Chapter 10
This was a terrible, terrible idea.
That was what Connor told himself on a loop as he made the long walk through the resort to where he was sure Nate’s room would be.
Past open-air walkways, following stone paths, rounding dark corners until he’d found his way inside the resort’s hotel.
He consulted a directory to collect his bearings before heading down a nearby hallway, elegantly lit with crystal sconces installed every few feet along the white walls.
He prayed no one would see him, that he wouldn’t see anyone either. Thankfully, the hall was empty. No one moving in and out of their rooms, no one going or leaving through the solid wooden doors, each marked with brass numbers.
Was that what he’d said?
Connor replayed the moment again and again in his mind, but he couldn't be sure. It happened so quickly.
He’d been standing with Simmons, Don Wehr, Melissa Fortin, Tremblay’s daughter, that much was still clear. Nate had gone off to talk to Berkshire, and then Nate was staring at him. Crossing over to him.
Saying his room number and walking away.
You don’t know it’s his room number - but Connor knew that look. He’d been on the receiving end of that look four times in his life.
The last man to look at him like that… well, that had been so long ago now, before everything had gone wrong and bitter between them.
Not to mention, Nate wasn’t anything like Devore.
Not that it mattered. Connor knew that much. He was just another mistake in a long line of them. But Connor never had been all that great at picking and choosing which mistakes not to make.
He took the stairs up to the second floor, hesitating only a moment before his feet led him down the carpeted hallway, past the numbered doors in descending order.
231, 229, 227…
And there it is, 221. Right at the end of the hallway.
Connor found himself stopping in front of the door, studying it like there might be some hint as to whether or not he’d imagined this.
But it was nondescript, as normal as all the others.
There was even a Do Not Disturb placard hanging from the handle.
Connor raised his hand to knock before hesitating, gaze landing on that placard.
Do Not Disturb.
If this was Nate’s room, then, could it be that he changed his mind? That he decided he didn’t want Connor stopping by at all?
Or was it meant for someone else to read, so that he and Connor wouldn’t be disturbed?
He wasn't sure, and that had Connor giving pause.
Perhaps it would be better to text Nate, confirm that he heard what he heard, that his intentions were being read correctly.
But no, that would be an even worse idea than just knocking and trying his luck.
He’d be risking, well, documentation. A paper trail.
And that would be a deadly mistake for them both.
Down the hall, he heard a slam, peals of laughter, raised voices.
Shit.
Now or never, Connor decided, and he knocked twice at the door. He expected–well, he expected a lot of things. He expected to be ignored, to be discovered, to be questioned by the stranger undoubtedly trying to sleep in room 221 and then have to retreat back to his own hotel in shame.
But what he didn’t expect, even in all of his delusional hope and selfish interest, was that Nate might actually be there, opening the door for him.
And yet, there he was.
The same Nate as ever, just a little dressed down. His tie abandoned, the first few buttons of his shirt undone. Scruff was already growing at his jaw, his neck, his cheeks. It probably grew too fast for him to bother shaving daily.
“You came,” Nate said, like he was in disbelief.
“So I did,” Connor replied, taking another glance down the hall. No one was coming yet, but they would be.
Nate ushered him in without another word. There was a kind of finality that came with the sound of the door closing, though Connor did his best not to think about that. Instead, he turned his attention to Nate’s room.
His suite, more accurately.
Dazzling tile floors, multiple plush rugs in warm reds, oranges, and yellows. Floor to ceiling curtains along the entire length of the room, a set of overstuffed armchairs across a stylish cream loveseat. Clear glass coffee table. And–was that a bar?
Not a hotel mini-bar, not even close. He saw bottles of whiskey, scotch, wine, bourbon, each in labeled bottles on a glass shelf, accompanied by carefully arranged crystal glasses.
Double French doors separated the suite’s social function from what he assumed might be the bedroom just beyond.
Connor sucked in a breath, turning back to face Nate.
So I'm here. What do you plan to do with me?
And in that way of his, Nate seemed to read his mind, knowing exactly what Connor was thinking. Better yet, he was the one making the first move, crossing the distance between them and building bridges the way he always did.
“Can… Can I get you a drink?” He asked, moving towards the bar, away from the door. No longer between Connor and his way out, if he wants a way out.
“Hm? Oh. Yeah. You can get me a drink.” Connor played it off as cool as he could, taking in the suite instead of looking at Nate.
A drink was the last thing he needed, but it would give him something to do with his hands, something to hold while he tried to get his head on straight.
Nate stepped over to the bar, glasses clinking as he pulled two from the shelf, considering what was available.
“I should have asked but–water, right?”
“Water is perfect,” Connor said, shoulders dropping in relief. Nate is offering him the glass, though he’s still wearing a nervous smile. Connor accepted it and took a sip, before glancing around the room again. “Quite the accommodations. Know anyone around you?”
“I haven’t seen anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.”
It was. Connor felt himself relax, taking another sip of his water. Cool. Refreshing. Wetting his suddenly parched dry mouth.
“What about your dad?” He asked, but Nate made a face.
“Not sure. Haven’t seen him, either. Not since–not that it matters.” Nate seemed to look past Connor for a moment before mirroring him, sipping his own water.
Connor wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling there was more going on there than Nate wanted to admit. That was fine. It was reality, and reality didn’t need to intrude here.
“Wanna sit?” Nate offered.
“Sure.”
He considered one of the armchairs for a moment before taking a seat at the edge of the loveseat, giving him an expectant look.
But Nate wasted little time before sitting beside him, seemingly careful to give him space.
If he wanted space. Connor wasn’t sure he did, though he crossed his legs, resting an ankle against his knee as he considered Nate over the rim of his glass.
“You really gave a great performance,” he said after a long moment. The compliment seemed to bolster Nate’s confidence as he sat up a little straighter.
“Thanks. I mean, I don’t think I could have done it without you. You made all of this happen.” Nate smiled behind his own glass, something warm and inviting there in his dark eyes. Just a flicker of what Connor had seen out on the terrace. “I’ve gotta wonder. Is there anything you can’t do?”
Plenty, Connor thought. He couldn’t seem to move up the ladder, for one. And even if he did, there was no chance he'd ever give a performance as good as the one Nate did.
No, Connor was looking right in the face of everything that he wasn’t able to accomplish.
So why didn’t that piss him off?
Why was it that he looked at Nate and felt admiration?
“Wouldn't you like to know?” Connor asked as he leaned back against the loveseat, an elbow against the armrest. The devil stood before him, offering his hand for a dance. And he would never dream of being so rude as to reject an offer like that.
For all the vices he managed, this was one temptation he could never deny. A handsome man with a bit of power, it was too forbidden, too good. And here he was repeating patterns he knew would only lead to trouble.
But God, he couldn't stop himself from wanting it all the same.
Behind his own glass, Nate’s lips curled into a smirk.
“I think I would,” he said, those dark eyes looking Connor up and down.
He'd never been more enchanted, charmed, about to do something he'd really regret…
A door slammed. Not in Nate's suite, maybe his neighbor returning for the night. Connor could hear creaking from the room next door, maybe voices if he really concentrated.
And that was enough to break the spell.
What was he doing?
He sipped his water, desperate for something to do with his hands, his mouth, anything other than taking this further.
Still, Nate mirrored him, those dark eyes following his every move. He licked his lips, hungry, like a predator. And Connor had never felt more like a rabbit, heart pounding in his ears.
Not that he was unfamiliar with having someone's eyes on him like this. Hell, he liked it. Connor couldn't remember a time when he hadn't felt a little thrill when he noticed a man looking at him, his intentions written in the bulge between his thighs.
But he wasn't a meek, submissive prey animal, either. Connor knew how to take back his power, and he did that just now.
With a clink, he set his glass down, giving Nate a stern look.
Well, it was a look he could only hope was stern, praying his fortitude might be stronger than his desires.
“This isn't a good idea,” Connor said, perhaps more to himself than to Nate. “You inviting me here. Me being here.”
I should leave, he thought but didn't say.
Nate didn’t need him stating the obvious.
“I know.” The easy way Nate said that should have been irritating. It wasn't. “This is really dangerous.”
“It is,” Connor agreed. “It's dangerous for both of us.”
Which is why I should leave, he thought. Thought, but didn't say, because it wasn't what he wanted. No, what Connor wanted was to trace up the length of Nate’s throat with his lips, to feel rough stubble over warm skin until they were kissing, kissing until they were both dizzy.