Luck, Laughter and Love Page 4

  Harper’s BlackBerry vibrated in his pocket, far, far too close to his groin, oversensitized in Rory’s presence whether or not the man -- muse -- was naked. He slapped his hand over the device.

  Rory cocked an eyebrow. “Ants in your pants?”

  “Cute.” Harper checked the caller ID. He resisted the urge to a) groan and b) throw the phone across the room. A new BlackBerry was out of his price range and if he didn’t take this, the person on the other end wouldn’t think twice about hitting redial multiple times. “Excuse me. I have to take this.”

  “You sure look like you don’t want to. Who is it?” Rory dropped his legs and leaned on his arms on the table. “Tell ’em to take a hike. We’re busy.”

  “It won’t take long.” Compared to, say, the Spanish Inquisition.

  Harper turned away from Rory, wondering if he could get up subtly enough to turn his back. He really didn’t want his muse picking up on a conversation with -- “Patrick. Hi.”

  “He answers on the first attempt? The next thing you know, pigs will fly.” Patrick chuckled, working his deep, melodious tenor to its best advantage and well aware of it, too. “Harper! How’ve you been? I hear you’re walking down the street in mismatched Converses talking to yourself these days. How’s that going for you? Off the record, of course.”

  “Good to hear from you again, Patrick.”

  Rory whistled softly. “Muses can see auras, you know. I mentioned it before. Anyway, yours looks like I could play ‘hot lava’ on your head. Hang up on whoever that is. That kind of headache, you don’t need.”

  “Do I hear a new voice over there, Harper?” Patrick asked, silky as the inside of a luxury coffin. “Is he an actor or a director? An ingénue on set of Twilight Rising? The target demographic of Glitz Nightly would love to get the inside scoop.”

  Harper dug his hands through his hair and stood, forgoing discretion. “Cut the crap, Patrick. You know you’re not getting anything out of me.”

  “That’s rude.” Patrick tsked at him. “I’m just calling to see how an old friend’s faring. Nothing harmful in that, is there? I have a right to be concerned about your losing your grip on reality, chatting to invisible people while trying to con an innocent vendor.”

  “Not to mention it’d make the headline news segment.”

  “There’s that, too,” Patrick agreed, almost purring.

  “I --” Harper stopped as a specific set of tumblers clicked into place. “Wait. You saw that?” Indignation flared. “You’re stalking me now?”

  “It’s not stalking if you happen to work on the same block and catch a glimpse across a crowded street,” Patrick snapped. “I’m not surprised you didn’t see me. Too busy talking with the transparent space men from Mars, weren’t you?”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Harper tugged at his hair. “You saw me. You didn’t see the guy with me?” How was that possible? The vendor had known Rory was there. Harper covered the mouthpiece and hissed at Rory, “What’s up with this?”

  Rory didn’t try to pretend he hadn’t been eavesdropping. “Wasn’t necessary for anyone else to get a look at me at the time.”

  “That’s great. Super. Now everyone on the block thinks I’m as crazy as the vendor.”

  “One seriously scary guy, let me tell you.” Rory waved off Harper’s alarm. “Calm down, would you? No one gave us a second look, except whoever that dick is.” He pursed his lips. “Actually, I think I recognize his voice. What is he, a skinny guy with beady eyes? Tall, creepy owl eyebrows?”

  “No. That’s the traffic guard.”

  “Got it!” Rory snapped his fingers. “Young, urbane, dressed snappier than a rubber band, eighty-dollar haircut and polished wing tips?”

  “That’s him, all right. Have you met?”

  “Hell, no. I just described 50 percent of the foot traffic out there.”

  Harper resisted the urge to bang his head into the wall. He uncovered the mouthpiece and addressed Patrick instead. “Thanks for your concern. I’m fine.”

  “Of course you are. Not,” Patrick replied.

  Rory waved to get Harper’s attention and mimed something. Harper tracked his movements, baffled. What? he mouthed.

  Rory sighed, long, drawn-out, and put-upon. He tapped his ear. “Tell him you had a Bluetooth in if you’re so worried about what he thinks.”

  “Bluetooth,” Harper blurted, relief washing through him.

  “Who is this putz?” Rory looked to be getting bored, doodling on the back of his hand with the dry-erase marker.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Patrick. I was taking a conference call on a Bluetooth when you saw me.” Harper found his stride again. “Thanks for calling, and sorry to disappoint your viewers. We appreciate your interest, and invite you to check us out on the World Wide Web at --”

  Patrick told him what he could do with his double-u double-u double-u and disconnected. Lacked the punch of the olden days when someone could bang a phone down nice and loud, but he managed to convey the mood fine and dandy on his own.

  “Ouch,” Rory remarked. “That sounded about as fun as a barrel of monkeys. Rabid ones. You okay?”

  Harper sat, tossing his phone across the table. “Really, really not.”

  “You want I should go see if I can squeeze out a nightmare or two for him?” Rory leaned forward, peering at Harper as if trying to see inside his skull. “Seriously. Why’s that dickhead got you so worked up?”

  “Because that,” Harper said, pointing at the phone, “was Patrick.”

  “Sounds like you want to make that rhyme with ‘asshole,’” Rory observed.

  “Is there a rhyme for -- never mind. You don’t know what he is?”

  “Not a clue, Sherlock. Fill me in.”

  Harper’s mind supplied a flurry of filling in imagery that had nothing to do with conversation. He shook it off. More important matters than his sex drive were at stake here. Damn it. “Patrick is the network sweetheart and prime-time anchor of Glitz Entertainment Nightly, the premier gossip half hour. He’d do anything to get his hands on inside information on Twilight Rising and he’s gotten wind of my pitching the In Outré concept to Rialto.”

  “That’s bad?”

  “Incredibly bad. In Outré is… it’s a long shot. They have no reason to look at or want anything from a no-name like me, and if Janie hadn’t pulled more strings than a puppeteer the concept never would have landed on a desk. If gossip starts flying, they’ll drop me faster than a hot tamale.”

  “You do love your similes but that makes sense, yeah,” Rory said, nodding. “Behind-the-scenes, hush-hush. Rialto’s not gonna want dish about maybe-or-maybe-not, especially when it’s a big ‘maybe.’ And Patrick would make it sound like it’s a done deal just to humiliate you when they get annoyed by his coverage and decide it’s ‘not,’ yeah?”

  “Yep. And as for Twilight Rising, everything here on this set is top secret until airing dates. If Patrick got his hands on anything he could use against us, it’d be worse.”

  “He’d torpedo you.”

  “Hole-in-one.”

  “So, is that it? Huh.” Rory tapped a disjointed rhythm on the tabletop. “Dunno. Sounds like there’s more to the story. What aren’t you telling me? Why’s he got such a hard-on for you?”

  “Ah-ha-ha. Truer than you know.” Harper rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Patrick was a P.A. with ambitions. First, he tried out for a new lead role. Didn’t get it. He can’t act his way out of a paper bag. He thought he’d get slick and steal some scripts to sell to the tabloids. Got his ass handed to him in a sling. But… he’s good with the smarm, so he twisted the reports of what really happened, traded on a few outstanding favors to get back at us, and landed a second-best on Glitz Nightly. They love him.”

  “Wannabe golden boy with a grudge.”

  “It gets better.” Harper pinched the bridge of his nose, a good, old familiar headache starting up behind his eyes. “Patrick is also my ex.”

  Rory knitted his hands to
gether under his chin. “Problematic, to be sure. Add writer’s block to a pissy former squeeze and mix in the pressure of keeping secrets. I don’t get all the details yet, but that’d keep you tied up in knots, if nothing else. Not much good for writing. Yet you need as much as you can to submit to the network while they consider your pitch. And Janie’s put her neck on the line with this In Outré deal so she’ll hound you for updates, yeah?”

  Harper nodded.

  “Okay. I’ve worked tougher,” he said, a phrase Harper was beginning to recognize as Roryskrit for “I’m thinking.”

  He waited for his muse to get back to him. Should there be elevator music playing at a time like this?

  “Got an idea.” Rory shook out his fingers. “First things first. We’ve gotta detox some of that stress. Turn around, put your back to me, and hold still. This won’t hurt. Much.”

  “What are you doing?” Harper wasn’t keen on blind obedience after a warning like that from his muse.

  “Helping you relax, which won’t work so great if you’re all tense and touchy. Turn around.”

  Harper obeyed, though he had to ask, “Are you inspiring me to obey you?”

  Rory thwacked him gently on the back of his head on his way to stand behind Harper. “Ooh. Nice thought, but no. I can give you all kinds of ideas, but what happens with those ideas, that’s all up to you. There’s a lot you don’t get about me yet, and a lot I don’t get about you, so that makes us even.”

  “Huh.” Harper fidgeted. “I still don’t know what you’re up to -- ohh.” He wilted forward, dropping his forehead to the table, and moaned.

  “You like?”

  “Oh God. God. Rory. Don’t stop. Don’t you ever stop that.”

  Rory snickered. “Note to self: Harper’s a slut for a good neck rub. Maybe you should have Osborne take some night classes.” He paused. “Do you have any other actual characters?”

  “Shut up and keep massaging.” Harper rolled his shoulders and groaned, albeit trying to keep it quiet. “Did you have any muse gigs in Sweden, by chance?”

  “Not since before they invented spa treatments.”

  “Really?” Harper tried to look over his shoulder. “How old are you?”

  Rory poked him in the base of the neck. “Older than my teeth and younger than my tongue. You want a back rub, too?”

  Harper could have kissed him.

  “You could, you know,” Rory said quietly, a barely audible rumbling burr. “I wouldn’t say no.” He hmm’d before Harper could reply but after he’d flinched. “Sorry about the mind-reading thing. My bad. Lower and to the left?”

  “Yes. Please.” Harper was glad he didn’t have to look at Rory. His head buzzed and hummed under the muse’s influence, and not with story ideas.

  Rory seemed to want him. Good God, did Rory ever seem to want him. There was no “seem” about it. Harper’s hard-on attested to an equal interest, and then some.

  So, what sort of grade-A moron would turn down a hard-packed firecracker with a clever wit, passion, and magic fingers?

  Harper sighed. That kind of moron would be one who still wasn’t wholly convinced that Rory was real. A crumb-sized corner of Harper’s mind couldn’t believe, no matter what his body told him.

  More, he had an uneasy feeling that this might be part of the artist-muse relationship. One of those bylaws he hadn’t talked about, sexual inspiration and implied consent without Rory’s say-so on the matter. If that was the case, he wanted no part of it.

  Then again, considering Rory’s basic nature as witnessed so far, Harper would bet the offer came 100 percent from Rory’s pure, unadulterated horn-dogging heart.

  Still… how could he be sure?

  “You’re thinking too hard for me to be doing this right,” Rory grumbled, applying his thumbs to tender spots that melted Harper. “That’s better.”

  Silent moments passed, Rory’s clever hands working tension Harper hadn’t even known he possessed out of knotted muscles and stiff shoulders. “Look at you. Almost purring like a kitten. See, this is how it should be. You’re not happy with your job, are you? There’s a writer’s soul in there, though. I can see it as clear as day, so where’s all the conflict coming from?”

  Harper bit his tongue. Tell Rory about wanting to jump his bones and ride him like a cowboy? Not such a great idea in the workplace, even if Harper thought it might make him lose his cocky cool for a hot minute. Listening to his body, that could be bad.

  He dodged the question instead. “I’m not ashamed of what I do.”

  Rory hmmphed, as if not buying the diversion for a second. He didn’t let up on the rubbing, allowing this one to pass. “No one said you were, or that you should be. Hold still.”

  “Patrick thinks I’m a laughingstock.”

  “Patrick is a walking advertisement for the advocation of birth control. Besides, he’s all sour grapes.” Rory kneaded Harper’s shoulders. “Take it easy, breathe, relax.”

  “Mmm.” Harper’s attention had wandered, following its own stream-of-consciousness trail. Honesty being the best policy with a muse, what harm was there in out-and-out asking? “Question for you?”

  “Shoot.”

  “You know I’m, uh --”

  “What, gay? It’s kinda obvious given the ex-boyfriend, and I can tell you’re all about the cock. The way you kept staring at mine when I was naked was a good giveaway.” Rory tweaked Harper’s ear. “Hold still. What’s it matter?”

  Harper shrugged uncomfortably. “Helping me write is one thing. I don’t want you to think you’re obligated to do any, um, hands-on stuff.”

  “No one’s twisting my arm.” Rory goosed him.

  “Quit goofing off.” Blushes warmed Harper’s face. “Just tell me what normally rings your bell. Straight or gay?”

  “Gay if you want me to be,” Rory answered without hesitation. “Wait.” Rory stopped massaging and pulled Harper about-face to better study him. “You’re asking for real? Huh. You are.” He studied Harper in new interest. “It’s been a long, long time, but I like guys. I like women, too, but guys suit me finer than fine.” He treated Harper to a long, assessing, approving look. “If you’re asking about you, my friend, I’d tap that like the fist of an angry god.”

  “Thank you.” Harper’s lips twitched as he tried to swallow a chuckle. “I think.”

  Rory perked up. “Does that mean you wanna?”

  Did he ever wanna. Didn’t mean he should. At least… not yet.

  Harper smoothed away the smile that wouldn’t stop trying to cover his face. “Writer’s block to attend to,” he reminded Rory. “Deadlines. An angry boss on the warpath. Lisa ready to tweezer out my nut hairs in revenge for losing the files.”

  “True enough. But…” Rory slid smoothly over Harper’s lap, boneless as a cat. He seemed lighter than a guy of his size should be, though solid and sturdy, not breakable. The blood heat of his skin radiated warmth, and without making a production of it he’d gotten close enough for his eyelashes to brush Harper’s cheeks and to catch the scent of his breath from his white, openmouthed, confident, sexy smirk. “But you do want to. I can tell. Right here. Right now. Don’t you?”

  “Maybe.” Harper’s fingers flexed, itching to tangle themselves in Rory’s hair. “Doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. Doesn’t mean I will.”

  “Pfft. Where’s the fun in that?” Rory rocked in Harper’s lap, swinging his feet around. Twin thumping sounds and a hitch of the chair let Harper know Rory had hooked his sneakers around the back chair legs, trapping Harper there.

  Not that Harper would have been able to get up at the moment, anyway, due to an advanced case of instant, aching hard-on. The nearness of Rory, the heat of his body, and the smell of his skin were addictive, drugging him into a sort of haze where right and wrong shook hands and didn’t matter as much as they did in the real world.

  I should work up a storyline about that, he thought foggily.

  “Stay with me.” Rory cupped Harper’s groin, mold
ing his palm and pushing down. Harper’s hips jerked up. A hiss escaped him. “Much better. There’s a time and a place, Harper. Gotta learn that.”

  The words shocked Harper out of his fugue. He licked his lips, abruptly gone dry, and tried to shake his head. “Exactly. This isn’t the one for… for what you want.”

  “What you want, too,” Rory reminded him.

  “Stop reading my mind.”

  “I’m not. Don’t have to. It’s written all over your face, and I can feel it in the way you’re shaking.” Rory rolled his hips and stroked Harper’s arms, surprisingly gentle, as if coaxing a skittish horse to his hand. “Quivering like an aspen. It’s a good look on you.” A hint of wickedness returned to the tilt of his smirk. “Then again, I think I look good on you, too. Maybe I’d look good in you. Whaddya say?”

  “I say you need to get off of me before I do something dumb. Dumber.” Harper pushed at Rory, dismayed to find the strength in his arms barely rivaled those of wet noodles. “Stop it, Rory.”

  “You don’t want me to. Not really,” Rory said over Harper’s ear. He nipped the shell and soothed away the sting with quick flicks of his tongue.

  Harper shuddered.

  “Thought so,” Rory said with an audible smirk. He leaned back, holding Harper’s shoulders for balance, and studied him. Too intently. Harper thought he saw far more than he ever wanted known. Weaknesses, flaws, failures, and oh yeah, he saw the craving for this clouding Harper’s thoughts with brilliant streaks of color.

  “You came from inside my head,” Harper said, grasping at a straw. “It’s too weird. I can’t --”

  “You can. Stop fighting it.” Rory spread one palm over Harper’s chest. “Galloping. I can almost hear the beat. And you should see your aura now,” he murmured. “Like a thunderstorm. You ever go running around under the lightning clouds? It’d rock your world.” He rolled his hips.