Page 11 of The Bounty
Ending the call, he leaned against the door and closed his eyes, fixating on that one word.
Home.
What did she mean by it? Dropping him back in Vienna or London, then on to the States for Blaine? Or was he riding along to the States with Blaine and then back to Europe? Could it be that she was offering him more? A different, better home. Could he have that? Had he done well enough to make this a permanent gig? Did he want that? Salary and benefits, coworkers he could trust, a place to call his own when he wasn’t traveling? Yes to all that, plus Blaine in his be— He shook off the thought before it fully formed, pushing off the door and pacing the two short steps the room allowed.
He braced his hands on the sink and stared at the man in the mirror. All forty-plus years of battle—his family, his marriage, his years of military service, his years with the Austrian Federal Police, his decades at the bottom of a bottle before he’d sobered up—all of it etched into the wrinkles on his face, painted in the strands of silvering blond hair, folded into his weary soul. He wasn’t a catch. He was a heavy anchor, as dangerous to Blaine as any of the people chasing them, even if Blaine didn’t see that. Hell, Wags could only see it himself like this, standing alone in the dim reality, outside the blinding light of the attraction between them, away from the adrenaline that had made things brighter.
He turned on the cold tap, cupped his hands under the faucet, and splashed chilly water on his face. He would go out there and be professional. Secure the bounty and the diary, catch some half-aware shut-eye in the corner chair, then get them to the airport on time in the morning.
Get them home.
He had enough to redeem himself for already without adding to the list another moment of weakness, of selfishness.
He dried his hands and opened the door.
Blaine sat cross-legged in the middle of the king-size bed, chin wobbling, tears streaming down his pale cheeks. He lifted his face, dark eyes full of anger-drenched despair. “He did it. My father really did it.” He choked on a sob. “And I did nothing to stop it.”
Wags’s best intentions took a hurtling jump out the window. He climbed onto the bed beside Blaine and curled an arm around his shoulders. “You were just a kid.”
“I was twenty.”
“And just as much a pawn to him as your mother was. As all of us were.”
Blaine gestured helplessly with the diary, lifting it weakly, then letting it fall to his knee. “She was trying to protect me. She was going to get us out. He couldn’t…” He swallowed hard and forced out scratchy words. “He couldn’t have that and be president.”
Couldn’t be president at all after the long list of heinous crimes he’d committed had finally come to light. And now there would be another crime added to that list, foretold in the victim’s own words, held in the care of another of Stewart’s victims. “How did Charles get hold of the diary?”
Blaine picked up the journal again and flipped to the last page, holding it open for Wags to read the short, devastating note.
Charles, I know. Stewart knows I know and will kill me for it. Protect my son when I’m gone. —C
Wags’s stomach lurched, his heart with it, tumbled by sorrow for the life lost and the one left behind. “Oh, baby.” He gathered Blaine the rest of the way into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”
Blaine’s sobs broke free, the book slipping from his grasp as his body shook, as he burrowed deeper into the embrace, his tears soaking Wags’s shirt. Wags couldn’t help wondering if this was the first time Blaine had truly let himself grieve. For his mother, for himself, for the life and family he should have had. He carded his fingers through Blaine’s top strands, whispering forgiveness and calming words, rocking him gently while he let the tears and demons go.
Countless minutes it went on, but eventually the racking sobs gave way to sniffles, then to Blaine’s nose and lips teasing a trail from the divot at the hollow of Wags’s throat to the underside of his chin.
“Blaine…”
“I owe?—”
Wags drew back and cupped his face, thumbs over his lips. “You don’t owe me anything. You only owe yourself a chance.”
“I’m taking that chance,” Blaine whispered against the pads of his thumbs. “With you.” And then he flicked his tongue out, causing Wags to gasp and tremble with barely contained desire, giving Blaine an opening to wrap his lips around the tips of his thumbs and suck.
Wags groaned. Mentally begged his cock not to harden so fast. To give him a chance to do the right thing. “I’m not worth it. You don’t kn?—”
“I know enough.” Blaine rose onto his knees and threw one leg across Wags’s lap, straddling him and taking his face in his hands, the same way Wags had done to him. “You’re a good man, Theodore Wagner, and tonight I need to forget all this before it becomes my life for the next however many months it takes to make sure my father rots in jail.”
Determination shone through the leftover tears in his eyes, and Wags’s admiration for the man in his lap swelled. He covered Blaine’s hands with his own. “You know, you’re incredible.”
Blaine grinned. “Let me show you how incredible.”
“I don’t want to take advantage.”
That grin tipped into a smirk. “If that’s what you think is going on here, you’re not half as smart as I thought you were.” He leaned forward, lips brushing over Wags’s. “Trust me.”
He had to, didn’t he? Blaine was an adult who’d been through more than most people his age. And this past weekend, he had proven himself skilled and competent. He knew his own mind, and that mind, remarkably, had trusted him, was set on him, at least for tonight.
