Taylor scowled at Bradley’s machine-precise cursive, propped the envelope against the coffee machine, where Will couldn’t miss it, and turned his attention to their phone messages. Not much excitement there either—mostly those annoying “Hello? Hello?” spam calls.
No question life was quieter now that they were civilians. But that wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, knowing odds were good they’d both live to make old bones was one of the best things about their sudden career change. And landing the Webster Fidelity account was a huge coup. It was the kind of thing they had been talking about since they’d opened shop.
So why this sense of almost…letdown?
He shook off the feeling impatiently. He was just tired. They both were. Plus, red meat did not really agree with him, and they were eating a lot of red meat lately. Will gravitated to meat and potatoes when he was stressed. And yes, they were stressed. They’d be stupid not to be. Although Will was equally energized. Will had really wanted the Webster Fidelity account, and he’d worked his ass off to land it. He’d been jubilant today. Whereas Taylor…
Well, naturally he was jubilant too. He just wasn’t used to feeling out of his element, and he’d definitely felt out of his element at that afternoon’s meeting.
Besides which, if he’d wanted to work in the corporate world, he’d have taken his stepfather Richard up on one of his many offers to join the family firm.
But what was the use in thinking like this? Taylor shook off his reflections. The main thing he had wanted was for him and Will to be working together again, so what did it matter what the job was?
It didn’t.
He washed up the breakfast dishes left in the sink, showered, tossed a load of laundry into the washing machine. Will and Riley were still not back by the time Taylor finally climbed into bed. He stretched out on the king-size mattress with a groan of relief. His body was not designed to sit on its ass all day in a conference-room chair.
Absently, he listened to the wet thump of the washer, staring at the ceiling, considering Ashe’s sudden reappearance.
It was odd.
Will was right about that. But Ashe had always been a little odd. Or maybe odd wasn’t the right word.
Okay, yeah, odd. And impulsive. And kind of careless. Easy to see how he had made a bad situation worse with Mike Zamarion and his crew.
But Ashe was also smart, funny, good company, and surprisingly easygoing. Most of the time. The sex had been crazy good. Sometimes just crazy. But mostly really good. Their twelve-hour marathon of goodbye sex had been the best in Taylor’s life—up to the point of Will.
Of course, that was first love for you. Mostly on Ashe’s part, but Taylor had loved him. In his way. Admittedly, back then, his way had been pretty self-serving. So what? They had been two horny young college guys. Nobody had plighted their troth or anything.
What had Ashe been doing living in Europe?
Taylor hoped he was not making the wrong choice by insisting they could handle Ashe’s case and still deliver for Webster Fidelity. He did not want to let Will down.
Will.
That was another point of concern.
Will had definitely not warmed to Ashe. He was not jealous by nature, even if he did suffer the occasional flash of insecurity when it came to Taylor’s sexual past. It had to be his concerns about Taylor’s decision to take on additional work when they were already stretched so thin. A legit worry. It was Taylor’s responsibility to make sure Will’s qualms remained unrealized.
They were in a good place right now—it had taken effort to get there—and he did not want to jeopardize that. However, not to hold on to old grudges, but Jesus, didn’t he deserve some room to maneuver, given how much latitude he’d given Will over good old Lt. Commander David Bradley? Not to mention a few other missteps by his partner that he was doing his best to forget?
But maybe he was anticipating problems where there weren’t any. There was every possibility he’d get Ashe’s situation sorted out within a day. Certainly, before the end of the week. If there was one thing more than a decade in the DSS had taught him, it was that most problems were solved through communication. Diplomacy in Action.
He blinked sleepily against the increasing weight of his eyelids.
First thing he was going to do was find out for sure whether there really was an arson report…
He came awake when the mattress dipped beneath Will’s weight. The room and hallway beyond were in total darkness, the gap in the curtains offering a glimpse of stars and Will’s pale outline easing down beside him.
Taylor mumbled, “What time is it?”
“Shh,” Will soothed. “Still plenty of nighttime.”
Good news because sleep was in short supply these days. Even so, he was coming back to alertness, aware that it was much later, that Will had been gone hours.
Will must have had a lot to think about that evening, must have put in several miles of sandy contemplation. Or he’d been making phone calls he didn’t want Taylor to overhear.
“Everything okay?”
“Everything’s good.” Will kissed him. It was a soft kiss. Tender. Almost apologetic. Was Will sorry for being gone so long or for the things he had been thinking while he’d been gone so long?
“You sure?” Taylor put his hand against Will’s cheek—Will’s eyes were a gleam in the shadows.
“I’m sure.” Will kissed him again, and Taylor responded with quick, ready hunger—there were more important things than sleep, after all.
The rough velvet of their jaws rubbed against each other, the butterfly flutter of eyelashes brushing eyelashes, the warm bump of noses and mouths…and other things.
“Sorry,” Will whispered. “Sorry for being a jerk this evening.”
Taylor moved his head in negation. “No. You were right. It wasn’t only
