Secret Light (14 page)

Ben had stumbled into something with Rafe that he’d never encountered before—

he wanted a man for more than the release they shared. He wanted to spend time in

Rafe’s company, to feed him and please him and help him around the house and yard.

He wanted to find the person who hurt Rafe and make him pay.

For now, all they had was their silent, sensual nights together. They groped for each

other, grinding blindly until they found wordless bliss in each other’s arms. They clung

together in sleep as they never could in the light of day.

Even now. Even meandering placidly through suburban streets in the darkness,

they didn’t dare acknowledge what they’d been sharing.

Or maybe…

Rafe shifted again, resting his hand lightly on the seat between them. Ben glanced

down and laid his hand adjacent to it. Not touching, but close enough that he could

almost imagine he felt some phantom sensation from Rafe’s skin. He focused his

attention back on the road, driving with one hand, content and a little sleepy.

Happy.

Rafe’s hand moved then, inching nearer. Lean fingers curled and slid and laced

with his. Their texture startled him. He’d imagined this—only he’d assumed Rafe’s

hand would be cool, not warm, not moist, as it was when they stroked each other off,

but dry to the touch. He’d assumed his own hand would be clammy—that he’d cling to

Rafe’s without hope of reciprocity. But in fact, the opposite was true. Rafe’s touch was

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gentle. Tentative. Rafe was asking for something he didn’t even know how to name.

When Ben turned his hand and wrapped it around Rafe’s, a sigh escaped them both.

Rafe clasped Ben’s hand tightly, and the shy gesture dislodged something in his

heart. It moved him in deep, old places where he kept sacred things—bonds of blood

and brotherhood, loyalty to family, his simple faith, and his desire to do good.

He had nothing to say, but words weren’t needed. Words could be dangerous and

cumbersome. One word—
any word
—could shatter the moment, crack it like thin ice

beneath their feet and drown them in the frigid despair of real life.

The night was cold, but their small physical contact was a blanket that covered

them both. In that easy silence, Ben knew his connection to Rafe was solid, even if his

hold on it was not.

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Chapter Twelve

When they got to Rafe’s house, Ben pulled into the driveway. He let the car idle

while he helped Rafe inside. He couldn’t stop himself from checking around either,

from putting on his detective hat and looking over the windows and doors, going

through each room to make sure no one had tried to get in. That no one was lying in

wait.

Probably Rafe had unwittingly confronted a burglar. Probably the attack was a

coincidence after the vandalism. But like all cops, he was suspicious of coincidence.

Even though the first crime appeared to have nothing to do with the second, Ben never

felt quite safe leaving, even for the time it took to park and walk back, until he made

sure Rafe was alone with the doors locked.

Ben returned to his car, and before he could get in, the light came on at Ed’s place.

His face appeared at the window overlooking Rafe’s driveway.

“Hiya, Ben.”

“Hi, Ed.” He spoke in a low voice and hoped the exuberant Ed would do the same.

“How are you this evening?”

“Just great. I made myself a nice dinner and watched some television. I enjoy sitting

with Rafe, but he doesn’t watch, you know? Doesn’t even have a television. Seems odd,

but he doesn’t like it. Says he’d rather work. You coming back, or do you think I should

come over?”

“I’ll be here. I’m just parking a bit away.”

“Oh right.”

“I’ll come get Mooki in a minute.”

“That’s fine.”

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“Do you want to come over for breakfast? I’m off tomorrow, and I thought I’d make

a nice meal and go get something to decorate Rafe’s place. He lost all his Christmas

things in the fire except the lights he had up already.”

“That’s real nice of you. I didn’t think of that. I’ve got so much stuff I could help,

maybe. Helen loved Christmas, but with no kids or grandkids around… I don’t do

much about it anymore.”

“I’m going to get him a tree. Maybe if I could borrow some decorations for it?”

“I’ll get the boxes down from the garage first thing tomorrow. You can use

whatever you like.”

“Thank you, Ed.”

“You’re a great guy. I’m sorry Rafe has had to go through all this.” Ed’s voice

dropped to a bare whisper. “But he’s a really nice man. I’m glad you found each other.

It’s good he’s not going to be alone.”

At this, Ed lowered the window and pulled the sash. If Ben had wondered whether

Ed was more intuitive than he appeared, he now had little doubt. The man had left

them discreetly each night, he’d bought Ben’s story about why he parked down the

street without question, and he’d hinted, more than once, that it made him happy to see

them together.

There was no telling with people. An old guy like Ed, a former soldier, a man

who’d been married, seemed to understand and even exhibit tolerance toward their

friendship, where if some of the guys he worked with had any inkling, there would be

hell to pay.

He parked along the next block over and walked back through the alley and up

Rafe’s street. Most of the houses had long since turned their Christmas lights off. A cat

crossed the empty road, pausing eerie-eyed for a second in the pool of illumination cast

by a streetlight.

Maybe it was time to establish something more…specific.

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Ben wanted to approach Rafe in the light—at least the incandescent-bulb light of his

home—even if the drapes had to be drawn. He wanted to look Rafe in the eye and tell

him how happy he’d been for the last few days. He wanted to tell Rafe he now spent a

good part of his workday thinking about him. How everything he cared about had

narrowed down to keeping Rafe safe and seeing him at the end of the day.

How even doing his job had turned into a kind of quest to keep Los Angeles a safe

place for his new lover to live.

His lover.

Ben got Mooki from Ed, and while she was excited to see him, it was obvious she

wasn’t yet her normal, frisky dog-self. She was such a sweet thing, anyway, moving

along beside him, slower, for sure, but still willing. He walked her on her leash up the

driveway to Rafe’s back door, which Rafe had probably left unlocked for him, even

though Ben told him not to. Rafe said he didn’t want to have to answer the door, and it

was only minutes. Ben argued that someone had already hurt Rafe, and there was no

point to being a sitting duck. The knob turned in his hand, and he frowned.

Ben unleashed Mooki and let her go to her master. He was about to give Rafe

another lecture, but he found him sitting in the living room in his pajamas and dressing

gown. He looked tired… And just like that, Ben was putty in his hands again.

Rafe greeted Mooki and pulled her onto his lap with one arm. He wore some kind

of tan leather slippers that looked like moccasins. He looked so handsome, so at ease,

Ben stopped where he was just to watch him.

Somehow, he’d managed to pack his pipe but was fumbling with matches, trying to

light it. Frustration colored his features.

“Here.” Ben crossed the room and took the box of matches from him. He struck one

and held it out. While Rafe lit his pipe, their gazes met, and once again his body heated,

his blood pooled in his groin. A low hum of energy flooded through him, to the tips of

his fingers and toes. “You always surprise me.”

“Do I?” Rafe blew out a thin stream of smoke.

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“Always.” Ben made his way to the big bay window and drew the drapes. They

were made from heavy dark green damask and closed over cream fabric sheers. As far

as he knew, Rafe never closed them. But with the light on inside, the living room was

visible to the street. For this one night, he wanted privacy. He went to the other

windows and pulled the shades. “Mind if I make a fire?”

“Not at all.” Rafe puffed his pipe thoughtfully. “Can I ask why you closed the

drapes?”

“I want to sit here with you. I want to talk to you and light your pipe. I want to

drink and smile at you and not worry—if anyone should see me—that my face isn’t

properly schooled.”

A curious half smile teased its way onto Rafe’s lips. “That sounds very nice.”

“Okay, then.”

Ben knelt on the hearth and laid bits of kindling and wood into the fireplace. When

he was satisfied, he keyed the gas and held one of Ben’s long matches to it, watching as

it caught, as it burst into flames along the pierced rod under the grate. That was one of

the things he missed. He lived in an apartment over his mother’s garage and had no

fireplace. On Saturdays in the winter, he liked to light hers. It took the chill off the air in

her little house by the sea.

When he was done, he crossed the room to Rafe and simply got on his knees, palms

flat on Rafe’s thighs. He invited touch, silently begging Rafe to take him into his arms. It

had to be Rafe’s choice if they carried what they had started in the darkness into the

light.

Ben waited in an agony of anticipation and nerves. He was almost ready to

abandon hope when Rafe reached out and cupped his cheek. He leaned into Rafe’s

hand exactly as Mooki did, filled with gratitude, longing for more. Waiting to be petted

and murmured over.

Rafe ran his fingers from Ben’s jawline to his shoulder, lightly brushing his stubbled

neck. He slipped his hand around Ben’s back to pull him closer, and Mooki jumped to

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the floor in an act of self-preservation that was the perkiest thing Ben had seen her do in

days.

It broke the awkward silence, and both men laughed. Suddenly, neither of them led

and neither followed. They simply reached for each other, coming together in a kiss the

brought their passion into sharp focus. Ben pressed his face against the sweet-smelling

warmth of Rafe’s chest, breathing in the scent of pipe and cedar, of whiskey and man,

and he thought right then that there could be no better smell on earth, except maybe if

he added rain.

Ben took the sash of Rafe’s robe and undid the knot that held it closed. Without

taking his eyes from Rafe’s, he unbuttoned his pajama top and pulled the tape to loosen

the waistband of his pants. His prize was in sight, and he half expected a murmured

protest from Rafe—at the least an admonition to take their lovemaking into the

bedroom—but Rafe said nothing, just watched, his whole heart in his eyes like a gift for

Ben.

He trusts me.

Ben’s breath caught.

He trusts me, and he’s never trusted anyone.

“I want this,” he told Rafe. “Will you let me?”

Rafe nodded, his eyes uncertain. Surely he knew what Ben meant?

“I want to taste you.”

Rafe blinked at him, his pupils huge in his pale face. Desire or apprehension. If it

was the former, Ben planned to enjoy it. If it was the latter, Ben could eradicate it with

the first stroke of his tongue. He pulled at the fabric of Rafe’s pants, baring the fine, firm

erection beneath it, and lowered his head.

“
Jesus
.” Rafe jumped like he’d gotten an electrical shock. Ben’s mouth closed

around him. “What? Uuh—”

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Ben didn’t reply or even look up. He swirled his tongue around the delicate

mushroom-cap shape and lowered himself down Rafe’s shaft, slicking and sucking as

he went, his hand wrapped around the base and his head bobbing along the length. He

used his fist to distribute his saliva, to grip and pull on Rafe’s cock as he tickled and

teased with his tongue. Then he opened his mouth wide and dove down again, taking

the entire length in, forcing himself to swallow around Rafe’s flesh without gagging,

then coming up for air again, over and over.

“
Verdammt
,” Rafe cursed. He’d gripped Ben’s short hair with his good hand and

dug through it to scratch his scalp. His fingers spasmed, and Ben could tell he wanted

to push him down, maybe to hold him there and drive in and out, but Ben didn’t let

him have control.

Rafe’s legs fell open, and he pushed his hips toward the edge of his seat, offering

himself up to Ben like a sacrifice. Ben took that opportunity to curl his fingers through

Rafe’s pubic hair, to reach down and cup his balls. He inched his index finger along the