A Taste of You (14 page)

Garrett’s arms banded around him tight, so tight that Carlo could imagine Garrett wanted to find him, too, that the need wasn’t all on his side. He held Garrett close, opened his mouth, and let Garrett take whatever he wanted.

Garrett’s kiss was a brand, a possession, a burning need. “Nothing changes between us.” Not a question.

Carlo, drugged with desire, didn’t know what the words meant. He knew only that nothing on earth could separate him from Garrett. New restaurants. New partners. A continent. It wouldn’t be enough. He would still be Garrett’s.

Garrett’s hands were busy tugging at their clothes. Carlo wanted to help, but he couldn’t seem to make his hands work. They just clutched on whatever he could find to hold Garrett next to him.

Garrett finally got both their shirts off, and the feel of skin on skin made Carlo shake with need. Suddenly the remaining clothes were unbearable, painful barriers separating them. He almost fell over trying to get his shoes off without taking his mouth off Garrett.

“This way.”

He wouldn’t have made it the few steps to the sofa without Garrett guiding him. Nothing mattered except touching as much of Garrett as he could. Then the clothes were gone. Garrett pressed him back into the cushions, and they were touching everywhere. Garrett had one arm around him, under his waist, holding them tight together again. Their hips thrust in unison, grinding their straining cocks together. Garrett bent his head and fastened his mouth on Carlo’s neck. Carlo buried his nose in Garrett’s hair, breathing in sugar and vanilla as lightning streaked through his body.

Time didn’t exist. Identity shattered. Consciousness existed only in the touch of skin against skin.

Garrett reached between them, joined them with his hand so there was no separation at all, and the sensation became too much.

“Garrett?” He didn’t know what he was asking, but Garrett answered.

“Yes. With me. Come with me now, Carlo.”

Carlo’s body responded as if it had been waiting for the words. In the moment the universe exploded, there was a second of connection, of love, of yes, we are one.

****

Of course, in the next moment, everything was all sticky spunk and stickier insecurities. Garrett got up almost immediately, making noises about getting ready to go in for the dinner shift early. Carlo lay on the couch and watched him gathering up the clothing scattered around on the floor.

He didn’t want to ask the question. He wasn’t a sixteen-year-old girl. But he needed to know.

“Garrett, why are you mad at Joey for calling you my boyfriend?”

“I’m not mad.”

“So you don’t mind being my boyfriend.”

Garrett picked up his shirt without looking at Carlo. “Joey can say whatever he wants. We’re not boyfriends.”

Okay. He should have kept his mouth shut, but he couldn’t stop picking at the wound.

“What are we then?”

“I don’t know.” Garrett picked up Carlo’s shirt and threw it at him with a little more force than necessary. “Friends. Partners. Whatever we always were. Why do we have to change it?”

“It seems like some things have changed.”

Garrett finally turned and faced him.

“Well, they haven’t. We’re not boyfriends, Carlo. Don’t mess this up by making it something it’s not. Nothing has changed between us, and nothing is going to change.”

And with those words, Garrett headed for the shower.

Carlo touched the mark on his neck. His shirt collars didn’t come that high.

“We’re practically living together, Garrett,” he said to the empty room. “We’re fucking like bunnies. Things have changed.”

Chapter Eleven

Garrett’s flight was delayed. He sat alone in a corner of the first-class lounge feeling bored and sorry for himself. The bartender, who should have made a nice distraction, had been extra solicitous. The man was pretty—olive skin, silky black hair, pouty mouth, and a firm, round ass displayed under his hideous black polyester pants. Pouty Mouth made it clear that he was available for
anything else
Garrett required.

Garrett considered the idea but couldn’t work up any enthusiasm. Pouty was a little too slender and looked like the type who depilated everywhere. Garrett had developed a taste for a more mature physique these days and the delicious abrasion of short, curly hair against his skin.

Still, the idea had merit. He shifted to get a better look at the room. Straight, straight, straight, too old, too boring. Cute, but looked like he knew it. None of them were even worth flirting with. Just his luck.

The concept sketches his designer had sent him for the interior of Ransom West also failed to hold his attention. He tried to visualize his new restaurant, but instead he kept seeing that dump of a place in Brooklyn. If that weren’t annoying enough, Carlo’s face kept imposing itself over everything.

And why should that annoy him? Thoughts of Carlo were nice, pleasurable.
Hot
. He
liked
thinking about Carlo—sexy dark brown eyes ringed with sinfully thick lashes, full lower lip, the plump flesh just begging him to suck on it. And let’s not forget the
taste
of those lips and the even more intense flavor waiting behind them.

Except lately Carlo’s eyes had been guarded, his lips tight. Unhappy. Possibly Garrett’s fault in some way, although he didn’t know how. He never quite knew how he precipitated the disasters his relationships became.

Bloody hell.

Garrett snapped his laptop closed and looked at his watch. Carlo should be back home by now.

He picked up his phone. Put it down. They had already told each other good-bye.

He did these trips all the time. This time was no different. Well, it was different in that he had spent last night at Carlo’s apartment saying pre-good-byes for a very long time.

And, this morning, Carlo, who knew Garrett wouldn’t eat anything found at an airport or on a plane, had made him breakfast. A proper English breakfast, too—poached eggs, grilled tomatoes, a rasher of bacon, thick slices of toast. Carlo had obviously planned ahead and shopped for the ingredients he knew Garrett would want. He had cooked and arranged everything exactly the way Garrett liked it without grumbling once about the extra effort all the details required. In a show of solidarity, he had even traded his morning coffee for a pot of Garrett’s favorite breakfast tea.

Garrett’s fingers drummed restlessly on the table next to him. He moved his hand off the table and into his lap.

Carlo hadn’t complained about anything. Maybe the long faces were nothing to do with Garrett at all. In which case, why hadn’t Carlo vented to Garrett about whatever was eating at him?

He picked up the phone again. Put it down. He would only be gone for a week. He was gone months when he was filming. There was no need to worry about what Carlo would be up to while he was gone. This was business as usual.

Carlo was
fine
, just like he always was.

Except he
hadn’t
been fine before, a voice in Garrett’s head reminded him. Carlo had been dating some asshole who had made him unhappy. The same way he was unhappy now, even though he hadn’t come out and said so.

And soon Garrett would be leaving for longer. They would be apart for a good bit of a year until he had Ransom West running smoothly enough that he could leave it for long periods in someone else’s hands.

He picked up the phone again. Started a text. Erased it. Started another. Deleted that.

What the hell was wrong with him today?

His finger hovered over Carlo’s phone contact then moved and punched the voice chat button. He just needed to see his face again, just to reassure himself that everything was okay.

It wasn’t Carlo who answered.

“Yo, asshole. Thought you was in California?”

Joey beamed out of the phone at him in state-of-the-art HiDef.

Garrett scowled back.

“I called Carlo. Where is he?” But Garrett knew—Brooklyn, where he seemed to be spending every minute they weren’t together.

“He’s in the back. Whatcha need? I’ll pass a message.”

“I’d like to speak to Carlo. Fetch him, please.”

“All right, already. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

The view wobbled wildly as Joey waved the phone in the air. “Carlo! Garrett wants you.”

There was a nice shot of the moldy ceiling, and then Carlo appeared.

“Hey, Sweets. What’s up? Your flight get cancelled? You need me to come get you?”

Carlo looked fine. Better than fine. Flushed. Happy.

“No. Just delayed.”

“You okay?” Now Carlo looked worried. Go figure.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.” Carlo blinked into the camera. “You don’t usually call. Freaked me out.”

“I call.” Carlo was his best friend. Of course he called him. All the time.

“No. You text. You send pictures with notes. You email stuff for Ransom. You don’t call. We do the video thing once a week while you’re filming. Otherwise you only call if there’s a crisis.”

“There’s no crisis.”

“You’re just waiting for your plane?” Carlo sounded doubtful.

“
Yes
, Carlo. I’m just waiting for my flight. I wanted to talk to you. Is that so weird?” Because he was pretty sure he called Carlo all the time. More than he called anyone else, anyway.

“No, no.” His tone said, yes, definitely weird. “So, what do you want to talk about?”

Shit.
He didn’t know. Or maybe he did.

Behind Carlo, Garrett could see Joey poking at something in the ceiling with a broom handle. He had his back to them, but Garrett had the feeling he could still hear them.

“Isn’t there any place more private?”

Carlo glanced back over his shoulder at Joey. “Yeah, okay.” A second later Joey disappeared as Carlo made his way into the next room and closed the door.  There was no furniture, but Carlo sat on the floor and leaned back against a wall.

“Okay. I’m here. What’s up?” He looked worried again, as though he was ready to give his full attention to whatever Garrett wanted to say.

“Carlo, I’m
fine
. I’m waiting for my flight. I’m bored. Stop worrying.”

“Okay. So why do we need the privacy?” Carlo suddenly got even more focused. His eyes went dark. “You alone? You want to ah….” He quirked one eyebrow.

Did Garrett want to what?

“’Cause I miss you already, too, babe.”

Oh.
Oh
. “Christ.
No
. I’m in the lounge at the airport.” Although now Carlo had put the thought in his head….

And,
of course
, Pouty Mouth picked that moment to cruise by and ask if Garrett was sure he didn’t need anything else
at all
.

By the time Garrett got rid of him and turned back to his phone, the heat had gone out of Carlo’s eyes, and he looked only vaguely interested in continuing the conversation. What a mess.

They stared at each other for a few awkward seconds. Garrett searched desperately for something to say. This shouldn’t be so hard, talking to Carlo. But he had never been good at this type of thing.

He could see the big #
fail
looming over their relationship. Not acceptable. His fingers were drumming on the table again. Despite sitting all the way across the room from it, he could smell the food on the courtesy buffet. His stomach turned at the thought of the limp, overly sweet pastries filled with colored sugar and sitting out for hours.

He was mucking this up, and no matter what he had told himself when it started, Carlo would be hurt. Not acceptable at all. He took a deep breath.

“I just called because….” Because why? Why was it so hard to say the words?

“I know, Garrett. You’re bored. What do you want from me?”

“I won’t be seeing anyone else while I’m in California.”

Carlo cocked his head to one side, and some of the focus came back into his eyes.

“Okay?”

Okay?
Okay?
What did that mean? Wasn’t Carlo supposed to say something along the lines of how he wasn’t interested in seeing anyone else either?

“Well?” Garrett prompted.

“Well, what? Babe, you made it real clear the other night that I’m not your boyfriend. Now you want us to be exclusive? Is that where this is going?”

Garrett nodded.

“But we’re not boyfriends?”

Someone had sucked all the air out of the first-class lounge. Why did they have to label it? He didn’t
know
what they were, just that he didn’t want anyone but Carlo.
#Fail
flashed in front of his eyes. He shook his head.

Carlo stared at him out of the tiny phone screen. State-of-the-art HiDef failed to convey exactly what he was thinking. Finally, he blew out a breath, and his face softened.

“Shit. You know I’m not sleeping with anyone but you, babe.”

“Okay,” Garrett whispered. The air was back, but still thin and hard to breathe. He might still suffocate.

“Anything else you want to get off your chest?”

Garrett shook his head.

“C’mon, babe. Don’t look so panicked. I’m not seeing anyone else. You’re not seeing anyone else. We’re on the same page. Hey”—Carlo wiggled his eyebrows suggestively—“you want to find someplace private and we can see a little more of each other?”

They were okay. He didn’t know how, but the
#fail
sign had retreated, at least for now.

Suddenly Garrett wanted to ditch his flight and do more than fool around on video chat. He checked the departure monitor because if they were delayed even one more time….
Now Boarding
.

“I have to go,” he said regretfully. “But maybe you’re right. I should call more often. Tonight?”

“Have a safe trip, Garrett.”

Carlo’s face had gone serious again, but not tense like before. Something else. Something that Garrett couldn’t name but gave him the same peace he found in the kitchen when all the ingredients came together in a perfect dish.