The Arrangement Read online

  Time froze while they lay there, touching, kissing and memorizing each other's bodies all over again. At last Nick stopped, rolling onto his back with a desperate groan, legs splayed wide in wanton invitation.

  Rummaging in his nightstand for a familiar slim white tube, Eric pressed it into Nick's hand, kissing him soundly at the same time. “I want you on top tonight,” he whispered, shifting to make himself comfortable on his stomach.

  He could feel the amazement rolling off Nick in waves without even looking at him. But luckily, rampant desire had taken his lover firmly in hand. Eric closed his eyes and gave himself over to it, delicious anticipation curling in his belly as Nick slowly, teasingly licked and fingered him, leaving him sobbing with need by the time Nick rolled on a condom, slicked himself and pushed deep inside him. It burned but he welcomed it, and when Nick started thrusting, he thrust back, meeting each stroke with equal force. Nick quickly got the hint and began ramming in earnest, so hard that Eric had to bury his face in the pillow to keep from screaming aloud. He came with a soul-wrenching moan, Nick following soon after, crumpling on top of him, weighing him down into the mattress.

  They lay there together, sweaty and trembling with their final delicious aftershocks, until Eric had to give Nick a gentle poke in the ribs, urging him to move before his own limbs started to cramp. He stretched out gratefully, Nick curling at his side with a spent, happy sigh. Eric echoed the sentiment, albeit silently; for the first time since Allison's last visit over a month ago, he felt truly relaxed, his mind calm and clear. Stroking Nick's shoulder, he sank back into his pillows and closed his eyes.

  * * * *

  A sharp gasp woke him, followed by the bang of the bedroom door slamming shut. Springing up, Eric threw on his robe and stepped out into the hallway just in time to see his housekeeper beating a hasty retreat downstairs. For a split-second he considered going after her, but common sense stopped him. Best not to call any undue attention to the incident. It was his own fault anyway, he realized, since he'd intended to give her the weekend off. Damn!

  Nick sat up in bed as he came back in, blinking blearily. “What was that?"

  "My housekeeper. I think we just gave her a few new gray hairs."

  "Oh.” He tensed. “You don't think she'll—"

  "No, I don't think she'll tell anyone. She came highly recommended from an agency that prides itself on discretion. And if she does say anything, I'll see to it personally that she never works again.” Dropping down heavily on the edge of the bed, he stole a glance at the clock. It was nearly nine. “I'm usually up and about by now even on weekends, or she never would've come in here in the first place."

  Nick scooted up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Hell of a way to start our weekend, huh?"

  "Don't worry about it. Let's go get some breakfast."

  Eric took Angelina aside and told her to take the next two days off, then put on the coffee and dug some bread and fresh fruit out of the refrigerator. They ate out on the sunny patio, the breeze bringing a bit of spring chill, but nothing a light sweater couldn't handle.

  "So what is there to do around here?” Nick wondered, stretching like the world's most satisfied cat. “Aside from the obvious, I mean."

  "Well, there's probably a game on TV today, if you want to watch it. If you don't, I've got every cable channel in existence. Or we could sit out here in the sun and read, I suppose."

  "Why don't we go out for a walk? I wouldn't mind seeing the neighborhood."

  Damn. He'd hoped Nick wouldn't bring this up—at least, not on his first visit. “I don't think that's such a good idea."

  "Why not?"

  "It's very difficult for someone in my position to go anywhere in this town without being recognized."

  Nick's content expression melted away, replaced by hurt and disappointment. “You mean you don't want to anyone to recognize you out in public with me."

  "Nick, c'mon, you know we need to be care—"

  "Give me a break, Eric! You've sung me this song too many times before, back when you made me meet you at that apartment so Ally wouldn't find out about us. And we all know how long that secret stayed buried.” Shoving his chair back with an ear-shattering scrape, he sprang up and marched back indoors.

  Eric followed him upstairs, arriving in the doorway just in time to watch Nick dump his toilet items back into his overnight bag. “So you're leaving? Just like that?"

  "I might as well,” Nick replied tightly. “I mean, we've already fucked, so I guess the weekend's not a total loss."

  "Oh, for God's sake, will you drop the melodramatics? I've never heard anything so ridiculous."

  "Really? You're a public figure now, Eric. Your life's under a microscope every damn day. Do you honestly think the press won't find out about us?"

  "Maybe they will, but I'm not about to lead them right to our bedroom door."

  He let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, at least you're honest."

  "Would you rather have me lie to you?"

  "No,” he replied. “But that doesn't stop me from wishing the truth didn't hurt so much."

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  Chapter 6

  One Year, Three Lives: Spring

  Eric managed to make it home for his and Ally's first anniversary party in April. But of course Nick got held up on a deadline at the Herald and arrived late, finding the gathering already in full swing, guests spilling from the living room out onto the balcony. Fortunately, they all seemed so absorbed in their mingling, Nick didn't have much trouble slipping back to his room unnoticed. Washing up quickly, he put on the tux Ally had rented for him, only to be greeted by a sharp wolf whistle as he finished wrestling his bow tie into submission.

  "Not bad, Thompson. You clean up nice,” Holly cooed from the doorway. Twirling daintily on one foot, she showed off her own ensemble—a black satin sheath dress and matching patent heels, her dark hair swept elegantly atop her head. Nick had to admit, the look suited her. “Looks like we both scored some new glad rags,” she added.

  "Well, now I know where you disappeared to at lunch. But somehow I don't remember you mentioning that you were coming tonight."

  "Ally invited me at the last minute. Apparently she thought you needed a date."

  "I think the word you're looking for is beard."

  "Beard, schmeard, who cares? I wasn't about to pass up one of the social events of the season!"

  Latching onto his arm, she dragged him out into the crush, snagging a couple glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, shoving one into his hand. He spied Eric holding court near the bar and they exchanged nods, but Eric's expression warned him not to come over. It was just as well; it looked like he was chatting up some political fat-cats, and their conversation always left Nick feeling like he'd wandered into a roomful of people speaking some exotic foreign language. With a sigh, Nick downed his entire glass in one gulp and continued scanning the crowd.

  Ally waved to him from the balcony, where she played the gracious hostess, smiling and laughing, working the room in a way Nick found inspirational. He'd always envied her ability to talk to anyone about anything, when most social situations invariably left him tongue-tied. Poised, brilliant, witty and beautiful, she made a perfect wife for Eric. Nick adored her for those exact same qualities.

  "So aren't you going to introduce me around?” Holly prompted. “You know more of these people than I do."

  "Not really. I think most of them are Eric's campaign supporters and old colleagues from Courtland Industries. Ally's producer Tony's way over there, but he's the only face I recognize."

  "What, you mean we're the only personal friends they invited?"

  "Looks like,” he muttered. “Now I wish I'd gone to my apartment tonight instead."

  "Aw, c'mon, it's not that bad.” She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “At least we'll get a nice dinner out of it."

  As if on cue, a tuxedo-clad waiter came out and struck a small gong, beckoning the guests
into the dining room. Nick escorted Holly in, discovering to his dismay that her seat was on one side of the long table, his on the other. Ally's producer sat on his right, but he seemed more interested in eyeballing the cleavage of the woman on the other side of him. Half-relieved, half-exasperated, Nick stifled another sigh, stealing a glance at his watch.

  Eric and Ally came in last, taking their places at the head of the table. Eric fell into immediate conversation with the man sitting next to him, but Ally flashed Nick a quick wink and a smile before signaling to the wait staff to begin serving the meal.

  The food wasn't exactly awful, but it didn't suit Nick's tastes at all. He passed on the soup—he couldn't stand vichyssoise—and only managed a few bites of the fishy-tasting Caesar salad before pushing his plate away. The entrée was filet mignon, but it had some weird kind of cream sauce on it, most of which he managed to scrape off. He liked the garlic mashed potatoes, although he wished he could've asked for seconds. Then came Ally's favorite New York cheesecake for dessert, topped with fresh fruit and washed down with more champagne—or in Nick's case, coffee.

  Afterwards, he sat fiddling with his cup and making faces at Holly across the table until Ally's producer started tapping on his water glass with a spoon and stood up, glass of champagne in hand. From the way he weaved back and forth, it looked like he had more than enough booze under his belt already.

  "Allow me to extend my congratulations to the h-happy couple,” he slurred. “I've known Ally Taylor-Courtland for her whole career at CNN, and she's always been a real go-getter—even though back when s-she told me who she'd just gotten engaged to, I thought, ‘she's gotta be fucking kidding.'” The room buzzed with muted titters and a few embarrassed coughs. Nick's hands doubled into fists under the table, barely resisting the urge to grab the guy by the scruff of his neck and shove him back down in his chair. “S-So let's raise a glass to Eric Courtland, future president of the United States, and his l-lovely wife, the new host of Washington Insider!"

  For a few seconds, Nick wasn't sure he'd heard him right, but a quick glance at Ally told him his ears hadn't deceived him. She looked mortified, and not because one of her guests had just made a colossal ass of himself. She looked like someone caught in a lie. Or more accurately, someone caught withholding information. At the moment, Nick didn't see much difference.

  Throwing his napkin down on the table, he marched out of the dining room. Luckily, by that point half the room—including Holly—was rushing over to congratulate Ally on her latest career coup. He doubted anyone had noticed he'd left.

  Back in his room, he peeled off his tux, letting it drop where he stood, then stepped under a cool shower, hoping the water's temperature would have a similar effect on his temper. By the time he toweled off and wrapped himself in his robe, he felt more empty and disappointed than angry, though he wasn't sure whether to take that as a positive sign or not.

  He emerged from the bathroom to find Ally perched on the edge of his bed, smiling nervously.

  "I'm surprised you were able to tear yourself away from all your adoring fans,” he said dryly, scooping the wrinkled tux up from the floor and putting it back on its hanger.

  "Nick, you've got to believe me, I had no idea Tony was going to do that. They only offered me the job today. I haven't even decided if I'm going to take it or not."

  "Oh, c'mon, Ally, don't try to kid me. Of course you're going to take it. You've worked your whole career for an opportunity like this."

  "Then you're not mad?"

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “I'll get over it."

  Jumping off the bed, she threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. “You know, rescheduling our time together won't be that hard. It's one of those Sunday morning political roundtable-discussion shows, so I only actually have to be in Washington from, say, Thursday through Sunday, and I can fly back here Sunday night, so we—"

  "Ally, it's okay. Don't worry about me. Go be with Eric. We both know he's going crazy down in DC all by himself. I'll get down to visit you both whenever I can."

  Her expression wavered between disappointment and relief. Relief won. Nick's heart sank a little in response. “Are you sure?"

  Forcing a smile, he dipped his head to kiss her. “Yes, definitely."

  He spent the rest of the evening kicking back in bed, idly surfing the net on his laptop. He'd just decided to call it a night when he heard a knock at the door, and Eric strode in. “Allison's told me she's explained the situation to you, and you're okay with it."

  Nick nodded, closing the laptop, setting it aside. “What else could I say? If I told her not to go, she'd just resent it. I can't do that to her. I wouldn't like it if either of you did it to me."

  "There is another solution,” Eric said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Quit the Herald and move to Washington with us. Believe me, you won't have a problem finding a new job. DC's crawling with journalists."

  "And where exactly would I sleep? The garage? That condo's barely big enough for you."

  "I've just made an offer on a place out in Potomac. The house and grounds are huge, everything's very quiet and private ... And there's a guest house too."

  "Three guesses as to where I'm going to live."

  "Nick, after what happened the last time you visited, we can't be too cautious."

  Sitting up, Nick rubbed a hand over his face. He hadn't wanted to bring this up tonight, but now he couldn't see any way around it. “I can't move to DC with you, Eric. In fact, I can't see myself leaving here anytime in the near future. It's my Dad,” he murmured. “That weekend last month when Ally went down to visit you, he ended up in the hospital. His heart's giving out on him. The doctors say he might only have till the end of the year, if that."

  "God, Nick, I'm sorry,” Eric breathed, sliding an arm around Nick's shoulder, pulling him close. “I wish you'd told me sooner."

  "It's not like we've had a lot of time together lately. And besides, there's nothing you can do. He's dying, and that's that.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I'm taking a leave of absence from the Herald and going home until ... Well, as long as it takes. With Dad sidelined, Mom's going to need help around the farm. She can't run things all by herself anymore."

  "Didn't they hire some extra help not too long ago?"

  "For the last few months they've had this one guy coming in a couple days a week to help out with the heaviest stuff. It's all they can afford right now. With me there, they can let him go and save the money."

  "If there's any way I can help with the financial side of things, just say the word."

  "You know my Dad, Eric. He's too proud to take anything from you. But thanks for offering. It means a lot to me, at least.” He stretched out on the bed, tugging Eric down next to him. “Do me a favor, and don't tell Ally about my Dad till after she gets settled in Washington. If I tell her now, she'll feel guilty for leaving, and I don't want that. I don't want her sacrificing such a great opportunity on my account either."

  "I doubt she'd think of it as a sacrifice."

  "Maybe not,” Nick replied with a wan smile, “but I would."

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  Chapter 7

  One Year, Three Lives: Summer

  Nick had forgotten how much he loved summers on the farm. He loved getting up early enough to meet the sunrise every morning, the air still breezy and cool at that hour, whispering over his skin like a kiss. He enjoyed working out in the fields with the hot sun beating down on his back, taking refuge in the clearness of mind that hard physical labor normally brought him. And today, between mucking out stalls, taking care of the milking, and fixing several broken fence posts, he'd cornered the market on hard work.

  He'd just finished nailing a length of wood in place on one of the new posts when he heard his mother calling for him from the kitchen, her tone panicky and urgent.

  Dashing back to the house, he burst through the kitchen door to find his father crumpled halfway up the stairs, panting heavily. Mom
had hold of his arm, trying to keep him from falling the rest of the rest of the way, but he was quickly slipping from her grasp.

  Up the stairs in seconds, Nick looped his father's arm around his neck, shouldering the older man's weight. He felt like a sack of wet concrete. “How'd this happen?"

  "He was trying to get upstairs to the bathroom, and he just collapsed,” his mother explained. “After last time, I told him—"

  "Last time? You mean this has happened before?"

  "A day or two ago. I told him then he should try using that portable commode we keep by the bed, but he wouldn't—"

  "I-I'm standing right h-here, you know,” Dad interjected testily, still out of breath, “and I-I've got to take a piss something awful."

  Biting his lip to hold back his labored grunts, Nick helped his father up the last few steps to the bathroom, but when they reached the door, Dad shoved him away. “You sure you don't need help in there?” Nick asked.

  "I'm not so sick that I can't handle my own pecker,” he snapped, slamming the door in Nick's face.

  He managed to make it downstairs without Nick's help, though he took each step molasses-slow, holding the banister in a death-grip all the way down. Shuffling into the living room, he collapsed on the couch, nodding off a few minutes later.

  Nick poured himself a glass of iced tea and joined his mother at the kitchen table. “He's going downhill fast."

  She nodded wearily. “I've been trying to make him take it easy, but he fights it. He can feel his strength ebbing a little bit more every day and it makes him so angry."

  "Can't blame him. I'd feel the same way."

  "He gets disoriented when he wakes up at night too. The other night he thought he'd fallen asleep on the couch and he started wandering around the bedroom, looking for the TV."

  "Why don't we make up the sofa bed for him? It's a lot cooler down here during the night. He might sleep better."