His face warm, Shawn determinedly avoided looking at Rutledge. “I wasn’t making noises.”
“You were!” Bee said, looking puzzled. “Lying is bad! You said so!”
Emily nodded. “And why did Mr. Rutledge put his tongue in your mouth?”
“Because your brother wanted something to suck on,” Rutledge commented, starting the engine.
Flushing, Shawn kicked him on the shin, but to his surprise, the twins seemed satisfied with the explanationand started talking about something else.
He settled back into his seat.
Shawn didn’t look at Rutledge. He couldn’t.
He was still warm all over, his skin tight and his breathing uneven.
Fuck. What was happening to him?
* * *
“So, what’s the deal with your dad?”
They had been driving for over an hour and the girls were asleep.
Rutledge’s eyes were fixed on the road ahead. “Since when is it your business?”
“I don’t know,” Shawn said, not without sarcasm. “You’re dragging me—and my family—to your father’s house, uninvited. Something tells me he won’t be happy to see us.”
“He won’t. But if it makes you feel better, he won’t be happy to see me, either.”
Shawn leaned back in his seat and studied his profile. “I thought he invited you.”
Rutledge chuckled. It was a chilling sound. “My father would never swallow his pride and invite me. Fifteen years ago, he said I would come crawling back when I ran out of money. He hates being wrong.”
Shawn’s eyes widened. “You mean you haven’t been home in fifteen years?”
“And I’d gladly stay away for fifteen more years. I’m still not convinced my sister isn’t lying about his health. That old bastard will outlive us all.”
Shawn was a little disturbed. What did Rutledge’s father do to deserve such hatred from his own son?
“Um, did he beat you when you were a kid?”
The corner of Rutledge’s mouth twitched. “Joseph Rutledge would never do something so plebeian.”
“Ah.” Shawn hesitated. “Did he kick you out because of your sexuality?”
Rutledge’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter. “He never kicked me out. I left myself.”
Shawn could sense it was more complicated than that. If Rutledge’s father wanted his son to marry some woman, it meant he still hadn’t accepted his son’s sexuality; he probably thought it was something “curable.” But since Shawn didn’t know Rutledge’s father, he could only speculate.
“What’s he like?”
Rutledge shrugged slightly. “Typical old money. Proud, high-handed, and inflexible.”
“Hmm, he reminds me of someone, then.”
Rutledge visibly stiffened.
Shawn took in the tense set of his wide shoulders, the aggressive jut of his profile. The five o’clock shadow gave him a rugged, rougher look. Shawn’s eyes trailed down Rutledge’s arms, from his biceps straining beneath the sleeves of his shirt to the fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary.Shawn licked his dry lips, staring at Rutledge’s hands. He remembered them gripping his chin, his neck—
