And Call Me in the Morning (11 page)

“I was married once.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Who said stop?” Zane nudged his toe into Eli's ribs.

Eli had been in the process of sliding Zane's left shoe off his foot. Both were propped in his lap, Zane sitting perpendicular to him on the far end of the couch. He'd done this before, the technique learned to impress girls a long time ago, but Zane was an absolute, shameless whore when it came to massages of any sort. He'd hoped to rub away the last lingering traces of Zane's inner turbulence over the clinic, at least for the night. Should have known that with Zane, once you oiled his joints, anything could happen.

Slowly Eli picked up Zane's foot and dug the pads of his thumbs into the sole. “I trust there's more to this story. You know about Marybeth, and I don't know about—what was her name?”

“Mmm.” Zane closed his eyes and arched his back, almost wriggling like a cat with the pleasure of being touched. He laughed and pressed his half-f tumbler of brandy to his cheek. “I actually don't remember.”

“Oh, now see, now I don't feel quite as bad about never hearing this story before.” Eli tweaked Zane's big toe. “So tell me about her.”

“Paris,” Zane said, gazing at the ceiling and lost in memory. “I think I was twenty-two. Just graduated from college and on a temporary AWOL from the family before med school.”

Eli listened and worked at the same time. Zane looked wistful somehow, nostalgic and strangely small. “She must have been pretty,” he said.

“That's the thing. She really wasn't. Except, she was. No. She had something compelling about her. If you saw her on the street and she didn't say a word, you'd walk right on by.” Zane sipped his brandy. “Once she looked at you and spoke to you,
bam
. You were hooked.”

Eli chuckled to himself. “Sounds like someone I know.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.” When Eli looked to him, curious as to whether or not Zane was being sarcastic, Zane was as serious as a judge.

To that, Eli didn't know what to say.

“We were together three nights. No, four. If you count the first one, when I was drunk, stoned, who knew what.” Zane began to grin, looking backward at the wild child he'd been. “I don't remember how we met, just that suddenly she was there, laughing at me, calling me on my 'stupid American bullshit' in that adorable accent. She had her hair in two loose braids, as black as soot. Her eyes, those were pretty. Pale green.”

He fell silent. Eli waited.

“She took me home. I never knew why. Fed me leftover coq au vin and bread and some amazingly bad wine. She was training to be a chef. I'd forgotten that part.”

“What happened?”

Zane's growing warmth in the memory abruptly evaporated. “Three days later, I was on a plane headed for Boston. She wanted me to stay. I had to go. Really don't want to talk about that part of it. The point is I never saw her again, and now I don't remember her name.” He snorted softly. “Pathetic, huh? It wasn't even legal, really, just something one of her friends did. Said a few words and told us we could kiss.”

Eli massaged Zane's tense foot, searching for something to say. “It's still better than most people ever have.”

That brought Zane out of his brown study. “True.” He lifted his glass to Eli. “Then again, sometimes some of us get second time lucky.”

“Dr. Novia, are you trying to charm me?”

“Alas. He's seen through my clever scheme.” Zane leaned his head back. “Maybe? I don't know. I wanted to share something with you, and that was what I had. Felt good to get it out too.”

“Why didn't you ever before?”

“Because I've never told anyone about her.” Zane regarded Eli through slitted eyes. “You're the first. Strawberries,” he said, shifting focus to the lights of the brandy in his glass. “I miss strawberries. Drop a perfect red berry into a flute of pale gold champagne, and you've never seen anything prettier. Sometimes I wish I could nibble on just one. Just to know that taste again, even for a second.”

Eli reached for the glass and took it away, putting it safely out of reach. “If you've had enough to start thinking nostalgia trumps anaphylaxis, you've had too much. I'm cutting you off.”

“Probably right.” Zane stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “I—oh.
Ow
.”

Eli winced at the note of pain Zane reached. He knew the likely cause. “What have I told you before? You get this worked up, your body pays for it. Your back's probably knotted like a bead mat.”

Action followed impulse. Maybe not impulse. As soon as Zane had started talking about this Parisienne who'd stolen his heart, Eli had felt the prickling of something he'd be tempted to call jealousy. If that wasn't completely idiotic.

Not that he cared to analyze too closely. He spread his legs, noticing only now how immediately intimate the position seemed, and pointed at the floor. “Shirt off. I'm already playing massage parlor tonight. I can do your back too.”

Zane's eyes closed in relief and thankfulness. “Best. Friend. Ever.” He scooted in and lowered himself awkwardly. Eli had to help with the shirt. Not that he minded.

Zane's skin was smooth and warm and softer than Eli would have thought. Far less hair on his sleeker chest than Eli's. Funny how everything was slightly different now. Seen through new eyes. He'd meant the massage to be all business. Wasn't quite how it worked out. Instead of hard, fast, and firm, a good pounding to break down the tight spots…instead, Eli couldn't seem to make himself move quickly. He wanted to linger, to trace the graceful sweep from shoulder blades to small, and press his lips to the nape of Zane's neck.

“Hey.” Zane dropped his head against Eli's inner thigh. “It's just me. No one to be scared of. Stay with me, okay?”

Eli huffed out an amused breath. He should have known. Of all the people he could keep secrets from, Zane never had been one of them. “Scared, no. Uncertain, yes. I'm a forty-three-year-old virgin to this, friend.”

“I wouldn't say that.” Zane rolled his head lazily, no doubt not incidentally teasing Eli's interested dick. “You've gone boldly forth, at least a little.”

“I wouldn't call that little.” Eli cupped the top of Zane's head to hold him still. “A man has his pride.”

“Yes, and this specific man is an idiot.” Zane craned around despite the strange angle to twinkle up at Eli, all good humor restored. Eli decided instantly that the price tag of his dignity was worth it. “Besides, how much experience do you think
I
have? Come down here, or I'll come up there.”

Eli's heart rate picked up. He rubbed strands of Zane's hair through thumb and forefinger and stroked over his temples. “And what then?”

“Then we do what we do best. Figure it out together. Or,” Zane said, clumsily climbing to his feet. He offered Eli his hand. “Or we could do this somewhere more comfortable. If you're up for that.”

Eli considered demurring and thought there was absolutely no point in pretending that didn't light his fire. He took Zane's hand and squeezed it wordlessly.

Zane's smile was brilliant.

* * * * *

Zane turned on one bedroom light, just one, the lamp on Eli's bedside table. With its dark shade, it produced only a soft, buttery glow that warmed the room. Eli knew this room like the back of his hand. A place to sleep, and ever since he'd lived here, pretty much nothing more than that.

Not so now.

All of Zane's attention was fixed on Eli, drinking him in slowly with long sweeps from head to toe. A curious fascination and concentration made Eli feel—he wasn't sure how to describe it.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” Zane finally said, the suddenness of his voice making Eli jump. He fingered the buttons on Eli's shirt. “May I?”

What? Oh
. Eli backed up until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he could sit, needing the support. Zane followed him and went down on one knee in the spread vee of Eli's legs.

Zane drew Eli's shirttails out of his belt and began to work his way up the buttons, pausing between each to feather touches over the bare skin beneath. “Eli? Let me take the wheel.” When Eli began to demur, male pride protesting being treated—well, like a woman—Zane shook his head almost firmly, almost vulnerable. “Please. I need this.”

Eli never could say no to Zane. He didn't start now. He swallowed down the last of his trepidations, or tried to, and deliberately ignored the rest until they melted into anticipation that brought butterflies instead of knots to his stomach. He nodded, not trusting his voice, but it was enough.

“Thank you.” Zane pressed a kiss to Eli's chest and stood to push Eli's shirt off his shoulders. Eli shook his arms to let the shirt slide down and off.

A thought occurred to him. Zane could take the reins, but that didn't mean much if the horse didn't want to run. He slid his arm around Zane's waist and tugged lightly. “Down here?”

“Thought you'd never ask.”

They were of a size, he and Zane, Zane perhaps a little smaller and less broad in the shoulders, but he had strength where it counted and he was able to push Eli down on his back in the bed. The comforter smelled familiar to Eli. Soothing. Adding Zane's scent to the mix made it exciting. Cinnamon to coffee, spicier, warmer, slightly exotic but comforting at the same time.

Zane lay half on, half off Eli, one leg thrown over him and the rest of his body weight propped on his elbow. “Come here,” he said, drawing Eli to him.

Eli knew how to kiss Zane now, but it was no less exciting for being familiar. Maybe even more so. Couches and floors, those were great. Beds made everything somehow more real. He found the place he liked best to hold Zane, the flat of his hip and the tight curve of his ass, and kneaded him through the slow, deep kiss.

That wasn't all he did. Somewhere in the middle, when Zane's breath grew tight and Eli could tell he wanted to shift forward, Eli let go of Zane's hip and teased his way around front. He was getting used to finding and feeling the rigidness of a cock instead of the warm softness between a woman's legs. Maybe even liking it better.

No. No maybe about it. Curious to see if it would have the same effect on Zane as it had on him, Eli palmed Zane's dick and pressed in, giving him something to push against.

“
Oh
” tasted sweet from Zane's lips to his, as did his tiny, broken whimper. “Don't stop.”