Ginger was right. The real estate business they co-owned needed a boost. They were doing okay, but lately, they were just making ends meet. Volunteering for this charity event would make them more prominent in the community, since neither of them was from here.
Besides, she’d never been against showing a little ass cheek.
“I hope like hell no one we know is there.” Bree adjusted her bra at her cleavage, and felt a lurch forward as Ginger put her foot on the accelerator. Going nude on the beach at Daytona during Spring Break was one thing. “I mean, how embarrassing? What if we truly ran into a client? It could be the kiss of death…” Baring it to a colleague was quite another.
“Give it a rest, Bree. We need to run into our clients and colleagues. They need to see us giving back to the community we live in.”
“They don’t need to see the cheeks of my ass.”
“Oh hell! When did you become Ms. Prude! It’s a flamboyant, funky, charity party with all the artsy community attending so they will get their pictures in the paper. No one will care if you are showing your ass!”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because, I just know these things.”
Not comforting. Ginger’s sixth sense about “things” was what led them out to the Southwest in the first place. And so far, that hadn’t panned out too well.
Ginger maneuvered a curve and slowed. “Oh. My. God.”
Even through the slanting snow, they faced a spectacular view of the land stretching between the east side of the Sandias and toward Santa Fe. A little to their right, sat a very large stucco house, artfully placed into the mountain landscape and facing that same view. There were a couple of cars in the drive, as they were early.
The volunteers were to arrive at seven. The party was due to begin at eight. Bree figured it wouldn’t really get started until about ten.
“This is the house,” Ginger said.
“Damn.”
“Money.”
“Yep.”
Then Ginger pointed. “And look. There.”
A SOLD sign was perched rather cockeyed at the end of the drive. “Dammit,” Ginger hissed. “We sure could have used a sale like that.”
Bree frowned. “Way things have been going lately, I’d settle for the sale of that casita off Rio Grande.”
Jake Baldwin peered out the window. Even though it was now dark, the lights from the house reflected off the white, snow-covered hills and valleys below. He sat at the back of the house, away from the party, a bit disgruntled and lost in thought, as usual. His life, for the most part, was all he’d wanted it to be. Successful career, huge home-this new home-in the mountains, a satisfying social life with an eclectic bevy of friends, and…
“Jake?”
Carson.
He stood and turned toward the voice of his lover. The opening of the door threw a triangle of light into the dark room. Carson strode slowly inside, stooping slightly to twist the switch on a lamp, low lighting the room.
Yes, and he had Carson.
And for a long time, that had been enough.
“What are you doing back here?” he asked. “The party is in full swing.”
“I know.”
“Guests are asking for you.”
“I’ll be there in time for the auction.”
“Good. I have my eye on an item for you,” he went on. “I may have bid too high.”
He wished he wouldn’t do that. “Please, don’t go overboard.”
Carson eyed him. “I know my limits. And you are still in a funk.”
Nodding, he cast his gaze away. “I’m sorry. I know I promised to snap out of it for the party, but it’s not working.”
They both stood for a moment staring at the floor.
The silence between them was telling. There had been too much of it between them the past few months. Talking didn’t seem to be on their common agenda.
He felt the warmth of Carson’s palm on his bicep. “Look at me, Jake,” he said softly, lifting his chin with the forefinger of the other hand.
Jake hooked his gaze into Carson’s and exhaled. “I appreciate your patience with me. I’m just…”
“Sh…” Carson drew closer. “Stop talking and listen to me. We’ll get through this. I am a patient man. But you need to decide, Jake, what you want, sooner or later.”
He knew that.
Carson was patient when they bought the house together. Jake had pushed it, wanting to be high in the Sandias. Carson would have preferred the city. He thought buying the house would settle him somewhat. Ground him into their life together. Help him forget…
It hadn’t.
Carson didn’t want to know what was wrong. Had said he didn’t need to know the truth. But he knew that it was serious and that Jake had screwed up. He’d even said he had forgiven him, even though he didn’t know what for.
Why couldn’t he forgive himself?
And why couldn’t he just fess up and tell Carson that he’d fucked up?
No. Instead, he’d lied. Told him the moodiness was due to depression. In reality that probably wasn’t far from being true. His brain was screwed on crooked, and he couldn’t make sense of what was, and wasn’t, the right thing to do anymore.
He wanted to be fair. Wanted it like hell. And he didn’t want to ask anything of Carson that was outside of his comfort zone. But things changed.
And he knew exactly when.
Since then, nothing sat well. Nothing satisfied.
Decide what I want. Sooner or later.
Thing was, the decision wasn’t totally up to him, was it?
“That’s the thing, Carson,” he whispered, “I know what I want. I’m just not sure you will agree.”
Waiting, he stared into the blue of his lover’s eyes. Slowly, his partner leaned into him, clutched his bicep a little tighter, and placed a soft kiss on his lips.
“Leave it to me.” Carson’s soft breath tickled his cheek. “I will make this work.”
Jake wasn’t sure that he could.
Chapter Two
Glancing at the clock over the bartender’s head, Bree sighed and tried not to hobble in her black stiletto patent leather boots. It was damned difficult, though, and she leaned into the bar in an attempt to take the pressure off the balls of her feet. She sat her empty tray down on the counter. “I need a Vodka Collins, a Mojito with light ice, straight bourbon, and something fruity. She doesn’t care what it is as long as it has pineapple.”
The bartender-his name was Ted, she thought-snickered and started on the drinks. Turning her back to him, she glanced out over the party crowd. Her earlier thoughts that the party wouldn’t heat up until ten o’clock were on track. Even though the crowd was smaller than anticipated, and rather sophisticated and artsy, they knew how to throw down a good time.
She was ready to go home.
“How you doing?” Ginger tap-danced her way up to the bar. “Isn’t this exciting?” She smiled broadly, tossing her amber locks over her shoulder. Sidling closer, she lowered her voice and said, “How are the tips? I think I’ve tucked minimum of five hundred in my bra. Hell, we are going to have a pile of money to give to the shelter.”
Bree glanced to Ginger’s chest. “You look lopsided. Your right tit is lumpy.”
Slapping her tray on the bar, she did a quick adjustment. “Look at this place, Bree. My God! I wish we could land a sale like this. They just bought it, I heard. I’m thinking close to a mil. What do you think?”
Bree broke her gaze from Ginger and perused the room. A harmony of party sounds swirled around them-a classy jazz tune laid a nice bass level to the cacophony; people talking and bursts of laughter balanced the treble. The people were a trip. Dressed in all kinds of couture, from vintage eclectic, to Goth Christmas, to diamonds and black tie, there was an air of sophisticated funk about the room.
But Bree was only in tune with the home. Floor to ceiling windows faced the view of the mountains and the twinkling valley lights below. The great room was large; the bar she stood at was a permanent fixture. Solid oak. Wood beams crisscrossed the ceiling; others stood as pillars throughout the room, lending a rustic, Southwest feel. The interior walls were stucco; the floors terra cotta tile. The kitchen behind her was magnificent-she’d stuck her head in there earlier in the evening-complete with state-of-the art stainless everything.