in California, clear across the country.

  A five-hour plane flight away.

  Fuck!

  The arms around him grew tighter, as if sensing the spiral, and Cam realized Quinn was calling his name again. “Cameron, did you hear me?”

  “I’m sorry, hear what?”

  “We’re at Tufts Medical. You need to get here, as soon as you can.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  He lowered the phone from his ear, trying to hit End but his hand was shaking too badly to manage it. Same as his knees again. Fucking hell, he was an FBI agent; he’d seen worse.

  Get it together!

  But this was his mother.

  Nic’s hand closed over his, ending the call and trying to slip the phone free.

  “No!” Cam snapped, fighting for the phone. “I need to book a flight.” Never mind that his motor functions weren’t a hundred percent right then.

  Ignoring him, Nic tugged the phone free and tossed it onto the desk next to his, which was lighting up with texts. “You need to breathe, Boston.” Both arms sliding around him, Nic held him closer and leaned them back against the door frame. “I’ve got you. Just breathe with me.”

  He hadn’t even realized he’d been on the cusp of hyperventilating until he forced himself to breathe with Nic, at a much slower, deliberate rate. Doing so, the adrenaline-ready tension ran out of him and the shaking knees would have taken him down, if not for Nic’s sure hold. “My mom...”

  “The rest of the family is there with her,” Nic said. “And you will be too.”

  But would it be soon enough?

  Chapter Four

  Nic swung into the same airport parking lot he’d left seven hours ago, barely getting his truck parked before Cam’s hand went for the door handle. He put a hand on Cam’s knee, urging him to wait. It was understandably the last thing Cam wanted. Cam would have been on the first flight out to Boston this morning, if there’d been any seats left. Nic had been checking while Cam had talked to his brothers, and when all the flights had come up booked, he’d phoned a friend instead—Cam’s best one, who’d want to know what was going on and who’d recently married a man with access to his family’s company jet.

  Seven-thirty was as soon as the Talley Enterprises jet could secure a takeoff, and it’d been just enough time for them to shower and pack. And to repack. When it’d become clear that Cam was throwing any and everything into his bag, including Bird, Nic had shooed him out of the bedroom with the cat and rearranged things in an orderly fashion.

  It was the least Nic could do with Cam wavering between locked down and a mess. He’d go from barely speaking, holding the words that scared him in check, to rapid-fire verbal vomit on the mundane and work-related. The security codes for the house, Bird’s feeding routine, his open Bureau cases. The twenty-minute drive to SFO had been worse, Cam muttering “should’ve never left” under his breath repeatedly.

  Cam reached for the door handle again, and Nic squeezed his knee. “Just wait. Aidan and Jamie aren’t even here yet.” He hoped it sounded more like an observation than the plea it was. He didn’t want to make Cam feel guilty for leaving. He might have only been six at the time, but Nic remembered the pain of losing his mother. He could only imagine what the threat of losing one who’d been with Cam for thirty-six years was doing to him. But Nic selfishly wanted another minute or two alone with him. A seven-hour reunion, half that time lost to a fire, and now they were going to be separated again. “Are you sure I can’t go with you? I’m not due back in the office until Monday, and I can—”

  “Jamie’s going with me,” Cam said, gaze aimed out the passenger window.

  That rankled, even though it rationally shouldn’t. Jamie was Cam’s best friend, he’d spent summers during college with Cam’s family, and it was another month before his coaching duties for St. Mary’s basketball kicked into high gear. And he had ready access to the aforementioned jet.

  Still, Nic wanted to be the one who was there for Cam. “I can—”

  “No, Dominic.” It was his pulling-rank voice. The one he trotted out whenever he sidelined Nic on an op, for his protection. But that didn’t make sense, nor did Cam’s added, “I can’t do that to them right now.”

  “Do what?” Expose them to Nic and the danger around him? Cam was the one who wanted to run toward that fire, which hadn’t followed Nic to San Diego. It seemed contained to the Bay Area, where Curtis could witness the destruction firsthand. Leverage worked better that way. Nic had no reason to think the danger would follow them to Boston.

  Nic didn’t have a chance to follow up, the roar of an engine and the peel of tires cutting through the heavy silence. Aidan’s gleaming black Aston Martin tore into the parking lot faster than strictly necessary.

  “They’re here,” Cam said, using the distraction to get the jump on Nic, finally thwarting his delay tactics and climbing out of the truck.

  Nic banged the heel of his hand against the steering wheel, cursing himself for wasting the last few minutes arguing instead of kissing. Hustling out, he called after Cam, who, bag slung over his shoulder, was halfway to Jamie already. They met at the side of Aidan’s car, Cam dropping his bag and Jamie yanking him into a crushing hug.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” Jamie said, and Nic cursed himself again for not offering the same reassurances. He hadn’t wanted to lie to Cam—he didn’t with his witnesses either—but while that had served him well in the courtroom, he didn’t like it one bit when it created more distance between him
and Cam.

  The slam of the trunk lid snapped Nic out of his thoughts, and a rumpled Aidan appeared at his side, guiding Jamie’s rolling suitcase. His husband was walking ahead with Cam, their arms slung over each other’s shoulders. “Thanks for giving Cam a lift here,” Aidan said.

  “Thanks for giving him a lift there.”

  They passed through the terminal doors, and Aidan ran a hand through his disheveled auburn hair. “Jamie said you were there when Cam got the call.”

  “Apartment above mine flooded. Was crashing at Cam’s.”

  A partial lie, and judging by Aidan’s narrowed eyes, he wasn’t buying it. Before he got the chance to investigate further, Jeremy met them inside the terminal. If Nic didn’t know better, he wouldn’t have guessed the impeccably put together steward had come off the same flight as him a mere seven hours ago.

  “Gentlemen,” he greeted them. “I’d be happy to take your bags.”

  Cam handed off his, and Aidan rolled over Jamie’s.

  “We’ll be ready when you are,” Jeremy said, efficient and polite, and correctly gauging the subdued mood. This was not an impromptu guys’ weekend away.

  “We’re square on cases?” Cam said to Aidan.

  “We had our status meeting yesterday. We’re square. Go to your family.”

  “Thank you,” Cam said, then exited out to the tarmac, seemingly in a fog.

  As the newlyweds exchanged their almost-indecent goodbyes, Nic slid past them, following Cam outside. He spotted the Talley jet on the tarmac, Jeremy waiting by the steps. “Mr. Price, good to see you again.”

  “Likewise, Jeremy.” He gestured up the stairs at the open cabin door. “I think I might have left something on the plane last night.”

  Jeremy held out his hand. “Go right ahead, sir.”

  He took the steps two at a time, but ground to a halt inside the door. Across the cabin, Cam stood by the mini-bar, arms braced on the polished wood, torso heaving with deep, labored breaths. Nic glanced over his shoulder; Aidan and Jamie hadn’t emerged from the terminal. Stealing a moment, while he still had a chance, he crossed the cabin and wrapped his arms around Cam from behind.