Taking You Home Read online

  But he won’t let go; his hands are still around my waist, grasping at my soft shirt. The car guns past, as I stare into the valley below.

  “That a yes?” I ask without looking back at him.

  Warm fingers move beneath faded cotton, pressing close against my abdomen. No one has ever touched me like he does, not even with a simple gesture like this one.

  “You know it is.”

  “How soon?” I ask, and I’m a little desperate, my mind already working at the details, hammering on things I refused to even contemplate before I had his answer.

  Strong, muscled arms wrap around me, pulling me close against him. “As soon as you want. Tomorrow. Next week. The spring.”

  Aunt Edna would definitely smile on a spring wedding between young lovers.

  “Why spring?” I manage, suddenly aware that my breathing is frantic, uneven.

  There’s just silence for a moment, only the rushing sounds from the hills below us, until he says, “Because it would be beautiful.”

  “I want the spring,” I agree with a nod. His hands stroke my chest, roam like wildfire beneath my shirt and jacket. “I want you,” I manage. It’s a growl, a prayer, and he only laughs in my ear.

  “Take me home and do something about it then.” Just that quickly, something changes in his demeanor, and I know what all his clients must hear on the phone each day. That velvet voice becomes pure male in its throaty timbre, and I take comfort in the fact that he’s all mine.

  I nod as his fingers press down within my pants, wandering dangerously along the waistband of my jeans. “Stop it,” I caution with mock gruffness. He knows I love what he’s up to; I’m instantly taut and pushing hard within the confines of the denim, and it’s an aching sensation.

  “No way.” Yeah, well he’s pretty damn pleased with himself, especially when he runs his fingertips along the bulge in my jeans. “What’s this, Willis?” he teases, stroking my painful erection.

  “You’re gonna pay, Daniels,” I warn, handing his helmet to him, and swinging my leg back over the bike.

  “I hope so.” He squeezes his thighs tight around me, and I realize he’s pretty damn aroused himself.

  “Then hold on.” With a shudder, I snap my helmet strap, as his sweet hands fold around my waist again. I swear I can nearly feel that golden band press into my side as I gun the engine and roll the bike out onto the road again.

  Everything felt easy that night as we followed the back roads home to his apartment in West Hollywood. Our apartment. Maxwell was behind me and we were going to take on the world. Our families and friends would bless our union, the champagne would flow; our future was golden.

  Not so easy now, standing on the front step of his childhood home. Especially since there’s something about the way Phillip Daniels looms there in the doorway. It’s in how he sizes me up—it instantly makes me regret that I’m not a more impressive man. Like, if I weren’t just a glorified construction worker, I might be able to promise a decent life to his amazing son. A weekend home in Palm Springs, or a little cottage in Brentwood, that kind of thing. Instead, I know it seems I’m just the kept man in this affair.

  But it’s not just about the money, because even for a half a moment, I wish I were better looking, someone more on a par with Max’s intense beauty.

  And most of all, Phillip Daniels’s disapproving scrutiny makes me wish like hell that I weren’t gay. I could be Max’s best friend again, because then he wouldn’t be examining me in this way that every father has scrutinized would-be suitors throughout the ages. It’s that look of keen disapproval that suggests a shotgun might be hidden just behind the man’s door.

  I recognize that look all right, the withering glare of a protective dad, and I know he thinks I’ve deflowered his son. Well, he’s not all wrong on that point, but I could explain a few things about precisely who led whom astray in this relationship.

  But instead, with the steely bravado of a seventeen-year-old on a first date, I extend my hand and boldly say, “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  A firm grip shows you can be trusted. That’s what Aunt Edna always said. I want Phillip Daniels to know that, if nothing else, he can trust me to love and protect his son.

  Instead, I get the distinct feeling that he considers me the closest thing to anathema to ever grace his doorstep.

  “Hunter.” He pronounces my name like it’s something bitter and distasteful he’s suddenly found in his mouth.

  There’s a terribly awkward moment, a piercing silence reverberating like a gong, as we’re left outside without an invitation to enter. Finally, Max coughs, and asks, “Can we come inside, Dad?”

  My heart clenches at the quiet pain I hear in my lover’s voice.

  Phillip nods, opening the door wider. “Of course, come on in, Max.”

  I don’t miss that I’m not included in that invitation, but I follow right on in with a wary smile. I’ve never responded well to intimidation tactics, and a counter-plan is already forming in my head.

  Chapter Two

  We’re led into the living room, with me tagging along behind Max like some wayward puppy. Of course, it’s hard not to feel lost after the big brush-off his dad’s just given me.

  But all my plans for some counter-attack fade once I meet Max’s mother, Diane, who really is a very sweet lady. A little clueless, I can tell, but she’s all right. Might even remind me a bit of Aunt Edna, especially the way she pats my hand reassuringly as she takes it.

  “Nice to meet you, Hunter.” She gives me an uncertain smile, and I’m pretty sure this whole scene makes her uncomfortable.

  Then next thing I know, she’s offering us sodas and little tea sandwiches, the kind without the crusts. That’s when Leah and her husband appear from a back hallway, and the temperature in the room drops by a few crucial degrees upon impact.

  Max’s sister is even more stunning than Max led me to believe, but it’s as if all his natural warmth and gentleness were drained right out of her. Instead, Leah takes that room like steel, unbending and icy smooth in her demeanor. I’m the very first person she looks at. Not Max, and I stand a little too quickly, bumping the tray of sandwiches like the oaf that I naturally am.

  Max starts to introduce us. “Leah, this is—”

  “Hunter Willis.” She cuts Max off, sailing straight to me. She extends her hand, pure ivory goddess. “Max has told us so much about you.” She smiles, and the words are friendly, but they’re hollow all the same.

  Then she embraces Max, pulling him close. Uncertainty shadows his eyes as he folds those strong arms around her. I watch them both together, and the only thought drumming through my head is that she better not fucking hurt him. My stomach knots with my need to protect him, and that’s when I realize that somewhere along the line, I’ve become his partner already.

  I’m thinking all these thoughts while pumping her husband, John’s, strong hand, plastering a smile across my face. But he’s an easy guy, much more relaxed than everyone else who has taken battle positions within the room. That, and he’s the only Hispanic in our midst, so he’s undoubtedly used to that outsider vibe around this crew.

  So we settle on the sofa and pass the polite little sandwiches around. It should be a pleasant scene, meeting his family. Instead, the tension is palpable, particularly with Leah and their father, both of whom have chosen to ignore my presence.

  At least John is a pretty friendly guy. He asks me about the trip out from L.A., and we wind up talking about Harleys, since he aspires to be a weekend rider. This garners a huge frown of disapproval from Leah, the only time during the visit when she genuinely looks my way. Her scowl intensifies when Max says, “Oh, Hunter’s Harley is just gorgeous. We go out on it all the time.”

  “Together?” she asks.

  “Yeah, Leah, together,” he explains wearily.

  Yeah, sweetheart, you should see us,
I want to shout right in her face. I can only imagine her reaction to the way Max clings tight to me.

  “How long have you been riding?” John perseveres and I wonder if he’s clueless, or just a natural born peacemaker.

  “Since I was a kid. Back in Iowa.”

  “That where you from?” he continues, and for a moment I see Max’s dad glance in my direction. Yes, sir! Your son’s boyfriend is a corn-fed Iowa kid. Solid red, white and blue!

  “Yeah, mostly.” I decide to leave out the details of my parents’ death, Aunt Edna and all that.

  “Probably great for riding.” John nods in approval. “Lots of open roads.”

  “It taught me to be safe.” I meet Phillip’s tentative glance. I want him to know I’m careful with Max, that I’d never put his son in danger, not even for a moment. “To respect the road.”

  “Respect is a good thing.” Phillip’s gaze grows keen and penetrating as he continues staring in my direction.

  For some reason I bob my head and smile, feeling like an idiot. I have no idea what he’s up to, or even what he means. But I’m desperate to make a good impression, want him to know that I’m here to stay.

  “So you go riding together?” Leah asks again. “Around L.A.?”

  “Sure.” I shrug. “All the time.”

  She gives me a mildly horrified look. “Isn’t that a little weird?”

  “Why?” I meet her gaze, head to head. I can play this game as well as she can. “I’ll take John if you guys come out to L.A.”

  Immediately her fair cheeks stain pink, and I wonder if she assumes I’m insinuating something a lot more than I am. “Or you. Anybody is welcome, so long as they wear a helmet.”

  “It’s really great out on the coast,” Max adds, smiling a little uncertainly at me. “Especially around Long Beach.”

  “I bet,” John agrees with a hearty nod, and suddenly I think I love this guy. He’s really all right, because he’s got to know this is a standoff of sorts.

  “Yeah, sometimes we take the coastal highway, then we stop off for seafood at sunset, right when it’s getting a little cool,” Max explains with a genuine smile, and then he just chatters happily about our life together. I settle back into the sofa and let him share, and somehow it seems maybe the tension has let up a little. At least for now.

  But as he gestures and talks, I wonder if his family gets the most important detail of all his vignettes about our life—I wonder if they see how happy he is.

  Dinner is a little strained. Well, not the dinner itself, which is an old-fashioned family kind of experience, complete with lazy Susan and all that. Ironically, growing up, Max had the family I was mostly denied, and yet I think I had a whole lot more love from Aunt Edna than he ever got here. Funny how the cards play out; the kid who gets the tough break and winds up an orphan is the one who feels most doted on and accepted.

  No wonder Max melts in my arms every time I hold him. No wonder he laps up my affection and just glows beneath all the love I give him. Damn, I only want to love him more, seeing how his family holds him at such a stiff-armed distance.

  So dinner is okay, but it’s afterward, when Leah spies Max’s ring that everything goes straight to hell. She stares at it pointedly all through coffee. Doesn’t ask, mind you, just looks at it, her eyes wide and disbelieving. She thought us riding on my motorcycle together was a shock!

  I’m proud of Max when he doesn’t say a word: If she can’t even ask, then he shouldn’t explain.

  But then Phillip’s gaze trains right on that band, and I see how his jaw begins to tick until Max bows his head and folds his hands in his lap.

  I want to cry at how he literally crumples with shame right before me. This is the man who has been bold and confident about being gay everywhere he’s gone—except right here in the bosom of his own freaking family.

  Beneath the table, where no one else can see, I take his hand in mine and hold it tight all through coffee. I’ll be damned if they’ll make us back down from this.

  But then his mother smiles and says something about how she’s made up the guest bed, and Max can sleep there while I take his room. For a moment, I’m confused because we put both our bags in his room, and his mother knows that. I mean, we’ll share a bedroom, like we always do. Like we would if they weren’t worried about which way our sexual pendulum swings.

  “Max, your bedroom is the nicest, so you don’t mind if Hunter takes it, do you?” she asks again with an awkward smile.

  Max hesitates a moment, and I see a little glance pass between his mother and father. I get the feeling she might have been put up to this.

  “Sure, Mom, you’re right,” he finally agrees, and I can only stare in disbelief at his quiet acquiescence. “I’ll take the guest room.”

  “Good.” She smiles much more easily this time; her relief is palpable as she rises from the table. “I’ll go get some extra pillows from the hall closet.”

  Damn, that’s when it hits me.

  With as much as we’ve come out in the past month, they’ve just managed to shove us kicking and screaming right back into the closet.

  There’s no way I can sleep, not without him—not when his family has separated us this way. So I toss and turn in his childhood bed until the cool sheets are tangled all around me. It’s almost like his scent is still in this room, even after all these years. Of course, he didn’t wear cologne back then, and there’s a little musty odor in here too. Like the room has been closed up for a really long time, which of course it has been.

  His past is all around me, winking at me through the darkness. There are old posters and books with crackled spines, an empty aquarium in the corner. Somehow, all these youthful artifacts only make me long for him more intensely.

  I prop my head on my elbows and stare at the stars etched onto the ceiling. Or maybe they’re stickers? I’m not sure, but they twinkle above me like some artificial mountainside canopy. Max has always insisted that I’ve never really seen the stars, not until he’s taken me out into the mountains at night.

  I want to see this world through his eyes.

  For some reason, I think of Max’s Rolex and Tiffany tastes, how he loves Cuban cigars, the way a fine suit fits his body. Then I picture him here amidst his family, so awkward and uncomfortable and ashamed of what we are. Who we are together.

  For a moment, I feel rage, and something tightens right in my middle as I think of his sister. The way she looked between us both, how her lip curled slightly, as if she might be ill when she glanced down at his ring. Fuck her. Absolutely, fuck her.

  She’s breaking his heart, and she doesn’t even get that? What is wrong with these people?

  I blow out a frustrated breath, when I hear his bedroom door creak open. I startle, sitting right up in bed, but then Max fills the frame, standing there in just his boxers and a sleeveless undershirt. “Hunter?” He steps tentatively into the room.

  “I’m awake.” I sigh, biting my lip to quell the anger.

  Carefully, he closes the door behind him, and then I hear the soft shuffling sound of his bare feet against the carpeting.

  “They’re asleep,” he explains.

  “I’m not.”

  “Hunter, look, I’m really sorry.” He settles on the edge of the bed. I move to the side, making room for him, but he only sits on the mattress edge. I want him in bed with me, not miles away like this, so I reach for him, pulling at his waist. He stills my hand, and now I’m just really pissed off.

  “You realize what you’ve done?” I hiss into the darkness, the full rage suddenly making its way to the surface. He blinks at me, mouth open.

  “You let them closet us completely.” My hands have begun to shake. “That’s what. With just one moment, you let your damned family force us into hiding about this.”

  “Hunter, it’s not that simple,” he tries, but I won’t h
ear it.

  “Baby, you don’t get it? They have you sneaking down the hall to me like a teenager just to fucking talk about it.”

  “I didn’t know what to say.” He sounds so defeated as he buries his head in his hands.

  “How about that I’m your boyfriend?”

  “They already know that.”

  “Yeah, right. Only by implication.” I roll away with a weary sigh. Suddenly I wish that I’d never left L.A., that I’d stayed there among the safe cadre of our friends. But then I feel his gentle fingers stroking my hair, his lithe body curling against mine as he lies down beside me.

  “It’s not that I don’t love you,” he whispers in my ear, caressing my arm, my shoulder, warm hands roaming around my stomach.

  “Feels weird, that’s all.”

  The soft hairs of his thighs tickle my legs, and as the stroking intensifies, his hands wander down the length of my legs. He palms my hips and I’m getting aroused as hell, but I’m determined to ignore it.

  “Weird how?” he whispers into the darkness.

  “Like you’re shutting me out. Like…you’re ashamed.” For a moment, I think of all the months that he ached to tell our friends about us, and how freaked I was, but I shove that thought aside.

  “Never. Never, ashamed.” He’s folded his body right behind mine, holding me so tight that I struggle to breathe with the warm sensation of him loving me this way. If he were really ashamed, would he be in bed with me like this, risking being found together?

  His hips shift behind me, and then suddenly I feel the ridge of his arousal press right into my backside. My eyes water as he begins stroking the hardened length of me, right through the front of my cotton boxers, and I wonder what he wants right now.

  “Relax,” he murmurs in my ear, kissing my neck, my cheek. His scratchy face brushes against mine, and the scent of him intoxicates me. God, I want him enough to take him right here, to hell with his family.

  “But I thought…”

  “I just didn’t know how to handle it. Don’t you get that? I’ll stay the night in here if it will make you feel better.”