Chapter Three #2
Later, their hands brushed when they both reached for the same chunk of stone.
Damon’s hound did that possessive rumbling thing again, vibrating through his chest, and Damon jerked back, although it was clear Redford had heard it.
Rather than react with fear or concern, Damon heard Redford gasp…
he liked that? But when he spoke, Redford just said a hurried, “Sorry.”
“No, it’s...” Damon ran a hand through his hair. “It’s fine. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Neither did I.” Redford’s voice dropped lower. “I think the contractor was being overly optimistic in his accommodation recommendation. That caravan is not comfortable.”
Damon was fairly sure the feeling twisting in his gut was guilt, although he had no reason to feel that way.
He’d offered his spare room, and Redford declined.
But just imagining the man trying to fold his considerable frame into that tiny caravan was going to haunt Damon’s conscience. He didn’t like it.
Offer again, his hound demanded.
“No.”
“No, what?” Redford frowned, and Damon realized he was not only looking like an idiot, but he was also acting like one. “Nothing, I’m sorry, don’t mind me, I’m still talking to myself. You know, you could…”
“Stone, come and have a look at this.” The architect’s voice echoed through the hall, and Redford shot Damon an apologetic look.
“Duty calls. We’ll finish this later, yeah?”
“Sure.” Damon watched him go, unable to look away from the way Redford strode through the rubble. Damn, that man was a sexy mover. He was so confident, capable...
He’s perfect, his hound offered. A perfectly strong mate.
We don’t know that. I would have to show him my box to know for sure. Although, as Damon kept working, he couldn’t ignore the fact that his hound had never reacted to anyone else like he had to Redford.
You have to admit he’s special and that makes him ours.
“You keep saying that,” Damon mumbled, “but it doesn’t make it true.” It wasn’t like he could just suddenly pop his box out and say, Oh, hey, could you open this for me, please?” Especially not without context. Although his hound thought it would be a good idea.
/~/~/~/~/
Evening came too quickly. The contractors packed up their equipment and drove away, leaving Damon and Redford standing in the courtyard as the sun went down behind the hill. “Thanks for your help today,” Redford said. “It made a real difference.”
“I’m happy to do it.” And Damon meant it. Despite his hound’s constant commentary on things he really didn’t know anything about, Damon had enjoyed himself. Working alongside Redford felt natural, and they definitely seemed to have good chemistry, if nothing else.
Redford’s gaze drifted toward the sad little caravan, and his shoulders dropped just slightly. It was barely noticeable, but Damon caught it anyway. And then again, those words were out before Damon could stop them. “My spare room is still available if you change your mind.”
Redford’s head snapped up, and for a moment hope flared in those dark eyes. But then the look just as quickly disappeared, and Redford’s professional mask slid back into place. “That’s very generous of you, but…”
“It’s not generous, it’s practical.” Damon shoved his hands in his pockets before he grabbed hold of the man and dragged him to his spare room, whether he wanted to be there or not.
“That caravan is going to give you back problems, and you’re going to need a proper shower if you’re doing renovation work all day. ”
“I couldn’t impose.”
“You’re not imposing, I’m offering.” Damon met Redford’s gaze steadily. “Take it or leave it. I’m just saying the door is open.”
Another flash of one of those indecipherable emotions flickered across Redford’s face. Longing, perhaps, but that could just as easily be Damon projecting or whatever it was Blue had called it when Beau had a similar expression. Whatever it was, it was quickly suppressed. “Let me think about it.”
Damon nodded. “Sure thing.” But it was as if they both knew that Redford would decline.
Perhaps we’re both too careful, Damon thought as he retreated to his cottage.
Technically, he is my landlord, so is this one of those human power imbalance things Lamont writes about sometimes?
He built up the fire, made a dinner he barely tasted, and tried to focus on anything except the lights flickering in the caravan outside.
Around midnight, he gave up on pretending to read and moved to the window. The caravan glowed like a lantern in the darkness, and through a small window, he could see Redford’s silhouette moving around - definitely not sleeping.
“We shouldn’t care. He’s not our mate,” Damon said to the empty room. “He would’ve said something if he was.”
His hound didn’t respond, but he kept watching that lit window in a way that made Damon’s chest ache.
It’s going to be a long three months.
The hound rumbled his agreement. Damon pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the window, trying to make sense of his thoughts and feelings, which were not skills hellhounds typically had. It just gave him a headache.
In the caravan, Redford’s light finally went out, but Damon could still feel him out there, a presence in the darkness that pulled at something deep inside Damon’s chest. He stayed at the window long after he should have gone to bed, watching over a man who wasn’t his mate…
probably wasn’t his mate…definitely wasn’t his mate…
His hound’s snort echoed through his skull. You keep telling yourself that.