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  “What a moon out tonight, huh?” Jack remarked. “I can see the ridge. Must be a gorgeous view in the daylight.”

  Spencer nodded. “This place is really special to me.” It surprised him to speak such truth to a near stranger, but Jack didn’t really feel like one. Not anymore.

  Jack smiled. “It’s good to have someplace where you can be yourself.” He placed his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, squeezing softly.

  It was a welcome gesture and somehow familiar. Since they’d emerged from that godforsaken hole, Spencer had come to appreciate the gentle strength of Jack’s touch.

  Jack leaned close to his ear, close enough to feel warm breath on his neck. “You two are luckier than you know.”

  Turning toward him, Spencer searched Jack’s eyes for the hidden meaning he’d heard in his words.

  Rory appeared behind Jack with the pair of plaid cotton pajama pants Spencer favored for puttering around the house. It did weird things to him, knowing another man would be in his clothes.

  “Here you go, Jack,” Rory said with a warm smile, handing them to him. She slipped behind the counter to attend to the simmering veggies and sausage. “I’m going to toss this with garlic and oil and serve it over pasta.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll be right back.”

  Spencer turned toward her as Jack left them. “What about a shirt?”

  Rory shrugged. “It’s too hot. I wish I could go topless too.”

  Spencer shook his head. “You’re too much.” The idea of Rory sitting topless at the table along with the two of them, chatting lightly and asking for the parmesan cheese was more than a bit comical, but far from off-putting. He wanted to get up and pull her waist from behind while he told her how much he’d like to have her naked right now, but his damned ankle wouldn’t make that easy. A houseguest in the other room wouldn’t make it so easy either. Maybe if they were really quiet…

  Chapter Seven

  Jack returned shirtless as predicted, rubbing his flat belly. “I am really starving. I think it’s been like twelve hours since I ate last.”

  Rory placed two plates piled with her last-minute culinary concoction on the table. The two men sat on either side of her, both inhaling deeply over their steaming dishes with hungry looks on their faces. She warmed at the thought. It pleased her to provide them sustenance after the ordeal they’d been through. Unable to help herself, she reached out and cupped Spencer’s face and planted a kiss to his cheek. It was a silent thank-you for coming out of the accident OK. He touched her hand and quirked his lips in response, all the “you’re welcome” she needed.

  “So what do you think will happen with the tunnel project now?” Rory asked between delicate bites. She’d served herself a small portion, perfectly measured according to the diet she’d taken up the past week.

  Jack visibly tensed at the subject and Spencer blew out a long sigh before answering, “Probably going to be some kind of long-drawn-out investigation.”

  “Does that mean the project will be on hold?” Rory asked. “Does that mean you’ll be home every night? No more overtime?”

  “I hope not, babe. I mean, I don’t really like working doubles, but it will be hard to say goodbye to that overtime cash. Soon as I get the all clear with this ankle, I wanna be back on the clock.”

  Jack cleared his throat. “This is really a fantastic meal, Rory. Spencer didn’t exaggerate about your talents.”

  Rory blushed. Something about the way he said that sent a curious rush through her body. He smiled bashfully, as if apologetic for the undercurrent in his tone. In the moment, she’d forgotten what they were talking about, focusing more on the thought that her gaydar might need more of a tune-up than Spencer’s. Recovering, she replied, “Thanks. I was the one who cooked in my house growing up.” She gulped her water. “Both my parents worked, so somehow I ended up experimenting in the kitchen after my homework was done. My brother suffered dearly as my guinea pig for a few years until I got the hang of things.”

  “Older brother?” Jack asked, looking truly interested in hearing more.

  Suddenly Rory was sorry she brought him up. “Brice is eight years older than me, but I haven’t seen him in a while.” She pressed her lips together, as if she wanted to stop herself from blurting out the whole sad story like a confessional decree. She shook her head and reverted to more small talk, driving the conversation toward the last good movie Jack had seen.

  Well past two in the morning, both men were fed and yawning in tandem. Rory got up to clear the dishes and promised to wash Jack’s clothes so they’d be ready for him in the morning.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said. “Just show me where the washer is and I’ll take care of it.”

  “My mother would never let me hear the end of it.”

  “Do you tell your mother everything?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. There was that energy again in his just barely suggestive tone. She inhaled quickly and glanced at Spencer, whose sleepy eyes stared back at her.

  “We’ll take care of that in the morning.” Spencer pulled himself up from the table and grabbed his crutches. “Right now I don’t know about you two, but I’m beat. I’m hitting the sack.”

  “I’ll be right there, sweetie,” Rory told him. “I just want to throw the dishes into the washer.”

  He dropped a kiss onto her lips and whispered, “I’m going to try to be awake when you get to bed, so don’t be long.”

  Rory tingled a little at his words. She’d give the kitchen a quick once-over and spend the rest of the night letting Spencer know how grateful she was to have him safe and sound in their bed. She nuzzled her face under his stubble, her jaw whispering against his neck. “I’ll be right there. Be ready for me.”

  “Don’t you worry about that.”

  He shuffled down the hall and Rory mused at his sudden vulnerability. She’d never seen him injured before, never known him to be anything but strong and fully capable. It was only a broken ankle, but the trauma of being stuck in that watery prison, especially for Spencer, would probably leave a scar. She busied herself with the dishes and didn’t notice that Jack was still wandering their living room until he spoke.

  “The purple nail polish…was that your idea?” He was holding a picture of her and Spencer up on the ridge. Having happened across another climber, they’d taken the rare opportunity to be photographed there together. She knew the picture well. It was one of her favorites: her standing on tiptoe planting a solid kiss to Spencer’s cheek while he stood with his arms folded on his chest, chin up like the king of the world.

  She nodded over her shoulder and returned to her dishes. “Yeah, it’s our thing. Silly little tradition.”

  “I noticed it when we were in the hospital after they put the cast on. I wanted to ask him about it, but…anyway, I get it now. It’s quaint.”

  “You won’t tell any of the guys in the crew, will you? Spencer would be mortified.”

  “I don’t tell anyone’s secrets,” he said, and walked a bit closer. Rory felt a rush of cool shimmer over her skin as he stood there appraising her. “Can you tell me where your washer and dryer are?”

  She pointed to the folding doors by the back entrance. “But you can really leave that for tomorrow. I’ll throw them in with our clothes; it’s really no bother.”

  “I’m not used to people taking care of me, at least not without paying them.”

  Rory started at his statement, whipping her hand to her hip. “I know you’re not suggesting—”

  “No, no. Ah, I’m an ass. No, what I meant was that it’s not every day that someone shows me kindness without wanting something in return.”

  Rory pursed her lips. He sounded so sad; she just wanted to give him a hug. “Jack Rothman, you are our guest and I mean to make sure you’re taken care of. That’s that.”

  He bowed at her with quirky drama and raised his head first on the way back up. The corkscrew grin on his face was all play, like a puppy waiting to fetch. That look was d
amn near irresistible.

  Rory shook her head and swiped a cloth over the counter, then hung it on the faucet to dry. “Well, that’s it for me. Good night, Jack.”

  He slipped into step behind her. “I’m heading off too. Thanks again, Rory. Tell Spencer I said good night.”

  “Will do,” she said at the door. “Oh, and I’m glad he wasn’t alone down there. It would have been much worse if he’d been alone. Just wanted you to know that I’m grateful for that.”

  “I would have rather skipped that part in my day where I was trapped in a pitch-black death hole, but yeah, I get what you’re saying. I’m glad I wasn’t alone too. Spencer is really a good guy. But of course you already knew that.”

  With a soft nod she slipped into the bedroom and closed the door. Spencer’s light but steady snores filtered through the sound of air-conditioning in the room. She placed herself carefully next to him so as not to wake him up and curled her body around his muscled frame. Sleep fell upon her without disappointment. Thankfully she’d have many more nights to show Spencer how much she loved him.

  * * *

  The morning greeted Rory closer to afternoon. Spencer was still sleeping when she tossed her feet to the carpet and stretched. He stirred and shifted slightly away from the sunlight pouring into the room. She watched him a moment, his bare chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. He’d had a fitful night, waking twice with breathless murmuring. She’d let him sleep now, leaning back and kissing him ever so lightly on the cheek before getting up. She pulled on some yoga pants to add to the tank top she’d slept in and padded into the hall toward the bathroom.

  Pancakes. The aroma wafted through the air, and she detoured from the bathroom to follow the scent. Passing her study she couldn’t help but peek in, finding the futon converted back into a sofa and the gang of books she’d left scattered about neatly stacked on the end table. Conspicuously placed on top, she saw her dog-eared copy of Anaïs Nin’s famous book of erotica. The fire came to her cheeks faster than the heat trickled down between her legs. She froze in the doorway and blinked, trying to let reason wash away her embarrassment. Who cared if Jack knew she read erotica? It was for research…mostly. Chest forward, shoulders back, she got her legs in gear and continued toward the delicious aroma.

  “I know washing my own clothes is out of the question, but you gotta let me make you two breakfast.” Jack flipped a pancake with his good arm and tossed her an easy grin. He was still wearing Spencer’s pajama bottoms and still gloriously bare-chested. A quick glance confirmed he was barefoot as well. The low sling of his waistband hinted at further bareness underneath the only visible article of clothing. She swallowed the sudden saliva that filled her mouth. As good as he looked, it was still odd to see him in Spencer’s pajamas. He seemed as comfortable in them as he was in her kitchen.

  “Well, you beat me to it. So I guess it’s OK.” Rory smiled back at him and opened the cupboard next to the fridge in pursuit of the coffee. She did what she could not to brush up against him, but in the small kitchen her generous curves made it a bit of a challenge. He turned toward her, reaching for the milk and she scooted back abruptly as he nearly groped her breast instead. He was instantly red, and Rory was instantly amused.

  “This was never a kitchen made for two,” Rory said, handing him the milk with an empathetic grin. She hoped to smooth over his embarrassment, though the suddenly boyish quality to his face had caught her attention. “I’ll just be over here if you need to find something.” She waved a finger at the stool on the other side of the breakfast bar and scooted by.

  “Spencer still asleep?” Jack asked, scooping her finely ground Sumatra coffee into the coffee press tucked next to the sugar canister. He then swiped the teakettle off the stove and filled it with water.

  “Still knocked out. I didn’t have the heart to wake him. He probably needs the rest.”

  “After I finish this, I can take a cab back into the city.”

  Rory frowned. “A cab? Why, are you in a rush?”

  “To get back to the city? Not at all. It’s beautiful up here.”

  “Then hang out a while. Spencer will be up soon enough, and we’ll give you a lift back.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Are we going to start this again?”

  He shook his head and chuckled. “No way. I’m no fool.”

  Rory acknowledged her victory with a firm nod and a warm smile. “Well, OK then.”

  “OK then,” he repeated. Gesturing to the bowls on the counter, he continued, “Banana and walnuts, or blueberries?”

  “Really? Special toppings?”

  He flashed her a prize-winning smile. “I know my way around in the kitchen. Don’t worry.”

  “How will you chop walnuts with one arm?” She stretched over the counter and grabbed the bag. The eyeful down her shirt she gave him was completely unintentional, but it hadn’t seemed to matter from the look on Jack’s face. Not so boyish anymore.

  Now it was Rory’s turn to blush.

  “Ror?” Spencer’s call from the bedroom snapped Rory’s head in the opposite direction.

  “Yeah, babe? You need something?” Rory slid off the stool and scurried down the hall.

  “I was just wondering where you were, sweetheart,” he said, rolling over with a groan.

  She straddled him carefully on the bed, her hair dropping onto his cheeks. “I’m right here, baby.” Her words were followed with a kiss to his lips. He returned her kiss with a familiar passion, grabbing her ass and grinding his hips between her legs.

  “Hey, hey. We have a guest, remember?” Rory blew her words into his mouth. He licked them off her tongue. Spencer could make her breathless so easily.

  “Close the door. He won’t hear a thing,” Spencer said, between nibbles on her ear.

  “He’s making us breakfast,” Rory protested. “I think it’s almost ready.”

  “But I’m not hungry for anything but you,” Spencer reasoned.

  Rory giggled while his fingers danced at her waistband. “Come on, it’s rude. He’s out there waiting for us.”

  Spencer groaned again, but she suspected it wasn’t because of his ankle.

  “Let me help you up. He’s making pancakes with special toppings no less, and frankly, I think he needs some assistance.”

  “All right,” Spencer conceded.

  In the bright light of the morning, Spencer’s hair was alight with gold. She tossed her fingers into his loose curls, happy that a haircut was far from his mind. “We’ll pick this up later, I promise.”

  “You bet we will.” Spencer squeezed her ass one more time before she withdrew.

  Rory offered a hand to help him up. He took it and managed to get his balance with the crutch retrieved from against the night table.

  Jack was setting the table by the time they reached the kitchen. He smiled at their approach. “Good to see you on your feet there, Spencer.”

  “I hear you’re making us all breakfast. Thought I’d see it for myself.”

  “What? A guy can’t cook breakfast?”

  “Dude, yesterday you were my boss. Today you’re cooking for me. Go figure.”

  Jack got serious. “I was never your boss.”

  Spencer shrugged. “Not officially, no. But you know how it is with the consultants…”

  “I’m not the boss of you or anyone else. Not even close.”

  Rory watched as the dynamic shifted between them. There was something in the air, a sullenness radiating from Jack that none of them knew what to do with. She took the juice glasses from Jack’s hand, grazing his fingers with hers. Her touch wasn’t intentional, but the extra second she allowed the connection to linger resulted in a smile returning to Jack’s face and Rory was glad for it.

  “I can squeeze some fresh OJ,” she said. “It’ll just take me a sec.”

  “Already done. Found your juice press in the drawer.” He gestured to the table. “Have a seat, you two. I’ve got everything c
overed.”

  Rory flashed her eyes at Spencer and they slid into place around the table.

  “This might be the best-looking stack of pancakes I’ve ever seen,” Spencer said, making a show of sharpening his knife with his fork.

  Rory elbowed him playfully. “Don’t you dare say that you prefer his pancakes to mine, Spence.” She winked at Jack. “At least wait until I’ve left the room.”

  Jack took a bite. “I’ve never tasted your pancakes, Rory,” he said with a glint of his own in his eye. “I’m sure they’re really good. But to be as good as mine, you need the secret ingredient.”

  “What secrets could you possibly be keeping in my kitchen, Mr. Rothman?”

  He seemed to like it when she called him that, because a smile burst across his face as bright as the sun. “I’ll never tell.”

  Rory wrinkled the bridge of her nose at him and pursed her lips, making a face that made him laugh.

  “Now you’ve done it,” Spencer said. “She’ll never let that one rest.”

  Jack shrugged and took another bite. It was his turn to wink at her.

  * * *

  The apartment in SoHo felt decidedly empty the moment Jack walked in the door. He’d waved good-bye to Rory and Spencer from the lobby entrance. Like overprotective parents, they had waited until the super arrived with a key. Now he stood alone in his living room, faced with the only other pressing matter. His father needed to be called. Jack had avoided it as long as possible, but now it was after four. No way could it wait another minute.

  “Do you want to tell me what the hell took you so long to get in touch with me?” Jackson spoke in a rather dry tone.

  Jack recognized it immediately. “I lost my phone in the accident.”

  “I would have heard if you’d been killed. At least the police would have had the balls to contact me.”

  “Don’t start, Dad. Please,” Jack mumbled. The words weren’t meant for his father to hear. Even if they had been, they wouldn’t have done any good.