The Arrangement Read online

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  Lyrical Press, Inc.

  www.lyricalpress.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Cat Grant

  First published in 2008, 2008

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  The Arrangement

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  About Cat Grant

  Series Information

  Lyrical Press

  * * * *

  Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  The Arrangement

  ISBN: 978-0-9817144-3-1

  Copyright © 2008 Cat Grant

  Edited by Emma Wayne Porter

  Book design by Emma Wayne Porter and Renee Rocco

  Cover Art by Renee Rocco

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  www.lyricalpress.com eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher's permission.

  PUBLISHER'S NOTE:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: May, 2008

  First Lyrical Press, Inc. print publication: May, 2008

  Print ISBN: 978-0-9818905-9-3

  The Arrangement

  by Cat Grant

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Dedication

  To Don, for his unwavering faith and support.

  To Gina and Shael, for help, commiseration and lots of laughs.

  And, lastly, to Renee and Emma—thanks for taking a chance on me.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 1

  Deception

  The apartment served not only as a trysting place, but a place of comfort and refuge. Tonight Eric Courtland found himself sorely in need of all three. Loosening his tie, he rolled his neck in a vain attempt at easing his knotted muscles, then heaved himself from the couch, ambling over to the bar on the far side of the living room to pour himself another double scotch.

  He brought the decanter back with him this time, though he'd just resettled on the couch's plush cushions when he heard the door snick open and shut. Eric didn't turn around, merely sipped at his drink and sighed, savoring the slow burn all the way down, relaxation sinking in at last.

  "Hey.” Nick Thompson sauntered in, tossing his jacket on a nearby chair before leaning down to give Eric a slow, deep kiss. “Sorry I'm late. I was up against a killer deadline."

  "Not a problem.” His fingers combed through Nick's thick curls, then drifted down to his shoulder for a few loving strokes. “Honestly, I needed the extra few minutes of solitude. It's been a hellacious week."

  "No kidding.” Nick fell to his knees between Eric's splayed legs, eyes crinkling with concern. “Are you sure you're up for this tonight? You look like you're ready to drop."

  "I'll be fine, just give me a couple more minutes. With the stockholders’ meeting this week and getting ready for the campaign to gear up soon...” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to banish the insistent throb behind his eyes through sheer force of will. “This is the first chance I've had to catch my breath in days."

  "I wish you'd called me sooner. You know how much I love helping you relax."

  Eric laughed. “If I'd done that, I never would've made it to the stockholders’ meeting at all."

  "Oh, and that's such a bad thing?” Grinning, Nick slid both hands up Eric's crisp white cotton shirt, pausing to finger his suspenders. “I don't remember you wearing these before."

  "You like them?"

  "Yeah, actually, I do. They make you look like a sexy professor."

  "Do you want me to teach you a lesson?"

  Nick just laughed and started unbuttoning Eric's shirt, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Damn, Eric, I've missed you."

  "Show me how much."

  And so he did, with eager fingers and lips soft, moist and full of passion. Eric had to bite back a cry of hard-won relief when Nick's lush mouth finally closed over his cock and swallowed him down. He floated in an agony of bliss while Nick worked him with his lips and tongue, his technique endearingly enthusiastic. Time spun back to the first time they'd ever done this, on that rickety old couch in Nick's loft one memorable weekend in their junior year of college. He'd been so aroused he'd come in Nick's mouth after a few seconds.

  But tonight it seemed that Nick had other plans. Grasping Eric's cock firmly at the root to stave off imminent orgasm, he lifted his head, licking sticky pre-come from the corners of his mouth. “Fuck me, Eric. Please."

  He remembered the first time Nick had begged him like this, that same day back in the loft. He hadn't resisted then and he certainly wasn't about to now. “Get in the bedroom."

  Nick had his shirt off by the time they got there, which gave Eric a tiny pang of disappointment; he'd hoped to coax Nick into doing a slow strip for him. But to hell with that—after a month without plundering Nick's ass, he had no patience left for delayed gratification. He seized Nick by the belt and they kissed with savage abandon, then proceeded to rip each other's clothes off so fast they nearly gave themselves friction burn.

  Eric dug the supplies out of the bedside table while Nick settled into his favorite position: on his stomach with a pillow tucked under his hips, his delectable round ass raised invitingly. Eric remembered the first time they'd ever done this, shifting and scrambling to make themselves comfortable on that creaky couch with broken springs poking them everywhere. He remembered the way Nick gasped and trembled the first time he'd breached his hole with a pair of lube-slicked fingers. He remembered Nick's first muffled cry of surprise when he pushed inside him and began thrusting slowly, holding back his own surge of lust until Nick got used to the incredible sensation of being opened, filled and fucked.

  But tonight neither of them felt like holding back. They moaned, groaned and fucked like animals, every stroke shoving Nick further up the bed, forcing him to grab the headboard with both hands, whimpering and yelping as Eric pounded him. They came within seconds of each other.

  Eric slumped against Nick's sweat-soaked back, his vision momentarily murky, finally dredging up the energy to roll away onto a pi
le of pillows. Running his hand along Nick's well-muscled forearm, he marveled—not for the first time—at how well they complemented each other, despite the obvious contrast of Nick's solidly-built ex-quarterback's body with his own loose-limbed, slender frame.

  Slow minutes ticked away, with Nick lying there beside him completely immobile, until a soft, familiar snore alerted Eric to the fact that he'd dropped off. Chuckling, he kissed Nick gently on the shoulder and got up to take a shower.

  A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom to find Nick stirring groggily, yawning and raking damp, wavy bangs back from his forehead. He looked like a deliciously debauched angel. “Damn,” Nick mumbled. “Did I conk out again?"

  "Only for a few minutes."

  "Sorry, it's just been one deadline after another these last few weeks. I think my editor's trying to kill me."

  "Don't worry about it.” Eric scooped his shirt from the floor and slipped it back on.

  Nick watched him for a few silent seconds, disappointment flickering across his face. “Um, when's Allison coming back?"

  "She's in Milan till tomorrow, then she flies to Paris for the weekend. She should be home Monday night."

  "Sounds like fun. Wish I could get an overseas assignment."

  Stifling an exasperated grunt, Eric finished dressing as quickly as he could. Leaving was always the worst part of these little encounters. Why did Nick have to make matters more difficult by drawing out the inevitable? “I'll call you if I can get away again before she gets home, all right?"

  "Sure you will,” Nick snorted, sitting up, giving his pillow a savage punch. “Look, Eric, why don't you just tell her about us? Maybe she won't even care. Barbara didn't."

  "Barbara never gave a damn what I did as long as I kept paying her credit card bills. But I think we've both known Allison long enough to know she won't view the situation quite so pragmatically."

  "Why not? She's got your name and your money, and your contacts got her that job with CNN. And you only married her because you knew she'd help your senatorial campaign. It's not like you're madly in love with each other."

  "True, but I am fond of her, and I wouldn't like to see her hurt,” he replied sharply. God, after everything he'd been through this week, now he had to deal with this? “And considering your own history with her, I'd think you'd feel the same way."

  "That's ancient history."

  "We thought the same thing about us until a few months ago.” Getting up, he slipped on his jacket and stepped into his shoes, then bent down to cup Nick's face with both hands. “I'll see you soon, all right?"

  Nick nodded. He looked so damned dejected Eric thought his own heart would break. But he wouldn't let it. He couldn't.

  He gave Nick a quick kiss and left, barely breathing until he'd climbed into his Jag, heading back to the penthouse. Rolling down the windows, he let the chill night air wash over him and by the time he arrived home he felt like himself again, calm and in control.

  Too restless for sleep, he spent the next few hours perusing production reports until his eyelids turned into lead weights. He'd just crawled in bed when the phone rang, Allison's cell number popping up on the caller ID. He sighed and picked up the receiver. “How's Milan?"

  "Still standing, but where the hell were you? I've been trying to call you for hours."

  He glanced at the answering machine; it was blinking a mile a minute. Damn! “I had a late dinner meeting. So are you enjoying fashion week?"

  "Yeah, but it'd be a lot more fun if I didn't have to interview all those air-head models. If I never see another breast implant up close and personal, I'll die happy. Oh, and by the way, I ordered you one of everything from the Prada men's spring line."

  That was what he adored about her—no matter how out of sorts he felt, she never failed to make him laugh. “Didn't you get anything for yourself?"

  "A couple of things from Versace, but I didn't really see anything else I liked. I have high hopes for Paris, however."

  "Try Chanel or Balmain. They're more your style."

  "I'll keep that in mind.” A pause followed, accompanied by the sound of rustling bedcovers. “Maybe next year we can do this together."

  "I'd like that,” he replied. “But right now I should let you go. You didn't need to stay up so late just to talk to me. We'll see each other in a few days."

  "No problem, I couldn't sleep anyway. Damn jet lag."

  "Good night, Allison."

  "Good night,” she said softly. “I ... I miss you."

  For a split-second, he could've sworn she sounded positively wistful. “I miss you too. Get some sleep."

  He hung up and flicked out the light, but despite his exhaustion, sleep didn't come easily. It never did on evenings he spent with Nick. Was it his conscience pricking at him? He'd often thought himself devoid of conscience; a man in his position could ill-afford such a luxury. God knew the heartless bastard lurking in the recesses of his mind had wanted nothing more than to stay at the apartment with Nick, fucking him into next week.

  But there yawned a wide gap between what he wanted and what he could allow himself to have. He longed to call Nick and ask him to meet him tomorrow night and the night after that, and every night until Allison got home. But he couldn't. Allowing himself to lose control of the situation even once would make it far too easy to do again. Despite Nick's complaints, Eric knew he understood their need for discretion. They both had too much to lose.

  Hence the apartment—and the awful, gnawing ache in his stomach every time he told his wife another lie.

  * * * *

  "Another day, another deadline,” Nick muttered, hitting send to email his latest story to his editor. For once, he'd actually squeaked by with half an hour to spare. Snagging his jacket, he headed for the elevator. If he dashed, he might even make it to the gym before the usual after-work horde descended.

  He'd just punched the down button when he heard an all-too-familiar pair of heels tapping in his direction. “Hey, Thompson, wait up!” Holly Martin yelled, yanking on her coat, brunette ponytail bobbing madly, skidding to a stop beside him with a triumphant grin at the precise same moment the elevator dinged. “Perfect timing, huh?"

  Stifling the urge to roll his eyes, Nick let her step in first, then jabbed the button for the lobby. Pals since their days at journalism school, he and Holly worked stories together at the Herald on a fairly regular basis. However, at times Nick found her excessive perkiness a bit hard to take.

  Times like now, for instance.

  "There's a bunch of us going down to O'Rourke's for karaoke tonight,” she added, fumbling in her purse for a lipstick. “Want to come with?"

  "I don't think so, Hol.” Tapping his foot, he eyeballed the elevator panel as the floor numbers dropped in molasses-slow succession. “I'm not in such a great mood today."

  "Yeah, I noticed. That poor kid down in the mailroom almost started blubbering after the way you tore him a new one this morning. What's wrong with you lately?"

  "Nothing, other than the fact that my life sucks."

  "Get in line,” she chortled.

  He'd planned to bolt as soon as they reached the lobby, but when the doors slid open, she snaked her arm through his, steering him towards the Starbuck's on the ground floor of the building. “Guess what? I'm going to let you be a gentleman and buy me a coffee. Make it a half-caf non-fat vanilla latte, easy on the foam. I'll snag us a table.” Cutting off his protest, she disappeared into the crowd surrounding the front counter. For a second or two he considered ditching her, if not for the royal earful he knew she'd give him tomorrow. He'd stay a few minutes, then make some lame excuse and duck out.

  After ten minutes of waiting for their drinks, he found her ensconced in a relatively quiet corner table near the back of the café. She let him set her coffee down in front of her, took a long, leisurely sip—and nailed him with an icy glare. “So when did you and Eric get back together?"

  "Geez!” he gasped, so startled he almost dumpe
d his own piping-hot cup of French roast into his lap. “H-How did you—"

  "Oh, c'mon, Nick. After all these years, I know the signs. The two of you go on and off more often than a fridge light. But what the hell possessed you to take up with him again this time?"

  "You think I haven't asked myself that question every damn day?"

  "Well, at least you're consistent.” With a sigh, she pushed away her cup. “Damn it, Nick, I hate seeing you do this to yourself. Last year you had a perfect opportunity to put this all behind you for good. I don't know why you didn't take it."

  "I thought about it, Hol, I really did. When Laura kept pressing me to set the date, part of me wanted to go through with it. We could've had a nice life, moving back upstate to take over the farm like my folks wanted me to, but...” God, he couldn't believe how pathetic he sounded. “I couldn't do it. I couldn't marry Laura, not feeling the way I do about Eric. I would've ended up making us both miserable."

  "So what're you going to do now? Spend the rest of your life sitting at home with cold pizza and the Sports Channel, waiting for Eric to make another booty call?"

  "Thanks a lot,” he snapped. “As if I didn't feel cheap enough already."

  "Nick, c'mon, I didn't mean—"

  "Look, I know this relationship's going nowhere, and I know that's not likely to change. But I can't help it, Hol. I love Eric. I've always loved him. I wish I could just switch it off like a light, but I can't."

  "Then why don't you stand up for yourself? I don't get why you're so willing to let him shuffle you aside, like you don't even matter."

  "Despite what you may think, Eric's life hasn't been all caviar and roses. After the crappy way his father treated him and his mom, I don't think he's got the faintest idea of what a healthy relationship's like.” He sighed. “I always knew we'd never have a happily-ever-after, especially after he announced his bid for the Senate. He's got his sights set on the White House, and he needs a wife to get him there, not a gay lover. So it's either seeing him for an hour or two every few weeks, or nothing."