Chapter Eleven

* * * * *

“Maybe one of us should learn to cook,” I said as Guy dished out teriyaki salmon, vegetable roll, and tofu salad from Japon Bistro.

“You don’t eat enough to make it worth either of our time.” He opened the fridge. “Mineral water?”

I sighed. “I guess.”

His smile was sympathetic as he poured lemon-flavored mineral water into a goblet. “How’d your tests go, luv?”

“I’ve no idea. I don’t see Dr. Cardigan until next week.”

He sat down across from me and said, “Did you think about going away for the weekend?”

“Er…yeah.” I sipped my mineral water. “The thing is --”

“I was thinking of Palmilla Resort,” he said. “It’s right on the ocean. Right between San Jose del Cabo and Cabo San Lucas. Every room has a patio and an ocean view. They’ve got two infinity edge swimming pools, a spa, restaurants -- and a wedding chapel.”

I dropped one of my chopsticks. “Guy…”

“All right.” His smile was rueful. “Don’t panic. I’m not going to push you into anything, but we need this time together, Adrien. You need this time. We can lie in the sun and swim and sleep late and fuck like minks…”

“I’d…like to,” I said, constrained. “But this isn’t a good time.”

He kept smiling, but I could see the effort. “I know exactly what you’re going to say. You’re going to say you can’t leave when you’ve already been out of commission for a couple of weeks, and with the renovations going on next door. But we’re only talking about a weekend. I think Natalie can handle things for two -- two and a half -- days.”

I said, “I’m a suspect in a murder investigation. How’s it going to look if I suddenly pull an O.J. and run for the border?”

“No one could seriously believe you’re a suspect in this bloke’s death. You didn’t even know the man.”

“But I am a suspect, and that’s why…”

“Why what?” he inquired, when I paused.

“Paul Kane asked if I would -- just informally -- talk to a few people.”

I met Guy’s gaze. His eyes were just the color of green when surf hits rock. “What exactly does that mean: ‘informally talk to a few people’? You mean he’s asked you to…investigate?”

“Nothing that formal,” I assured him hastily. “I’m just going to ask a few casual questions. This is apparently a very close-knit and closedmouthed group, and the idea is that they might open up more readily with someone like me.”

“Someone like you? A complete outsider?”

“But Kane is sort of vouching for me.”

Guy put his chopsticks down and folded his arms. “That asshole Riordan would never go for that.”

I said very carefully, “Well, surprisingly, he seems open to the idea provided I keep him updated on anything I learn.”

Guy stared at me as though I’d offered him a bite of my blowfish. “You’re joking.”

I shook my head.

“There’s no way that sonofabitch would be okay with that.”

“Guy!”

He waited, brows knitted, still angry.

I swallowed my first response, made an effort to relax my grip on the stem of my glass. Of course Guy hated Jake -- and my instinctive desire to defend him was just an old bad habit I hadn’t quite managed to break myself of.

“Nothing. Look, I don’t know. I don’t know if this is just Jake’s way of pacifying a media darling like Paul Kane or if he really thinks I might be of help.” I shrugged. “Maybe he’s learned a few things.”

“Maybe he has. I’m surprised you haven’t.”

He seemed to be pushing me toward confrontation, and that was unlike him. “Come on, Guy,” I protested.

“Even if you were well enough to take something like this on --”

“Oh, for chrissake!”

He was staring at me with a look I hadn’t seen on his face for a long time -- two years, to be exact. “You enjoy this, don’t you? I never understood that before.”

“I don’t enjoy it. I’m a suspect, Guy. I can’t just sit here and --”

“Why not? That’s what normal people do. They let the police and the trained investigators deal with this kind of thing.”

He was perfectly right. That was what normal people did.

“I don’t want to argue with you,” I said at last.

“Well, we can add that to the list of all the other things you don’t want to do with me. Like getting married -- or even going away for the weekend.”

“Guy…” I didn’t know what to say to him. This outburst was so out of character, and I knew I was at least partly to blame. He already felt that I kept him at a distance, and my unwillingness to commit, to take our relationship to the next level exacerbated the situation -- and now this: the return of Jake and everything he represented -- probably the things Guy liked least about me.

He shook his head, closing the discussion, and resumed eating. We finished our meal in silence.

We recovered a little amicability during the course of the evening. Guy was grading essays and I was watching some cheesy flick on the Sci Fi Channel -- nothing like a little CGI horror to put your own problems into perspective -- but eventually he was lured over to the sofa by my commentary. Before long he was playing Siskel to my Ebert.

That was one of the nicer things about Guy: he didn’t hold grudges. My first adult lover, Mel, had been a gold medal winner in the long-distance silent treatment. And even Jake had a tendency to revert to terse monosyllables when he was really irritated with me. Guy fought like a civilized person. He didn’t shut me out, and he didn’t try to thrash me into submission.

When we finally went into bed, Guy leaned over me, his mouth finding mine. He tasted like toothpaste with a hint of the plum wine he’d had for dessert. His mouth moved over mine with more insistence than he’d shown recently.

I kissed him back. His long hair feathered lightly across my face and chest. It tickled a bit.

“What do you want?”

What I wanted was to go to sleep -- but I knew how that would go over after our earlier argument. I kissed him back, and tried to put a little energy into it.

His mouth delved mine, his tongue slipped inside, and he murmured something soft and urgent. I murmured in return, stroked his back. His cock pressed into my abdomen, and I reached down to fondle his balls. I could practically feel the rush of heat beneath his skin, and I began to consider strategies for brin,ging him off fast.

He thrust against me. His hand stroked my hip and groin -- and he’d have had to be fairly oblivious not to notice I wasn’t as interested as I ought to be. One thing Guy was not was oblivious.

His hand slowed. Stopped. He leaned back from me, staring at my face, trying to read my expression in the lamplight. He said, “We haven’t made love since you got out of the hospital.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” I felt his erection wilting against me, and felt worse. “I’m just tired.”

He said wearily, “I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to want me the way I want you.”

“I do.”

He stared intently down at my face. I turned my head and coughed. “I do,” I said, turning back to him. “I’m just not back to normal yet.”

He raised his brows.

“Normal for me,” I clarified.

Finally he sighed, reached behind himself, and turned off the lamp.

We lay there side by side not speaking.