Andrew’s gaze said he did too.
“Trouble in paradise?”
“Huh?” Andrew blinked at him, as if realizing he’d been staring, and quickly glanced at his phone, while the wine was already half gone in his mug. He frowned at what might have been a text message. “That’s none of your business.”
“Just thought you seemed a little on edge given the time of year.”
“You broke into my house,” Andrew bit back, eyes drifting down Isaac’s body again, which Isaac was taking his time covering with the sweats and T-shirt.
If Andrew was straight, the increasing scarlet to his cheeks said he was at least curious.
“You were the only option available. And I did say thank you.” Isaac made a show of dragging a hand down his chest as he slowly lowered the T-shirt. He wasn’t twenty-five anymore, but the time in prison had tightened his physique nicely. “Unless you’d like me to show my gratitude some other way.”
Andrew took another gulp of wine. “That hard up after eighteen months? Or did your face get you plenty of attention?”
“Are you calling me pretty? How sweet.” Isaac ignored the jab, taking a slow sip from his crystal, because hard up was right; he didn’t bend over for just anyone, not even in lockup.
They both still stood with all the baggage between them littered at Isaac’s feet, as the last of Andrew’s wine tipped down his throat, and he grabbed the bottle from the coffee table.
“Are you going to pick up your mess?”
Isaac did, setting it all in a neat pile in the opposite corner from the Christmas tree with his shoes on top. Andrew had finally settled on the sofa, and Isaac felt his eyes on him the entire time. The wine was keeping Andrew’s cheeks flush, but also loosening his restraint. This was a very dangerous game now, but Isaac did so love to spar when his opponent was worthy.
He joined Andrew on the sofa, right next to him, pushing their boundaries as much as he dared. He had Andrew’s word that his brother would help him get a deal. Andrew was a good sort; he wouldn’t lie. All Isaac had to do was show up at the precinct tomorrow. He might go back to prison, but hopefully only until his release date.
Holding his glass out, Isaac was pleasantly surprised when Andrew brought his forward to clink. “You have good taste.” Isaac nodded to the wine, and then at the nearest bookshelf. “The music surprised me though. Why have records you hate?”
“They were my mother’s too.”
“Did she recently—”
“Five years ago. It’s fine. I like this album better.”
“Not a Duke Ellington fan, or not a jazz fan?”
“This isn’t a social call, Ford.”
“No? And here I thought we had wine at Christmas.” Isaac grinned around his next sip.
“I prefer a singer to be the focus,” Andrew gave in. “Instrumental bores me.”
“Even when it’s talented?”
“Talented noise maybe.”
Isaac clucked his tongue. “You are making it very difficult to keep liking you.”
There was that blush again. “I never get you, Ford. You’re smart, skilled, refined even, but you’ve been a thief all your life. Why?”
“Not admitting I’ve ever stolen more than my conviction implied,” Isaac said with a grin that Andrew rolled his eyes at, “but we don’t all have pleasant suburban upbringings to tout.”
“That’s not fair. You’re just passing the buck for your own choices.”
“You might see it that way. Maybe I just like a challenge.” He caught Andrew’s gaze and slowly cast his eyes downward to show that he was taking in every inch of theformerdetective lounging on his sofa.
“You couldn’t handle me,” Andrew said with a swallow.
“Is that an offer to try?”
