Chapter 4
Ethan
Ethan continued to study his guest, for lack of a better word.
Jordan didn’t look particularly devastated about being shunned by family and old friends, but then, from what Ethan remembered, his relationship with his uber-religious parents had been complicated even without the homosexuality.
Something about taking over the family business, going into ministry as well.
Teaching anthropology had not been part of the plans they had for their son.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Ethan sipped at his drink, but he didn’t want any more alcohol. He was overwhelmed and wanted to hide under the covers. Worse, he wasn’t a bit sorry that Jordan’s homophobic father was gone from the world.
He knew he should take some time to try and process Jordan’s claim that he still loved him and that he wanted to fall back into Ethan’s life, but Ethan wasn’t sure that was possible.
For one thing, he was kind of a nomad, his job taking him all over the world. It didn’t make relationships easy.
For another, he wasn’t sure he had it in him to trust Jordan the way he once had.
Blindly. But maybe that had been an Ethan issue and not a Jordan issue.
They’d been what, twenty-three? Practically babies.
For his part, Ethan had never felt that way before, all crazy and mixed up in love and wanting to be with someone forever.
Looking back, he didn’t think Jordan had either. It had been a lot.
Rising to his feet, he made his way across the room, setting his half-full glass down on the desk. A waste of decent whisky, but he needed to set some boundaries, something he was terrible at doing.
“I need time to think.”
He heard a shuffle and a creak, presumably Jordan rising from the couch.
Huffing a sigh, Ethan turned to offer a brisk good night and shoo Jordan away before he shut and locked the connecting door behind him.
But Ethan misjudged, or the universe was playing a trick on him.
Jordan was just inches away; if Ethan moved just a little bit, they could be touching.
Oh, boy.
Maybe part of his reaction was due to the alcohol burning through his veins, but that wasn’t all of it. His body was fully on board with closing the distance between them. The hurt of the past had been muted and was fading away even as he stood there staring into Jordan’s eyes.
“Oh,” he said cleverly, as if he didn’t have a PhD.
“Ethan?”
The way Jordan whispered his name reminded Ethan of the crack heard in the distance before an avalanche became an avalanche. The hint of a warning. Stay still and nothing would happen, move and all was lost.
He started to say something, to protest—except it would’ve been a lie. He wanted Jordan as much as he ever had. Maybe more because it had been so long since he’d had anyone. No partner in years, no one serious.
A hush fell across the room, a calm before the typhoon.
If anyone asked him later, Ethan was going to blame anything that happened on that fucking Irish sweater.
Staring into Jordan’s deep blue eyes, he canted forward, almost like cliff-diving into the ocean, erasing the trivial distance between their bodies.
Ethan accepted the avalanche.
Jordan may have whispered, “You’re sure about this?
” but Ethan wasn’t sure, so he didn’t answer.
And if Jordan was referring to a future together, then no, Ethan definitely wasn’t sure.
But he was sure he wanted this right now.
Damn, just having their fingers touch briefly had sent Ethan into a tailspin of physical need.
Nothing had changed. He’d missed Jordan for almost twenty years.
“Jesus, Ethan.”
Jordan’s hands slid underneath the boring merino wool V-neck sweater Ethan wore, his fingers lightly grazing Ethan’s skin. He shivered, or maybe that was Jordan.
“Is this okay? I’m only hanging on by a thread here,” Jordan said.
“Yes, this is okay,” Ethan snapped. “If you stop now, I promise I will murder you.”
Jordan chuckled.
One of his strong hands slipped up the arch of Ethan’s spine while the other teased along the waist of his boring slacks. For his part, Ethan cupped Jordan’s jaw and swept his lips across Jordan’s. Once, twice, three times.
So easy. So good.
He couldn’t help but brush his thumbs across the five o’clock stubble covering the lower half of Jordan’s face. Jordan never had been able to keep himself clean-shaven, and Ethan had loved it.
“Still setting the razor at two?” he teased.
“Fuck off,” Jordan murmured, claiming Ethan’s mouth with authority, effectively hushing him.
Ethan had once read somewhere that a person’s scent attracted or deterred sexual partners.
If that was the case, the scent of Jordon Ferguson was his kryptonite.
Ethan had no problem refusing men who just wanted to hook up.
No was one of his favorite words. But he couldn’t even pronounce that word when Jordan was in the room.
Jordan’s teasing hand slipped into the back of Ethan’s slacks, and he pulled Ethan even tighter against him. There was no hiding either of their reactions.
Pulling away, Jordan said, “Bed?”
Ethan nodded without hesitation.
A still familiar wicked grin spread across Jordan’s face. Then he grabbed Ethan’s hand and led him the three steps back to the overly plush queen-sized tester bed with its four carved mahogany posts draped with red velvet fabric.
“When I first walked into the lobby, I had the thought that there’d been a close-out sale on red velvet,” Ethan said. “All inventory must go.”
“No doubt. Nice they got the wallpaper thrown in too.”
Jordan gently pushed down on his shoulder, encouraging Ethan to sit. Ethan lay back, tucking his hands under his head. Smiling again, Jordan climbed onto the bed and trapped Ethan between his knees.
“Is this okay?”
“Yeah.”
For a minute, Jordan just sat back on his haunches.
Ethan had the impression he was trying to read Ethan’s mind, to discern if he was having second thoughts.
He would tomorrow, most likely—Ethan wasn’t going to lie to himself.
But tonight, second thoughts could take a leap into the nearest body of water.
Jordan leaned forward and slowly lowered his body so he lay on top of Ethan, pressing him into the mattress.
“I’ve missed you,” he said before once again claiming Ethan’s mouth.
Luckily, Ethan couldn’t respond. He was too busy tasting, reveling in the feel of Jordan Ferguson. Replacing old memories with new ones.
Waking slowly, Ethan opened his eyes against his better judgment. Muted morning light was trying its hardest to sneak in through the heavy draperies.
He was warm and comfortable, and someone’s strong arm was wrapped around his waist.
It was Jordan’s strong arm, and his face was pressed into the back of Ethan’s neck, slow regular breaths puffing across his skin.
Ethan waited for the panic to rise. Really, what the fuck had happened last night? He’d likened Ryder to a wet tissue, yet hadn’t he himself caved almost immediately, putting up no argument against the very bad idea of sleeping with the man who’d shattered his heart?
He had not. It was a good thing he wasn’t the one confronting suspects at work.
“Quit thinking, you’re waking me up,” Jordan complained, his voice irritatingly raspy and sexy.
“We have a murder to solve today.” Ethan twisted around so that he lay on his back.
“I already figured out who did it,” Jordan stated casually.
Ethan sat up and stared at him. “You did not.”
“Wanna bet me?” Jordan sat up too, stretching his arms over his head and flexing his pecs. “How about we each write down our murderer on pieces of paper and hide them in the room safes? Tonight, after dinner and the ‘unveiling,’ we’ll compare. And then we can decide what the winner gets.”
Without replying, Ethan swung his feet off the bed so he could stand up. He started his morning calisthenics. Feeling Jordan watching him, Ethan threw in a few extra stretches.
“Okay,” he finally said. “We’ll compare guesses after dinner.”
“Mine’s not a guess.”
“Still as arrogant as ever, I see.”
Jordan shrugged and grinned. “When I’m right, I’m right.”
“Alright, put your money where your mouth is.” Ethan cringed inwardly at his response.
Oh, well.
Very aware that they were still both naked, Ethan crossed over to the desk and wrote a name down on the notepad provided by the hotel.
His guess was entirely subjective, mostly because he still had not done anything but scan the murder weekend instructions.
Then he folded the paper twice and turned to look at Jordan.
“Your turn.”
Ethan carefully looked the other direction while Jordan quickly scrawled something on his piece of paper.
“Okay, I’ll put mine in my room safe. You do the same with yours.” Jordan ripped off the page and padded into the adjoining room.
Ethan tossed his correct guess into the safe that was tucked into the back of the closet, spun the dial, and set about getting dressed for the day.
“These people are afflicted,” said Ethan around his tuna salad sandwich.
Over the past few hours, he’d carefully avoided thinking about last night with Jordan.
About Jordan in general. They’d dutifully moved from clue to clue, taking notes and eavesdropping on other players’ conversations.
The dining room was about half-full of amateur detectives, all talking about crime scenes and clues.
Jordan nodded. “It’s intense. You’d think there’d been a real murder.” He nodded his head toward a threesome having a hissing argument at the table across from them. “This is supposed to be fun, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a few people stop talking to each other.”
“Didn’t the instructions have something about plants?” Ethan asked.
“Like what, a ficus?”
“No, you idiot man,” Ethan said, not being able to stop himself from smiling. “I think some of the supposed guests are actually in on the game.”
Jordan’s cheeks now had a pink hue to them. “Oh, duh. I forgot.”
“You didn’t read the packet at all, did you?” It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t made it through the thing.
“Maybe I had other things on my mind, better things to worry about,” he said, staring directly into Ethan’s eyes.
Looking down, Ethan set the remainder of his sandwich on the plate in front of him. Apparently, they were going to talk about this. The problem was, he couldn’t come up with an argument against letting Jordan back into his life.
He’d had the best night of sleep since he could remember. They still fit together like the last two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. As he had back in the day, Jordan made Ethan laugh—even during sex. Which had also been incredible. It was almost as if they hadn’t spent the last eighteen years apart.
Ethan forced himself to look back up. Jordan’s eyes were still on him, and he shifted in his seat.
“Just a chance, Ethan. A chance to prove that I won’t fuck up again—at least not so monumentally. I guarantee I will do something stupid. I think it’s in my genetic makeup.”
“Can we just finish this assignment? Solve the murder, although I already have, and…” He shrugged, not knowing how to finish the sentence.
“That’s not a no,” Jordan said with a Cheshire cat smile.
Ethan rolled his eyes. “It’s not a no.”
Give Jordan Ferguson an inch and he’d take a mile, but Ethan wasn’t sure that he didn’t want to give it anymore. All the inches, all the miles, whatever Jordan wanted.
Ethan was facing the dining room’s entrance as the ma?tre d’ or whatever he was strode in with a small gong and padded mallet.
The gong sounded, and Jordan gave a comical jumpstart.
“What the hell?” he demanded, looking behind him.