You Were Made for Me

Chapter 1: June 20, 2003

QUINN HAD BEEN living with me in my condo for a couple of months. Things were going well—at least I thought so. They were for me.

But Quinn… all of a sudden he’d get real quiet. Sometimes, while we were having dinner, he’d stop in the middle of a sentence and gaze off into space. Sometimes, while we were watching television or if I was catching up on paperwork, I’d look around or look up to see him staring at me with an expression on his face I couldn’t place.

Well, we were adults, and if there was a problem, I knew we’d hash it out.

But every time I opened my mouth to ask him what was bothering him, he’d give me that slow, hungry smile, and dammit, my train of thought would jump the tracks.

So then I really began to wonder what was going on. I didn’t think he was trying to come up with a way to tell me that while he liked me well enough, liked fucking with me—literally, not figuratively—it just wasn’t enough to want to stay with me.

It had actually become a running joke between us to announce, whether germane to the conversation or not, I’m not breaking up with you.

Although even better was, I’m not letting you break up with me.

Could he be sick? No, we spent too much time together for me not to pick up on something like that.

Could his mother be sick? Portia had been in that bad car accident the previous fall and had been in a coma for three days. Could she have brain damage? I worried over that for a bit, then decided it wasn’t likely, since the last time I’d spoken to her, she’d been sharp as a tack, as always. Besides, Quinn knew how much she meant to me. If he tried keeping something serious like that from me, I’d kick his ass all the way to Great Falls, where she lived and he’d grown up.

That just left Novotny. And yeah, Quinn might not tell me if his mother’s chauffeur was at death’s door, probably figuring I’d dance a jig if I found out. That was sad, and it hurt, but... it was kind of true. Novotny and I weren’t what you would call close.

Not to forget about his uncles, and that included Jefferson Sebring’s partner, Ludovic Rivenhall. These were men whose ages ranged from seventy-three to eighty-two. Jesus, being involved with family was complicated. I’d liked it better when I was the only person I had to worry about—

Okay, that wasn’t strictly true. Having a family… having Quinn’s family, was… nice.

So if anything was wrong with Quinn’s family, he’d let me know. In that case, the only other thing I could think of that might be wrong was work. I knew that lately, Quinn wasn’t altogether thrilled with the Company.

Well, whatever it was, he’d talk to me about it when he was ready.

But dammit, if someone was screwing with him, I’d make them pay in spades: they’d be sorry they’d ever been born.

THE C-FUCKING-I-FUCKING-A had sent Quinn out of the country, and because of orders not to contact anyone not on his team, we hadn’t been able to speak from the time I watched him board his jet at Dulles until I picked him up seven days later. I’d missed him. In the short time he’d lived with me, I’d gotten used to having someone in the condo. I liked having something more than the radio or the television or my CD player breaking the silence.

The year before, when I’d stayed with him for a time after my apartment had blown up, we’d both known it was a temporary arrangement. Eventually I’d moved back into the attic apartment I’d first rented in the early ’90s when I’d moved to DC. Then, with the help of Portia Mann, I’d found the condo in Aspen Reach and bought it.

Yeah, we’d stay at each other’s place overnight or even for a few days, but this was it. Quinn was here, and he was going to stay here. DB Cooper, the friend who turned out to be his cousin, was renting his town house, and Quinn wouldn’t be heading back there in the morning or after a wild weekend of hot and sweaty sex.

He’d missed me too while he’d been away, because we spent the rest of that day, that night, and the next few days and nights in bed, leaving it only for bathroom and meal breaks—had to keep up our energy. By the time we left the condo to go back to work, we were both a little gimpy. Not that I minded. It was nice having Quinn back.

Quinn didn’t mention if the CIA gave him a hard time over taking those days off, but the WBIS’s HR had been overjoyed. Anything to make inroads into the vast amount of vacation, sick time, and personal time I had banked.

as for our gimpiness, I didn’t know if anyone asked him about his limp at work—something else he didn’t mention to me—but no one at the WBIS brought up the subject.

A couple of massages took care of it. I sat back in my chair, propped my feet up on the corner of my desk, and folded my hands behind my head.

The man did have magic fingers.

~*~

WHEN FRIDAY EVENING rolled around, we changed into business casual and drove to DC to have dinner at Raphael’s, which we’d missed the week before. Since having a predictable routine could get you killed, I always made sure I took different routes to the Italian restaurant that had become our place since the first time Quinn had taken me there for my birthday the year before.

Quinn never questioned me about the different routes, or how I’d drive my Dodge for a few weeks, have us switch to his Jag, and then go back to the Dodge the following week.

I’ll drive tonight, he said this time.

Okay. The additional parking spot I’d been given when I moved into Aspen Reach was actually closer to my building than the garage where I kept the Dodge. Want to get me up to the condo fast when we get home?

He reached over and tugged my ear. If anyone else had done that, they’d have been dog meat, but this was Quinn. And dammit, how was it I found that a turn-on, especially when it was accompanied by that slow, sexy grin of his?

It was a warm June evening, and we walked to the Jag. Quinn pressed the button on his key fob that unlocked the doors. As soon as we were buckled up, he started the engine.

The radio was tuned to a station that featured a segment playing the oldies from the British Invasion of the ’60s. A singer and his band warbled about everyone telling the guy the object of his affection was made for him.

I had a sudden flashback to 1965 and my old lady bouncing around the room, singing it. I didn’t remember much about that time, maybe because the contrast between it and the years that followed was too stark. I didn’t want to remember now.

Quinn must have caught my expression from the corner of his eye, because he cleared his throat. Gregor. The corner of his mouth tilted up, and he hummed a bit of the melody. He was a boy of the ’60s.

Huh.

Are you all right, Mark?

Yeah.

He reached across and squeezed my knee. You can change the station if you like.

No. I wouldn’t let the past control me. I looked out the passenger window. This is fine.

You are going to talk to me about what’s bothering you. Not a question.

There’s nothing to talk about.

He didn’t respond to that.

Okay, fine. My old lady used to sing along with this. And bounce and wave her arms and legs, just like the lead singer of that group. I hadn’t thought of that in forever.

Quinn still didn’t say anything, and I gave a huff.

It was when she still remembered I was her son and not a punching bag.

Oh, Mark. I’m so sorry.

No need to be. It’s in the past. It can’t affect the present.

Do you really think so? This time he rubbed my leg.

You’re not a shrink, Mann. Let it go.

Frankly, I was surprised when he did. We’re here. He pulled into the parking lot behind the restaurant and turned off the engine. Shall we?

I released my seat belt and got out of the car, and we walked around to the front of the building.

The line was already out the door, and Giovanni, the maître’d, had one of his hostesses taking names and giving out those electronic buzzer things, but that didn’t concern me. I ushered Quinn in, getting some dirty looks, but I gave them a look of my own, and they backed off.

Damn straight they backed off. Screw with us, would they?

Giovanni smiled broadly, welcomed us, and led us to our table in an alcove that gave us privacy while allowing me to keep an eye on the people around us.

Hey—you could never be too careful.

Cesare, our waiter, placed a couple of frosted glasses of ice water before us and stood ready to take the order for our appetizers. I was surprised Quinn didn’t request the oil poached shrimp and squid he seemed to prefer. The cold antipasto platter for two, please. He turned to me. Let’s keep it light tonight?

Sure. Get that started, Cesare. We’ll order our entrees after you bring it out.

Sì, signore.

Nico, the sommelier, suggested a new wine Quinn was intrigued enough to try, and after Quinn had sampled it, he nodded for Nico to pour a glass for each of us. He left the bottle in a wine bucket beside Quinn and went off to serve another patron.

Quinn raised his glass and tapped it against mine. Here’s to you being free of your cane.

Yeah. I’d been able to dispense with it just after Quinn left on his assignment. I’m looking forward to finally getting on my hands and knees. When I’d had that damned bullet hole in my leg, we’d made love, for the most part either, with me on my side cradling Quinn or on my back so he could ride me.

Mmm. A blush ran up his cheeks, and he seemed distracted.

By the idea of him taking me from behind? I’d never cared for being fucked, hadn’t even liked having my hole fingered, but then along came Quinn. I’d liked what he’d done to my ass, to my entire body. More than that, I trusted him not to take advantage of me, as Victorian as that sounded.

I need to come up with an idea for Theo’s wedding gift, I told him, willing to change the subject. The wedding is scheduled for the end of August, and that’s only a couple of months away.

Mmm, he said again. He parted his lips, then licked them.

Do you think we should bring it to New York with us, or should we have it shipped on ahead?

Sounds good, he murmured, his gaze fixed on the candle at the center of our table. He hadn’t heard a word I’d said.

I thought maybe we could get them a bicycle built for two and ride it up to Long Island. In our tuxedos.

Sure—Mark! Ah-hah. That had got him. What are you talking about?

That can wait. What’s bugging you?

Just then, Cesare brought the antipasto platter and placed it on the table between us.

"Did you decide on an entrée, signore?

Quinn glanced at me. Shrimp scampi, Mark?

That sounds good. For two, I told Cesare.

It comes with angel hair pasta, unless you’d prefer something different? Cesare asked.

Quinn? I raised an eyebrow at him.

Angel hair is fine.

Cesare began scribbling on his pad. This order was also something new, since our usual was penne a la vodka followed by veal piccata. For dessert we’d have espresso and tiramisu, but maybe Quinn had something else in mind. Either way, we’d order that later.

Once he was done writing, Cesare left us to enjoy the antipasto.

What’s going on, Quinn?

He reached for his wine, took a sip, then set it down and blotted his lips.

You can fiddle all you want. I’ve got the rest of the night.

I’m counting on that.

Come on, Quinn. Spill the beans.

All right. I… I’ve been thinking, Mark.

Okay. I narrowed my eyes at him. But I’m not letting you break up with me.

No, Mark. Once again, the corner of his mouth curled up in a grin. And I have no intention of letting you break up with me. Quinn selected a piece of rolled-up prosciutto. He tilted his head, observing me thoughtfully. His voice was cool… not quite the Ice Man’s, but still not someone to fuck with.

And damn, it turned me on.

I cleared my throat. Time to get serious.

Then what’s got your shorts in a bunch?

My shorts are perfectly fine, thank you very much. He put the prosciutto in his mouth, and as he began chewing, he tilted his chin up and gave me a snooty look.

And God, it was hot. Mann…

He waited until he swallowed, then said, I have had something on my mind.

Right. Spill it.

Fine, he said, but he didn’t continue immediately.

To distract myself, I studied the antipasto platter, selected an olive, and sucked out the pimento it had been stuffed with.

Finally, Quinn cleared his throat. We’ve been together for some time now.

One year, three months, and— I did a fast calculation in my head. —twenty-six days.

How do you do that?

It isn’t likely I’d forget such an important day. The day you… blew me for the first time. I gave him a bland smile, and it broadened when he blushed once again.

He selected a piece of cheese, then met my gaze. You’re not going to argue that for almost three months all we did was fuck with each other’s minds?

Quinn… I let my smile grow broader. That was just foreplay.

He reached across the table, rested his hand on mine, and rubbed his thumb over my wrist. It made me hard as hell.

The thing is… Quinn ran his tongue over his lips, and I couldn’t tear my gaze from his mouth. I was wondering how you’d feel about us dispensing with condoms.

What?

I said—

I heard what you said, I growled. We’d talked about it once or twice, but things seemed to come up—no pun intended—and actually doing it went by the wayside.

What do you think? He peeked at me from under his lashes.

Absently, I reached for something on the antipasto platter and put it in my mouth. I’d never fucked anyone without a condom. Hell, I’d never let anyone fuck me without one. Not even that idiot partner of mine. Especially not that idiot partner of mine.

Er… Mark?

What?

You’re eating an artichoke heart.

I began hacking. Shit. I avoided all things artichoke since I inevitably wound up with one of those spiny little hairs caught under my tongue, and I’d sound like a cat trying to hack up a hairball.

Like now.

I reached for the glass of water on the table and took a healthy swallow. Then I took out my handkerchief, wiped my eyes, and blew my nose.

Sorry. You took me by surprise.

Does that mean you’re not interested?

Don’t be an ass. The thought of having you without anything between us… My heart began to thud, and my cock grew so hard I thought for a minute it would break the zipper of my fly.

Then the idea doesn’t put you off?

Nope. I didn’t want to tell him I’d never considered it. I hadn’t, simply because I’d never thought I’d find someone I could trust enough to share my life with. Which sounded sappy. Maybe it was my age.

Or maybe it was having someone like Quinn in my life.

We… He looked down at the olive that was stuffed with garlic and pulled out the clove, then raised his eyes to meet mine. We’ve had blood tests every time we’ve returned from an operation, and for the past fifteen months and twenty-six days, the results have always been negative.

That’s true. Actually, the results had been negative from the very first blood tests we’d ever had to have, back in the early nineties.

I thought it might be time. If you agree?

If I agree? I grinned at him. As a matter of fact, if we hadn’t already ordered dinner, I’d be dragging you out of here right now.

Yes? Goddamn, he looked like a kid who’d been given his fondest desire for Christmas. We could always take it home.

Yeah. We could. I looked around until I spotted Cesare, and then I waved him over.

Is something wrong?

No, we need to leave. Can you have our meal boxed for us?

"Yes, of course. Are… scusi… are you sure nothing is wrong?"

Not a thing, I told him as I pulled out my wallet and handed him a credit card.

Cesare looked from me to Quinn and back. I didn’t know what he saw, but abruptly his face lit up. "I will hurry, subito."

~*~

WE GOT BACK to Aspen Reach in damned good time in spite of DC’s chronic traffic, and while Quinn found an empty shelf in the fridge for what was left of the antipasto and room on the door for the bottle of wine, I pulled open the warming drawer and put the shrimp scampi and angel hair pasta into it.

They would satisfy a couple of real appetites in an hour or two or three.

So, I said and turned to Quinn, only to find I was alone in the kitchen. Babe?

In the bedroom, he called.

I stripped off my suit jacket, tossed it over one of the chairs that was placed along the island, and walked—jogged—okay, raced was more like it—into the bedroom.

Quinn was humming that song we’d heard on the radio earlier. He bent over the bed, carefully folding the comforter and top sheet down to the footboard.

He was stark staring naked, and I couldn’t tear my gaze from the curves of his ass, which was covered by fair hair I knew was soft as down.

My mouth went dry, and my cock became rock hard, and while that seemed to be the general state of affairs whenever I was around Quinn, right then my cock was so hard it felt like my shorts were strangling it.

Quinn glanced over his shoulder and smiled when he saw me standing there. He came to me and cupped my cheek. Thank you.

I swallowed and rested my palm over the back of his hand. For what?

For waiting for me.

What? How do you figure that?

You never let anyone get close to you, did you?

Well, no, which was why all my stands had been of the one-night variety.

Until I met Quinn. Even then I’d tried to keep it purely physical. And it probably would have stayed that way if he hadn’t been kidnapped. I’d been willing to bust Quinn’s chops as much as I chose, but I’d be damned if I let anyone else mess with my spook.

I shrugged it aside. I have you. I loosened my tie and whipped it off over my head.

Yes, you do. He came to me and slid a hand around the back of my neck and caressed it. You’re wearing too many clothes. Take them off.

I ran a palm down his spine to curve around an ass cheek and cup it. Your wish is my command, I murmured in his ear. He shivered, and that pleased me.

All right, enough of that. He gave me a brief kiss, then stepped away and went to the nightstand. You still have too many clothes on, he said, glancing over his shoulder with a teasing grin.

He took the lube from the nightstand, as well as a handful of condoms. His eyes almost looked green as they met mine.

He tossed the condoms aside. Some of them landed on the floor, some of them in the wastebasket. His grin broadened, and he threw the lubricant to me.

Quinn.

Yeah?

I want to see your eyes when we do this. I stripped off the rest of my clothes, too impatient to toy with him.

I’d like that. He stretched out on the bed and crooked his finger, beckoning me to him.

I barely noticed. His cock was pointing straight toward the ceiling, the head flushed a deep red and a drop of precome beading at the tip.

He braced his feet on the bed and let his legs fall open, giving me a nice view of his cock and balls. The problem with that was the way his balls lay concealed his hole.

I popped the lid of the tube, squeezed out a dollop of lube onto my fingers, and let the warmth of my hand heat it up. Then I climbed on the bed between his legs, lowered my head to nose his balls out of the way, and took one in my mouth. It was slightly salty, the hairs rough on my tongue, but frankly, I preferred them to those damned artichoke hairs.

Quinn ran his fingers over my ears. That had never turned me on when anyone else had done it. He rocked gently, and his cock brushed against my cheek. Mark. He shuddered.

I hummed, knowing he would feel the vibration through the testicle I had in my mouth. I swapped it for the other one, hummed again, and he made a sound I’d never heard from him before.

I’m… If you don’t… Mark!

I knew what he wanted, and I was going to give it to him.

I stroked a lubed finger across and around his hole, then began pushing it in. He was hot inside, like velvet