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When it became obvious neither of them was going to speak, Jason turned painfully onto his side and closed his eyes.
r /> Maybe he could try counting sheep. Or maybe he should try counting the still-missing art works Fletcher-Durrand was surely responsible for…
He nearly jumped when Sam touched his shoulder. Maybe it was Jason’s imagination, but he felt there was something apologetic, almost a longing in that tentative touch.
He was still unhappy, still a little angry with the way that conversation had gone, but he couldn’t rebuff Sam’s overture. It just wasn’t in him.
He rolled onto his back, reaching for Sam. Sam’s hot mouth covered his hungrily, and Jason answered that hunger with his own demand.
The sex was fast, almost frantic. There had been too many recent near misses of all kinds. The bed sounded like it was going to come apart under them, frame squeaking, mattress pinging as they rocked and humped. Sam’s foot knocked Jason’s ankle twice, and even those wrenches of unexpected anguish felt faraway and unimportant in the wake of his driving need for Sam, for whatever Sam could give him. It was never going to be enough. He already knew that. Their rigid, lunging cocks rubbed together, lubricated by the first silky drops of cum.
The creaking bed and their harsh breathing were the only sounds. The silence between them had a deadly earnest quality to it. Well, Sam was always quiet and intense during sex, but Jason… Usually it was a struggle for Jason to swallow everything he was feeling. Not tonight. Tonight, the slick, sliding friction of skin on skin felt like a serious business, a grave endeavor. The naked closeness, the intimacy of the moment was so sweet, it made him sad. He wished he could make it last forever, that the exquisite pleasure of orgasm could be postponed infinitely and they could dangle here on this cusp like the final drop of a toast.
The only magic I still believe in is love?
Sam groaned. Jason buried his head in his neck, breathing in the smell of bare skin and edgy aftershave. He loved the smell of Sam, and he wanted to hang on to this moment and remember that scent and the sounds Sam made because slowly, reluctantly, Jason was starting to suspect they were not ultimately headed in the same direction.
For now Sam was letting him in, sharing a part of his life, but Jason could imagine too clearly a time when the door would shut again and he would be on the outside.
Sam began to come, and Jason could feel tension pouring from balls and brain, the crazy intimacy of shared breath, shared bodily fluids. Jason let go and came too, came in long, blissful surges. Tears stung his eyes, but he closed his lashes against them, gritted his jaw against any outcry.
I love you. It would be better if I didn’t.
He knew in his heart that a day would come when this would all be past tense.
Someday he would look back and recognize the last time they had made love. Would he know it was the last time, or would the knowledge only come later?
Chapter Ten
He woke to the warm pressure of Sam’s mouth moving on his.
Jason had dreamed of misunderstandings and arguments and goodbyes, so it was a relief to wake to sweet and coaxing kisses.
His lips parted, and he smiled beneath Sam’s mouth, kissed him back. After all, dreams were not premonitions—unless you turned them into that. Sam drew back, smiling that crooked smile.
“Something’s come up.”
Jason considered a couple of smartass comments, but he knew what that glint in Sam’s eyes meant.
He sat up, and Sam sat back. Jason raked the hair out of his eyes. “There’s been a break in the case?”
Sam looked momentarily confused. “No. Not that. Sorry. This is related to my book.”
“Your… Oh, right. Good news or bad?” He’d almost forgotten about Sam’s book. Maybe because until this moment he hadn’t entirely believed the book existed.
“Promising.”
Really? Because that was one wintery smile. “Let me guess. Hollywood wants to make a movie? You just got a TV series?”
Sam snorted, and that disdain did sound genuine. “No. I’ve finally received permission to visit Nelson Bamburg at the high-security federal penitentiary in Florence, Colorado.”
After a moment, Jason said mildly, “Fun times.” It was the best he could manage. He knew about Nelson Bamburg. Bamburg the Baby Killer. It was one of the cases that had established Sam’s reputation as the Bureau’s premier man hunter. The Bamburg chapter in Shadow on the Glass was a big part of the training syllabus on serial killers and mass murders at Quantico. In fact, the title Shadow on the Glass came from the Bamburg case. “I didn’t know you were hoping for a reunion.”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that. But I’ve been trying to reinterview him for about eight years, so I’m hesitant to pass up this opportunity.”
“Why should you?” Jason said. “If you’re worried about me, don’t be. I’m fine right where I am. You need a day or two to interview Bamburg? I say go for it.”
“It’s about a four-hour flight from Cheyenne to Colorado Springs, so depending on how things go, I probably won’t be back until late tomorrow.”
