Tate sat back on his heels and closed the wood stove door. He turned as he stood, and his gaze clashed with Reno’s. He paused for a second, as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and then he walked toward Reno. There was purpose in his steps, a glint in his eyes, and a sly tilt to his mouth. Every butterfly on the planet took flight in Reno’s stomach. He was amazed he could still eat through all that fluttering.
Reno held his gaze as Tate crossed the room, stopped in front of him, and reached behind him to grab a glass out of the cupboard. His grin grew wider and more teasing, and the cabin felt ten degrees hotter. Reno resisted the urge to tug at his T-shirt collar.
Glass in hand, Tate stepped back until he bumped into the opposite counter, and only then did he break eye contact and turn to the sink. He glanced over his shoulder as he filled his glass, and then faced Reno again. He leaned back and rested one foot over the other.
No words were spoken, but none were needed. Reno knew exactly what this conversation was, and whether it led any further or not, he was enjoying the silent banter. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun flirting with another man.
He stood there in that speaking silence, gaze locked with Tate’s, the space between them sizzling with heated tension, as he ate his toast and Tate drank his water.
As though they’d rehearsed the moment, Reno finished his snack at the same as Tate downed the last of his drink. Tate put the glass in the sink without looking. Reno wiped bread crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand, all the while not taking his eyes off Tate. In one smooth synchronized movement, Tate mirrored Reno as he pushed off the counter and met him in the middle of the small kitchenette. Only a feather of space separated their bodies.
Reno dropped his eyes to Tate’s mouth, and that was all it took to break the standoff. Reno wasn’t sure who moved first, but the force of their bodies crashing together was enough to knock the breath from his lungs. He slammed his lips against Tate’s with a frenzied need that surprised him. Or maybe shouldn’t have surprised him, given how badly and how long he’d wanted this moment to happen.
Tate opened his mouth, and Reno dove in, his tongue sliding and twining with Tate’s, and it was all Reno could do to keep his knees from buckling. The urgency of this kiss, theneedof it, demanded everything from Reno and short-circuited his brain. This was Tate Boylan. In his arms. Rocking his hips into Reno and grinding a steel-hard erection against his thigh. The boy he’d crushed hard on. The man he was still achingly attracted to. The man he wanted like he was his last gasp of air.
And he was there for it. Every step of the way.
Tate angled their bodies as a single unit and, slow step by slow step, walked Reno backward toward the bedroom. The back of Reno’s thighs bumped into the couch, and he giggled into Tate’s mouth without breaking the kiss. Not until his shoulder connected with the doorframe and he bounced sideways. The loss of that physical connection tempered the insane flurry of passion that had overcome him. Tate’s hands burned where they still gripped his hips, and the look on his face was determined and wild.
Reno blinked.
He was sixteen again. Standing in another doorway. In another room, where a determined Tate kissed him and rocked his entire world.
And then ran away.
A sliver of cold doubt snaked into his desire-hazed mind. Would history repeat itself?
Reno put a hand in the center of Tate’s chest. He didn’t push Tate away but held him there. He needed a pause. He needed to get some control back. He wanted Tate. So bad. But fear of the past repeating itself had crashed the party and changed the energy.
Tate tilted his head, and the fire in his eyes cooled as confusion crept in.
“I’m sorry,” Reno whispered. He leaned up and kissed Tate gently, a chaste touch of his lips. “Good night.”
He slid his hand down Tate’s chest, until his fingertips reached the waistband of Tate’s pants. His hand fell away, and he slipped past Tate. He was hyperaware of Tate still standing in the doorway, his breath exhaling in rapid bursts and the weight of his eyes burning a hole in Reno’s back.
He didn’t turn around as he gathered the folded blankets on the back of the couch, but he heard when Tate moved into the room. The door closed with a quiet snick, and then running water from the shower filled the cabin.
Reno dropped his arms and let the blankets fall into a pile on the floor. His shoulders drooped, and his chin hit his chest. Did he just screw everything up? He stopped because he was worried if they went any further, everythingwouldget screwed up. Because that stupid little voice in the back of his mind—that sounded suspiciously like his sixteen-year-old self—panicked that Tate wouldn’t be there in the morning when he woke up. All these years later, and apparently, the scars from that wound were not healed as well as Reno had thought.
With a deep sigh, he organized the blankets, stripped down to his briefs, and crawled into his makeshift bed. He listened intently as the water stopped. Tate moved quietly about the room. The bedsprings gave a quiet squeak, and then there was silence. Heavy and deafening.
“Shit,” Reno said under his breath. He was an idiot.
ChapterFive
Saturday, December 24
Tate heldhis breath as he slowly opened his bedroom door, hoping Reno wasn’t awake yet. His brilliant plan after the previous night’s rebuff was to sneak out and head to the hotel for breakfast alone. Buy himself a little time to nurse his freshly dented confidence before he had to face Reno again.
He tiptoed two steps and froze. Reno was sitting up on the couch, fully dressed, watching him. Their eyes locked for a brief second before Tate found something on the floor more interesting. He cleared his throat and beelined for the kitchenette.
“I made coffee,” Reno said, his voice low and rough, as though he hadn’t slept all night either.
“Oh. O-okay.” Tate stalled halfway to his destination.
What did he do now? It would be rude to just leave since Reno was awake and had already seen him. And had made coffee for them. Just standing there was ridiculous, but rejection and embarrassment glued him to the floor. At least he could still breathe, but nothing else in his body seemed to be working. Not even his hearing, because suddenly, Reno was standing in front of him, and he’d never heard or seen him move.
Reno reached out and gently wrapped his hands around Tate’s biceps. The warmth of his touch felt like a balm to his soul, and some of the tightness in his chest eased.
