Chapter 12
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back,” Luke said in his best imitation of Clint. He swirled the remaining swallow of brandy in his glass. Clint had poured them celebratory drinks, downed his, and then left Luke in his fabulous living room while he went to secure Valgaruz’s prison in his vault.
Luke couldn’t blame Clint for leaving him upstairs instead of inviting him down to the basement. Getting left alone in Clint’s tower was a large sign of trust in the first place.
But he could get antsy while waiting for Clint to come back.
What if Clint decided that everything between them had been heat of the moment and, now that he had a clear head, offered Luke a guest bed to sleep in and drove him back to the city in the morning with no promise of more?
Not that Luke needed sex from a partner.
Or even on a first night. But some sort of reassurance that there was something between them would be good.
I can’t be making up that we have an emotional compatibility.
Luke downed the last of his brandy and stood.
The extremely comfortable couch—which Luke was half-certain had to be enchanted to be that way—was positioned in the center of the room.
Behind it was an antique wooden bar cart, well polished and wonderfully stocked.
Clint had several unmarked glass bottles with varying amber-hued libations.
The brandy had a slightly maroon color, but the first bottle that Luke pulled the stopper from was the wrong one.
The second one was the right stuff, and he poured a little more into his glass.
Minutes were stretching into infinity. Luke took a sip.
If his conversation with Clint went badly, he still had his bag with street clothes in the old farmhouse around a mile away.
The lurch in Luke’s gut told him that dawn was approaching, but it wasn’t so near that he couldn’t dash across the distance.
If I could get that teleporting trick to work, it’d be even shorter.
How did I manage that? Luke took another sip and looked around the room.
Along with seating enough for eight, Clint’s living room had several glass display cases and a couple of statues on pedestals.
There was a large fireplace, currently dormant, with a mantle boasting a few more art pieces and a half dozen framed pictures.
Three paintings decorated the walls. Nothing screamed that Clint was absurdly wealthy, if one didn’t take in the fact that everything was on the third floor of a stone tower.
Clint’s tastes seemed to run more toward functional with a dash of cozy.
The thrum at the back of Luke’s awareness grew a little more obvious. Though Luke’s ability to tune in to Clint’s feelings had faded, he could still feel the distance between them. Knowing he was coming back up the stairs was reassuring, even though that meant Luke’s nerves began to twist.
He turned his attention to the paintings to keep from staring at the door. Better to look like he was caught up in his thoughts than over-eagerly awaiting Clint’s return.
One painting was massive, about eight feet tall and six wide, and portrayed a scene at a Regency-era ball.
The main subjects of the painting were Clint and a young man.
Clint was dressed in a somber suit, dark colors and ruffled hairstyle giving him a Mr. Darcy vibe.
The other young man was on the petite side—he and Luke could have shared clothing—and handsome.
The composition and brushwork were like Emmanuel Nevarr, an artist who’d worked under commission for some of Chicago’s supernaturals.
He’d never gained much fame, and he died before Clint was born.
Luke knew about him because he’d stolen some of his fresh works back at the turn of the twentieth century for a client who wanted to burn all evidence of a relationship.
Weird artist to imitate. Luke peered closer to check for signs of a signature. Nevarr had a habit of signing in a piece of scenery. Whoever copied his style might have done the same.
“Something troubling you about the piece?” Clint asked.
Luke skimmed the painting for another moment but didn’t find the signature. He schooled the frown from his face by the time he turned around to face Clint.
Somewhere along the way, Clint had abandoned the coat he’d worn most of the evening and pushed up the sleeves of his Henley.
A few curly chest hairs were poking out from between the unbuttoned placket leading down from the collar.
His shirt had the audacity to be tighter across his pecs and shoulders, molding around his muscular frame.
And now that the danger was past, Clint had a glint of humor in his brown eyes that caused Luke’s stomach to bubble with butterflies.
“Nothing in particular.” Luke drained his glass and met Clint’s gaze. “You promised me a conversation.”
“You want it now?”
“We’ve been flirting all night. You’ve brought me back to your fortress that you clearly don’t let a lot of people in.
And while I’m usually the kind of guy who doesn’t mind finding mutual release …
” Luke’s words caught in his throat. But no, he’d been preparing this speech since they’d gotten back in Clint’s car after the warehouse.
He was going to finish it. “I don’t think I can be casual with you. ”
Clint sauntered forward, and he was indecently sexy since his stride was a prowling movement. His smile bordered on a smirk; the glee in his eyes kept it from being unbearably cocky. “You mean to say you like me?”
The emphasis he threw on the word was the same tone that Luke had teased him with earlier. It was too perfect a jest for Luke to resist laughing. “Yeah. I do.”
Slowly, Clint closed the distance between them. He cupped Luke’s cheeks with both hands. His palms were calloused, and the texture of him grounded Luke. The spinning in his mind settled, and he relaxed into Clint’s touch.
When Clint spoke, his voice was a pleasing rumble. “I am interested in knowing you for more than a night, but I never make a promise I can’t keep. I can’t tell you how long we might last, though I want to find out.”
Their light touch was enough to strengthen Luke’s ability to sense Clint’s fears and desires. He could feel the outline of them and recognize their shapes. A fear of being vulnerable was a small pea compared to the enormous banana that was Clint’s desire to connect with him.
Luke leaned up to kiss him, and Clint bent just enough to meet him.
Clint’s blood had tasted like cocoa, honey, cinnamon, and everything sweet that Luke missed from his mortal days but had filled him like a steak eaten by a warm fire on a cold night.
His kiss was different, the brandy’s bite and sweetness flavoring his lips and tongue, yet had the same wondrous satisfaction.
Clint wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer. He was so much bigger—his height and width far greater than slim Luke’s—and that difference was in all ways. Luke lightly bumped up against Clint’s groin and felt his bulge. And he’s not even firm yet. Holy. Fucking. Shit. He’s huge.
Breaking the kiss, Clint teased Luke’s lips when Luke tried to dodge back in. He chuckled and held on to Luke’s chin. “I take it you’re interested in trying, then?”
Head spinning from the sheer possibility of how amazingly Clint could wreck him, Luke murmured, “Trying what?”
“Dating.”
“Oh. Yes. Very.”
“Good,” Clint said, his breath caressing Luke’s cheek and jaw. He drew Luke in for another kiss.
Luke moaned. A throatier groan escaped him as Clint’s bulge became more pronounced.
He pressed up against him just to feel Clint’s hardness nudge his abdomen.
They were deep into the kiss when Clint reached down and lifted Luke up by his ass.
Immediately, Luke wrapped his legs around Clint, clinging to him.
He had the advantage of being taller in their current position, and he darted his tongue down between Clint’s lips to taste his heat and the lingering brandy.
He was dimly aware of when Clint began to stride out of the room. Kissing was rarely this much fun, and Luke was determined to keep going. Clint panted quick breaths that ran along Luke’s neck. His lips moved in an odd way, like he was saying something, and a buzz went across Luke’s skin.
And then they were floating. Luke blinked.
Focusing on the world outside of Clint took a second, but he realized they were in the center of the stairwell and going up.
He glanced over their arms and saw down until the darkness made the lowest levels too hard to see. With a yelp, he tightened his grip.
Clint laughed little soft noises, and Luke couldn’t help joining him. They landed on the seventh floor, and Clint strode into his bedroom with Luke still in his arms. He took a hand off Luke long enough to snap the lights on and then kept moving toward his bed.
Like the living room, the bedroom was functional in style rather than extravagant. His queen-sized bed had a memory foam mattress, so Luke barely sank onto it when Clint set him down. After another kiss, Clint reached down for the bottom of Luke’s shirt.
“I’ve got this.” Luke nudged Clint’s hands off of him and wriggled out of the shirt. Some of his banged-up tools were no longer as perfectly in their hiding places, and they made taking it off far less sexy. He let his shirt drop to the floor beside the bed, and it landed with a clunk.
Clint raised an eyebrow. “Exactly how much are you hiding in that?”
“You can find out some other night,” Luke said with a grin. Then he yanked Clint down for a kiss.
Between tangling their mouths together, they shed the rest of their clothes.
Clint joined Luke on the bed. Luke ran his hands over Clint’s chest, trailing his fingers through his chest hair and following it down.
He was holding off look down at Clint’s dick because anticipation was part of the fun of being with someone.