Read Online Midwinter Night's Dream by Whitley Gray - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Whitley Gray
Ads: Link
cut the cards. “How do you feel about five-card stud?”
“Um, like I’ve never played it?”
Grinning, Joe set the cards on the table and doled out red, white, and blue chips. “I’ll teach you.”
“Why am I relieved we’re only playing for chips?”
“Perceptive, my friend.”
Joe really was too good at cards. He could bluff like a pro, and Errol’s pile of chips steadily dwindled as he got the hang of the game. He folded his hand and said, “I’m done. You’ve cleaned me out.”
Joe laughed. “The house can spot you more chips, Mr. Lockhart.”
“I’ll pass.” Errol yawned and glanced at the clock. “Wow. How’d it get to be ten already?”
“Time flies when you’re getting whooped at cards.” Errol collected the chips and sorted them into their columns in the carousel while Joe gathered the cards.
“I think I’m going to turn in,” Errol said.
Joe nodded. “You take the bed.”
“I’m just going to rack out here in front of the fire. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re getting over hypothermia. You’ll be warmer in the bed.”
Errol shoved his hands in his pockets. Hadn’t he known Joe was going to go all alpha and insist? “No, it’s your place.”
Joe tilted his chin down and gave him that mouthwatering I’m-in-charge look. “Errol—”
“Okay, how about this? You’ve got more than one sleeping bag. We could each have one and share the bed. It’s plenty big enough, and God knows we’ve slept closer together than that.” This last made his face heat up, and he turned away. Talk about a lost opportunity.
Behind him, Joe said nothing. There was rattling; he walked past and squatted to put away the poker set.
Joe rose and came to stand in front of him. “Are you always this argumentative?”
“Hey, just because you’re famous doesn’t mean you get to call all the shots.”
Joe laughed and shook his head. “Fair enough. Do you want the left side or the right?”
* * * *
Joe rolled over, willing himself to be still. It was a queen-size bed, but as aware as he was of Errol, it might as well have been a twin. Joe was intensely aware of the scent of him, the sound of him, the bulk of his body less than two feet away on the mattress.
The man had crawled into his sleeping bag like a hibernating bear, nothing showing, and the slow deep exhales suggested that he was asleep. Joe wanted to curl around him, enjoy that closeness, even if it was through the thick layers of clothing and sleeping bags. Skin to skin with a dying man had been all about rescue and restoring heat. Now it would be… God, now it would be heaven. Just thinking about it had his body expressing its opinion inside the confines of briefs and denim.
Joe’s sporadic encounters in California had been hurried and largely anonymous. Drive to a different town, quietly find a guy, do the deed. If the guy recognized him as Blake Huffington, Joe had laughed and said, “Yeah, people tell me that all the time.” He’d had to go farther and farther afield to keep it to one-night stands.
And God almighty, Joe wanted Errol, not just physically but making conversation and laughing. No one since Bryce had made him feel something other than lust.
Rolling to his back, Joe closed his eyes and let sleep take him.
The blaze had turned into a four-alarm fire. Heat radiated from the flames, making Joe sweat inside his turn-outs as he paced.
“He’s still in there,” Joe yelled.
“Stay back,” Captain Harker shouted. “Look, they’re coming out.”
Two firefighters dragging an unconscious colleague between them hurried over to Joe. They laid the victim on the scant grass.
“Been in there too long,” one of them said, muffled behind his mask. “Past the forty-five.”
Joe pulled off the unconscious man’s helmet, and sooty blond hair stuck out. The downed man began to cough, and pure joy washed over Joe. “Thank God.”
He pulled off the mask, and it wasn’t Bryce. Errol’s blue eyes popped open and
“Um, like I’ve never played it?”
Grinning, Joe set the cards on the table and doled out red, white, and blue chips. “I’ll teach you.”
“Why am I relieved we’re only playing for chips?”
“Perceptive, my friend.”
Joe really was too good at cards. He could bluff like a pro, and Errol’s pile of chips steadily dwindled as he got the hang of the game. He folded his hand and said, “I’m done. You’ve cleaned me out.”
Joe laughed. “The house can spot you more chips, Mr. Lockhart.”
“I’ll pass.” Errol yawned and glanced at the clock. “Wow. How’d it get to be ten already?”
“Time flies when you’re getting whooped at cards.” Errol collected the chips and sorted them into their columns in the carousel while Joe gathered the cards.
“I think I’m going to turn in,” Errol said.
Joe nodded. “You take the bed.”
“I’m just going to rack out here in front of the fire. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re getting over hypothermia. You’ll be warmer in the bed.”
Errol shoved his hands in his pockets. Hadn’t he known Joe was going to go all alpha and insist? “No, it’s your place.”
Joe tilted his chin down and gave him that mouthwatering I’m-in-charge look. “Errol—”
“Okay, how about this? You’ve got more than one sleeping bag. We could each have one and share the bed. It’s plenty big enough, and God knows we’ve slept closer together than that.” This last made his face heat up, and he turned away. Talk about a lost opportunity.
Behind him, Joe said nothing. There was rattling; he walked past and squatted to put away the poker set.
Joe rose and came to stand in front of him. “Are you always this argumentative?”
“Hey, just because you’re famous doesn’t mean you get to call all the shots.”
Joe laughed and shook his head. “Fair enough. Do you want the left side or the right?”
* * * *
Joe rolled over, willing himself to be still. It was a queen-size bed, but as aware as he was of Errol, it might as well have been a twin. Joe was intensely aware of the scent of him, the sound of him, the bulk of his body less than two feet away on the mattress.
The man had crawled into his sleeping bag like a hibernating bear, nothing showing, and the slow deep exhales suggested that he was asleep. Joe wanted to curl around him, enjoy that closeness, even if it was through the thick layers of clothing and sleeping bags. Skin to skin with a dying man had been all about rescue and restoring heat. Now it would be… God, now it would be heaven. Just thinking about it had his body expressing its opinion inside the confines of briefs and denim.
Joe’s sporadic encounters in California had been hurried and largely anonymous. Drive to a different town, quietly find a guy, do the deed. If the guy recognized him as Blake Huffington, Joe had laughed and said, “Yeah, people tell me that all the time.” He’d had to go farther and farther afield to keep it to one-night stands.
And God almighty, Joe wanted Errol, not just physically but making conversation and laughing. No one since Bryce had made him feel something other than lust.
Rolling to his back, Joe closed his eyes and let sleep take him.
The blaze had turned into a four-alarm fire. Heat radiated from the flames, making Joe sweat inside his turn-outs as he paced.
“He’s still in there,” Joe yelled.
“Stay back,” Captain Harker shouted. “Look, they’re coming out.”
Two firefighters dragging an unconscious colleague between them hurried over to Joe. They laid the victim on the scant grass.
“Been in there too long,” one of them said, muffled behind his mask. “Past the forty-five.”
Joe pulled off the unconscious man’s helmet, and sooty blond hair stuck out. The downed man began to cough, and pure joy washed over Joe. “Thank God.”
He pulled off the mask, and it wasn’t Bryce. Errol’s blue eyes popped open and
Similar Books
