Lips now pursed in speculation, Ridge eyed him. “And how does George know, if you don’t...” He gestured with open hands and fluttering fingers.
“Damned if I know. He just could tell, I guess. I don’t get it. Must be because he’s... I don’t know... one of those guys from Europe.” An angry shrug accompanied that assertion.
Covering his mouth at that, Ridge coughed then broke out into open laughter at the truculent look on Drew’s gorgeous face. How could he not?
“From Europe? That’s your answer? How about, maybe George is just smart? You think? Or maybe his gaydar is fully functional? “
Drew frowned. The city boy pushed his coffee cup back and forth between both hands.
Eyebrows up as he watched the wheels turning, Ridge had to chuckle again. “Forget it. It’s not important.” He lifted one hand. “So, what now?” It was an amazing feeling, to be confident around Drew for a change.
Nonplussed, Drew stared for a moment. “Well, uh... I guess... I could take you back to the barn and introduce you to George.” Drew lifted his shoulders in a shrug, his hands coming up and apart in front of him.
“That’s it?” Ridge almost rolled his eyes again.
“Uh. And I...” Drew looked a bit stumped.
Ridge shoved his coffee cup away and slid out of the banquette. Having to yank down his short shorts was embarrassing while he was trying to stay in command of the conversation. Shit! He had a wedgie. He hoped Drew wasn’t paying close attention as he discreetly yanked on the back of his shorts, but, when he darted a look at his bedeviling guest, he saw that Drew’s eyes were glued to everything below his waist. Guh.
The tiny grin that now curled those kissable lips fired him up. “I’ve got to finish another project. I’m going to head downstairs.”
“Oh.” That was disappointment, wasn’t it?
“Um. Do you want to come down and help?”
Eyes sliding back and forth, Drew considered. He looked like he was afraid of what he might encounter.
“Relax. I really do have work to do. No skunks, but maybe some raccoons, or, um, badgers.”
“Badgers!” Drew flattened himself against the back of the banquette seat. “They... they attack without provocation. I saw it on
Animal Planet
!”
Finally laughing out loud, Ridge threw up his hands. “Easy, city boy. Badgers aren’t even indigenous to North Carolina. I was just jerking your chain.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “I’m gonna shower and change. I’ll be ready in five minutes.” Still smiling, Ridge headed for the shower. “Badgers. Hah.”
Chapter 9
The inmates are running the asylum.
Drew Cunningham
Real fucking funny. Ridge was a laugh riot.
Drew wasn’t used to be laughed at... ever. But, still, the man had a certain charm, and that lean, muscled body really did it for Drew. He listened as the water came on in the bathroom, imagining water running down the golden skin, tracing through the treasure trail on Ridge’s belly and down--
“So. Y’all done talking?”
Christ. Shelby had shitty timing. Vexed, Drew looked at Ridge’s pal, noting the goofy smile and the annoying look in the light eyes. “Your eyes look like Kirstie Alley’s. Anybody ever tell you that?”
“Whoa. Them’s fighting words, city boy.”
“Didn’t you ever see
The Wrath of Khan
?” Drew rolled his eyes at the punk. Classic sci-fi.
“Little before my time, Grandpa.”
At that, Drew’s head went back and he took a long look at Ridge’s friend.
Shelby’s muscled body and crew-cut blond hair made him look like he might have played for Notre Dame, but the provoking look in the eerie eyes was far more intelligent than that of the average offensive lineman.
“What’s your problem?” Drew slid out from behind the table.
Shelby’s mouth turned down at the corners. “My problem? Maybe it’s some guy making a move on my friend and then trashing him?” Shelby stepped up to him.
“That’s between Ridge and me. You can butt out anytime now.” He moved closer to Ridge’s friend.
“Guys. Do we have to do this again?” A pained voice interrupted them, and Drew turned to watch as Ridge walked into the kitchen, clad in jeans and a Tar Heels T-shirt. “Not that I’m not flattered.”
The sexy brown eyes met his, and Drew felt a heat begin to burn deep in his belly. He did want this man, no two ways about it. He pushed past Shelby to stand directly in front of Ridge, and watched with interest as the other man’s gaze dipped briefly, then came back up. He lifted one hand, the fingers going to Ridge’s neck, cupping gently. “You should be.” He tugged slightly, and Ridge moved forward to bring their bodies together. “I don’t normally expend this much effort.”
With a husky chuckle, Ridge tilted his head and eyed Drew. “Even when you’re trying, you still can’t help it, can you?”
“Huh?”
Brushing past them, Shelby sighed dramatically. “He means, even when you’re trying not to be a dickhead, you still manage to get the job done.” He jerked open the apartment door. “Ridge, I’ll see you later.” He gave Drew one last look before leaving.
“I thought he’d never leave.” Drew brought Ridge that last fraction of an inch closer, then covered the firm lips with his own. He thrust his tongue inside, wanting to taste, to own, everything. He couldn’t seem to help himself. When Ridge began kissing him back, and he felt the nudge of that pretty cock at his belly, his own dick went from half-hard to full mast right quick.
“Mmm. I taste chocolate.”
With a dazed smile, Ridge leaned back to look at him. “Uh-huh. Just might get you hooked on chocolate chip pancakes.”
“I don’t know about that.” Their lips met again. “But I sure am getting hooked on something.” He gripped Ridge’s ass with both hands, rocking their hips together, rubbing and grinding.
Ridge met him halfway, moaning softly, kissing him wildly, before breaking off and shoving away. “Stop. Stop. I’ve got... I’ve got to get to work. I am so far behind.” Ridge was panting softly, inching backward. “You coming? Or do you have something else to do?”
God. Payback was a bitch. “Uh. Yeah. I can come down for a little while.” He looked down at the toes of his Ropers for a second. “You don’t mind me being in your space while you’re working?”
Ridge’s response was gratifyingly quick. “No! Come on. I want to show you what I’m working on.”
Maybe he wasn’t being dicked around after all. Letting the dogs dash past as he got to the door, Drew stepped up the pace as he followed Ridge outside.
Downstairs, Drew found himself impressed once again at the degree of ability represented by the works in progress. Ridge wasn’t just a carpenter; he was a craftsman. Detailed carving graced many of the pieces around the shop, while others were simpler, refined in the mission style -- an armoire by the window, a library table with a dovetailed wood block design in the middle of the room.
Ridge led the way to the project of the day, a 1950s executive desk with a curved front line and tapered leg. “Here it is. I’ve had this sucker in the works for almost three months, and I need to deliver it today. I’ve got to set the hardware and the drawers and double check everything.”
Drew got waylaid as he spotted another table near the desk. “Is this all hand-dowelled?” Holy cow.
“Uh-huh.” Moving to the workbench, Ridge laid pieces of drawer hardware on a cloth.
Drew’s eyes widened as he ran a hand over the edge of the table and down the leg. “You do everything by hand?” He looked over at Ridge with new respect.
Grabbing a screwgun, Ridge grinned at him. “Well, not everything.” He held up the tool meaningfully. “I also use my belt sander when I need to, but I try to do as much as I can the old way while still producing things at a faster pace than they did two hundred years ago. I match the wood grains myself -- that makes a big difference in the final product. Want to hold this for me?” He nodded to the first drawer.
“This is amazing.” Picking up the drawer, Drew delicately set it in front of Ridge and held it while Ridge set the pull on the face of it. “The ends are dovetailed.” He marveled at the construction that didn’t require any glue or fasteners to hold the sides together.
“Uh-huh.”
He could see that Ridge wasn’t really paying attention. All that focus was directed solely at the precision craftsmanship. Lips turning up at the edges, Drew obligingly held all four drawers, then assisted Ridge in sliding them into place and checking the movement.
Two hours later, Ridge declared the desk was ready. He ran the polishing cloth over the surface one final time before standing back, and shoving the cloth into his rear pocket. “I’m going to wrap it now and get it set to put on the truck. Then I’ve got to call Shelby to help me.”
“Let me help you.” The words were out before he could stop them. Drew could see he’d surprised Ridge with the offer. The blond’s brows went up and a skeptical look crossed the whiskered face.
“Seriously.” Doubt dripped from the word.
Couldn’t he be nice on occasion? “You don’t have to make it sound like I don’t normally try to help people.” Did he sound defensive?
Jaw pushed out, Ridge looked him over. “Um. Well. I didn’t know you were a Boy Scout.” Grunting, Ridge moved to the plywood storage shelving in one corner of the shop and pulled down a couple of quilted moving blankets. Tossing one to the side, he popped one open to spread over the desktop.
Drew lurched forward and pinned Ridge to the desk, his weight pushing Ridge forward over the blanket. “I’m not a Boy Scout. I thought you would have figured that out already. Spread ‘em.” He heard a low moan as he used one foot to kick Ridge’s feet apart, then muscled his hips in tight. Grinding in, he circled both of the blond’s wrists and slid the lean arms out to the sides. “Hold them there.” He reached around and quickly undid the button and zip on Ridge’s jeans, yanking the denim placket open.
Ridge made a growling sound, and his hips shoved backward, making room for Drew’s hands to reach inside. “Oh. Um. Yeah.”
Not at all slow on the uptake, Drew dipped both hands in, the right one taking possession of the pretty cock he found and the left cupping a nicely furred set of balls. He tugged and rubbed with one hand and caressed and rolled with the other. “I don’t think they want the Boy Scouts doing this, do they?”
Moaning, Ridge dropped to his elbows, pushing his ass further into Drew, and letting his head hang down. “Ungh. They should. They... oooh, you could get a merit badge for this.”
He couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly at that. “Maybe -- maybe I’ll check that out.”
Hips rolling, fucking into Drew’s hands, Ridge chased gratification with gusto, and Drew gave it stroke by stroke. Ridge’s body was heating up Drew’s, transferring through his hands and his hips, sending his own temperature soaring. He could feel his own need building as he controlled Ridge’s enjoyment, doling out the pleasure. He rocked deeper into the crease of Ridge’s ass, rubbing, his dick constricted in his jeans.
“Oh, God, yeah. Keep it -- ungh -- right there,” Ridge panted.
“Sure thing, baby.” Drew moved his hands and hips faster, urging Ridge on with his body and his sounds.
Hands and arms splayed across the blanketed desktop, Ridge dropped his head all the way down, moaning now, hips driving. “I’m, God, Drew, I’m going to--” He stopped short, body jerking as he came.
Drew had Ridge’s dick pointed at the desk, and he jacked it fast, trying to coax out all the fluid that he could. “That’s it. There you go.” God, that was so sexy. Ridge was so sexy.
Ridge laid his head down and rested the side of his face on the moving blanket. With a big, long sigh, his arms slid forward and draped over the edge of the desk.
Drew ran the flat of his hand along the muscles on Ridge’s back, savoring the strength contained there. He needed to come, but for the first time in maybe forever, he was more concerned about someone else’s pleasure. Making a face, Drew used his other hand to reach down and adjust himself. The zipper on his jeans was carving YKK onto his dick.
He had to know something. “Why’d you want to help me?” His voice was low.
“Huh?” Ridge stretched his arms out, groaning low.
“The house. Your friend’s house. Why’d you help me?” The question had been burning in his mind since he’d found the note from Rae several days ago. It was the original reason he’d shown up at Ridge’s door this morning.
Ridge asked me to mention this to you -- there’s a house for sale about two miles up the road; an old friend of Ridge passed on and his family wants to get rid of the place. Ridge thought you might like it for Elsa. Here’s the family’s phone number and the address of the place.
Sighing, Ridge pushed upward, not looking at Drew as he tucked himself back into his jeans. He groaned again, this time in exasperation, as he saw the wet spot on the blanket. “God.” Yanking it off the desk, he bundled it up and folded it roughly.
Perplexed, Drew watched him. “Aren’t you going to tell me? You had to have a reason.”
Frowning, blowing out a big breath, Ridge turned, holding the blanket at his middle, looking put-upon. “Your dog needs a yard.”
Brows raised at that, Drew stared. “My dog needs a yard.” He pondered for a moment. “Does this mean that you’re not pissed anymore?”
Snorting a laugh, Ridge walked to the door, setting the blanket on a box. “For now, city boy. For now.” Grabbing another blanket from the shelves, he covered the desk once again. “If you’re going to help me, the packing tape’s over there.” He jerked his head toward the bench.
Breathing easier, Drew started securing the blanket in place. The two of them didn’t say much more, other than quick instructions as they got the desk moved to the overhead door at the side of the shop.
Ridge grabbed his truck keys and pushed the opener for the big door. “I’ll pull around here. Just a sec.”
He backed his white F250 SuperDuty into the shop, stopping just inside. Drew, in the meantime, had located the furniture dolly and rolled it next to the desk. Between the two of them, they got the desk on the dolly and pushed it over to the ramp Ridge had set on the tailgate. With a great deal of struggling and cursing, they managed to get the desk up into the bed of the pickup.
“Christ! Maybe I should have let you call your nitwit friend after all.” Drew wiped sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his T-shirt.
Guzzling from a water bottle, Ridge gave him a look. Lowering his hand, he slowly screwed the cap on. “Shelby is not a nitwit. He just lets you know when he doesn’t like something. Or someone.” Shrugging innocently, he tossed the bottle to Drew. “Catch.”
Drew grabbed the bottle one-handed. “Yeah. I see that.” He took a drink, finishing the cold water. Maybe it was better to leave that subject alone. “So, where is this behemoth going?”
It ended up in the office of a local divorce lawyer, one Seacrest Jones. According to Ridge, the attorney had ordered the desk three months before and wanted it in place before his next big client meeting. The building’s maintenance guy was meeting them to give them access.
The attorney’s building dated from 1870, according to the Historic Register plaque next to the front door. Looking right at home in Asheville’s historic district, the frame Queen Anne was remarkably preserved, its graceful façade a dignified, pale gray.
They muscled the desk out of the truck and in through the side door, where there was an accessible ramp attached. The architecturally detailed exterior was reflected inside, and Drew noted the beautiful profiles on the floor and ceiling moldings.
The maintenance man headed back outside once they were inside Jones’ office. There, Drew was surprised at the departure from the historic nineteenth-century look. The furnishings were not at all the same style as the converted home. In fact, the twentieth-century desk was going to fit right in. He turned to look at Ridge questioningly. “This doesn’t match the rest of the place.”
Shaking his head, Ridge steered the dolly to the bay window. “Mr. Jones doesn’t like the really old stuff, as he calls it.”
“The really old stuff.” Drew frowned, bothered by that. “You mean, classic architecture and materials, and respect for old craftsmanship? That kind of old stuff?”
“Yeah. Exactly.” The drawling voice came from behind them. “I hate that shit.”
Pausing in their efforts to remove the desk from the dolly, both Ridge and Drew turned to look at the newcomer. Brows knit, Drew stared at the... petite?... man in the doorway. He was reminded of the jockeys he’d seen at Arlington the rare times he’d gone to the track for an event: small, wiry, and full of attitude. The guy didn’t look more than five foot six, but he radiated an arrogance that would fit a guy much larger. The clothes Jones wore added to the image. The tailored, charcoal, double-breasted suit had to be designer. Danny, the son of a bitch, had managed to drill that much into his head.